Day

When the light from the breaking dawn stirs you, you fight to stay asleep.

Two worlds are blended at this precise moment. You are confused, and you forget for a blissful second what is real, and what is only the balming effect of a single good dream. You struggle to believe that all is well, but its no use - slowly your consciousness muscles in and brutally reminds you of the divide between the realities and the figments of imagination.

There is, strangely enough, an overwhelming sense of peace.

You think about the dream some more, and you're pleased to find that it all comes rushing back, every single nuance, every single frame. And you cannot help but marvel - every other time you labour to pass the night under burdens of mind so deep, you inevitably wake up feeling even more distraught, more stranded.

Its the first time you have dreamt a dream that addresses your dilemma directly.

Its the first time your subconscious works with you, instead of against you.

Its the first time... you think you might actually have dreamt the answer to your problems.

Sometimes things just work out in the queerest way
Hold fast your beliefs - keep the doubts at bay
Unless you dare to tread that dreaded path again
Where suffering bears no such merciful refrain
Expect that life's just full of twists and turns
Nothing's insurmountable if you're willing to learn

You hear the world stirring outside your window, and you know you can linger no more. You chose to live this life, and you'll be damned if you didn't try to lead it proudly, to lead it well.

And thus a chapter ends.

Night

In the inky blackness of the night
You clasp your hands and silently pray
That the vice around your heart so tight
Would quickly unravel and fade away

That somehow things could rewind
That life had an undo function of sorts
That amidst this mess you could somehow find
The ending which you orginally sought

In the enveloping blackness of the night
You wonder if you could have made things better
If you'll ever know whether you were right
Or if anything really mattered

A thousand things you wish to say
The words almost bursting from inside
But you can't, you mustn't, no it wouldn't pay
And again you stem this torrential tide

In the endless blackness of the night
You make up your mind once more
To grieve, but to grieve only until daylight
For burdens of the heart are such wearisome chores

In the soothing blackness of the night...

Random Thoughts 1

It's hot. I'm full and sleepy. Here's a list of 5 random things that ran through my mind in the last hour I stoned here.

1. My productivity is very, very low. So low, in fact, that's it's become negative productivity. But wait a minute! If it's negative productivity, isn't it productivity all the same, just in the opposite direction?

So is it a case of being very unproductive, or being destructive? ... the mysteries of Life.

2. I would hate to be Cho Chang right now. Over 23 people on my MSN list have criticized her to no end, elevating her status just above Saddam Hussein afflicted wtih dengue carrying wild chickens in both arms.

3. What does dust turn into? I mean, is there a constant amount of dust in the world, or is it being continually generated and rebuilt into something else? We all know matter cannot be created, so it either has to come from somewhere, or turn into something.

To find out, all we need to do is to start keeping all the dust we collect everyday into big plastic bags. At the end of 10 years, we just need to see what thing in the world has reduced in quantity significantly. Ta-da! Another of Life's puzzles solved.

4. Do judges know that every time they pen long-winded and confusing judgments they incur the wrath of academics and students for years to come? Do they do it purposely, to get back at the judges before them?

5. Do hawker stall owners eat their own food? If so, why is the yong tau foo stall auntie at my wet market plumper than the uncle selling sio bak and chicken rice? Do they pay each other for the meals, or do they just exchange food?

Idol

I first began to hear his name about a month ago. It began as a whisper of sorts, the kind of slithery ambiguous background noise that evaporates the moment you concentrate on catching it. People heard, but failed to remember.

Then, with startling ferocity, as more of his pictures circulated, his popularity began to climb. His name was on almost every single pair of female adolescent lips. As of last week, he arguably stole the entire show.

Cedric. Diggory. Aka, Gorgeous Hunk, Handsome Cutie-Pie, Fried-By-Curse-Boy.

(For those who failed to catch Harry Potter and the Goblet-of-constitutes-magical-binding-contract-Fire, Cedric was this arguably good-looking strapping young man who had more screen time than a cupcake would have in a documentary on lions. Which is not saying a lot)

It's strange how the entire idolizing process plays out. At some point amidst all the outpouring of affection for Cedric, I had to pause and think, why exactly is Cedric becoming an idol for so many? Can there possibly be a pattern to all this madness?

Three hypotheses survive, ultimately. What I'm guessing first, is that there's something in Cedric, or idols in general, that people prize. It can be looks, or charm, or money, or atttitude, or any of a thousand other things. These idols are then the quintessential role models - people either want to gain this characteristic themselves, or are satisfied to have their idol near them.

As you can see, most people who idolize fall into this category.

People idolize Princess Diana for her beauty and heart of gold, Cedric and Brad Pitt for their looks and charm, sporting legends like Mohd Ali for their resolve, spirit, courage. Bands like Metallica or Linkin' Park are also idolized, but mainly only for their flair and streak of rebellion, because God gave man eyes to see and ears to hear with, not to shrivel and bleed from.

This is of course, understandable, and even desirable at times. After all, some idols serve as good role models. Taufik gave up smoking, and performed community service voluntarily, without any booklet to stamp or school requirement to fulfil. Everyone needs to have something to strive after.

But to merely want that idol near you? Watch how fans react whenever their idols are nearby. I remember vividly this clip of a woman fainting as she screamed Micheal Jackson's name at his concert, back when parents still let their kids play with him. It's a phenomenon very much alive, right here, right now. People scramble just to be near their idols, to glimpse them, to see and touch them.

I mean, when you come to think of it, what would happen if these fans could suddenly have their wishes fulfilled? What if your idol was to materialize right in front of your eyes? Would you even know what to say to him/her? What, you would just sit there, smile numbly and poke him/her with a stick?

You: Ooooo! Tom Cruise/Cho Chang/Hagrid!
Idol: Hi.
You: Ooooo! Tom Cruise/Cho Chang/Hagrid!
Idol: Hi.
You: Ooooo! Tom Cruise/Cho Chang/Hagrid!
Idol: Hi. Say, can you stop poking me with that stick?

Of course, I'm discounting all the rabid fans who are way deep in Stalker territory, who want to bear their idol's children etc. Let's not go there today.

The second hypothesis, is that professing idolatry is equivalent to possessing a social passport. It's a bit like beer, or the army, in that sense. Just simply profess your idol of choice, and ta-dah, you're welcome to join any social circle with the same tastes.

I discovered this for myself the hard way. When I first protested and reminded people harshly that Harry Potter's about adventure and magic and courage and friendship and not about Cedric Diggory, I was shunned. People even asked me condescendingly about my educational background.

But the moment I took the initiative to tell people that Cedric was 'hot', man, girls were welcoming me like some long-lost brother. (Although, truth be told, yes I do agree Cedric's a fine specimen of the male species. There. I've said it.)

The last hypothesis I have, is that people choose/reject idols as way of making a personal statement. Thus, a principled and feisty girl might well resist the tides of peer pressure, and refuse to get into a tizzy over Cedric - ironically, some people who succeed in doing so become mini-idols in their own right.

This would be a good point in time to refute the horrendous claim, by a friend of mine no less, that I purposely idolize the most bile-inducing repulsive females for the sake of being different. My friend, it is surely no feat to identify common beauty, and more often than not it is the hidden beauty that astounds.

Also, to the snub that Cho Chang is 'just your average girl-next-door', pray tell, why do a thousand other girls-next-door not match up??

At the very least, thank goodness Cedric's dead. Let's please have more of Voldemort.

Willy

Willy the werewolf had a special trait
Now it wasn't something he would happily relate
To other werewolves who might casually ask -
It wasn't a prideful trait in which to gloriously bask
And the uniqueness simply was this:
All the fur he sprouted wasn't really his

It all began as a receding fur-line
Something unheard of among his kind
Yet before long Willy's fur came off in clumps
And his spirits spiralled down into the dumps
For if werewolves were protective of anything
It was their fur, long, black, luxuriously flowing

Willy could no longer go out like before
For hunting was no longer a pleasure but a chore
Who can savage and claw somebody
While at the same time hold in place a toupee?
And instead of screaming his prey laughed uncontrollably
For no one can take a bald werewolf seriously

Yet since he retained his strength and agility
He tried to salvage the remainder of his dignity
By taking up new and challenging occupations
At various disparate institutions
The first of which was a bouncer at Zouk
No real surprise though at this path he took

But as they say old habits often die hard
And Willy began to bite those who let down their guard
Yet as he bit the occasional thug
Soon Willy's blood was contaminated with drugs
Thus his job ended when a police raid was staged
And he ended unceremoniously up in a cage

When Willy escaped the idea of doing sports stuck in his mind
For by nature werewolves are the competitive kind
And in the sprint trials he broke all the records
Complacency was something he could well afford
But disqualification loomed - his true nature he couldn't fake
For unlike the others Willy competed on all four legs

After further failures Willy just simply gave up
And with his senses dulled and fangs no longer sharp
Willy huddled on a lonely street and cried
(If fully self-aware he would have been horrified)
His heart was shattered his spirit torn
There never was a werewolf quite so forlorn

Then a miracle happened, and not a moment too late -
A little homeless girl passed by that very minute
This girl, though poor and scruffy and not very old
Possessed a loving heart of solid gold
And when she heard poor Willy in his sorry state
To him she found herself gravitate

Fearless, she pattered forward and hugged Willy tight
A gesture which surely caused Willy fright
And in the calmest tones she simply said
"Don't cry Mr Balding Doggy, I'll find you a bed
Though I can't give you all that other doggies possess
Your company's all I want now, I confess!"

And now sometimes out of the corner of your eye
You'll spot a little street urchin go rushing by
Side by side with her new-found companion
Laughing and playing with complete abandon
And not once will you ever observe
The "dog's" almost complete lack of fur

This poem's special for me. I had a dog once, a Dalmatian cross-breed whose spots you could only see when he shed fur. And I think along the way, I grew to take him for granted, and failed to appreciate him while he was still around.

If I had him still, I think now would be a good time to pat him, and have him curl up at my feet.

Dialect

The moment my mum started complaining to my dad about the poor service she encountered whilst shopping the other day, my left kidney twinged.

I don't know about you, but when it comes to matters of personal safety, I have quite the well-evolved and developed gut instinct. Left kidney twinges should never be disregarded.

Logic and rational thought reigned for a moment. Why would you be anywhere in the range of fire, they said. Your mum's talking about some young punk who couldn't be bothered to do a good job - you're not even related remotely!

Ho ho ho, my left kidney sniggered, I'm never wrong.

Logic will always fail when it comes to leaps of understanding, because it demands order and a sequential flow of information. Left kidneys grab pieces from everywhere to put two and two together. As it turned out, my left kidney was right (correct, to avoid confusion). For those more inclined to logical, Science-y thinking, I've repieced together the flow of conversation.

Bad service --> Rude and insolent staff --> Inability to understand my grandma's requests for help --> Inability to understand dialect --> Abhorent trend now --> Shameful that the young can't understand simple dialect --> For that matter, Honteng (my, ironically, dialect name) also cannot speak dialect --> Why can't you pick up dialect Honteng --> Why why why why why

It makes you pause, really, when you think about how just one generation makes so much of a difference. I can understand and speak rudimentary Cantonese and Hokkien, but it hardly counts when half your vocab's, er, anatomical terms.

It's sad, no doubt. At any community service project involving the elderly now, the peers held most highly in regard are those who understand dialect and who manage actually talk to them, instead of resorting to broken Mandarin and more gestures than a mime artist.

I wonder how the elderly feel, watching their world taken over by a tribe of monkeys gibbering away in some unintelligible language. Has it ever occurred to you that the same might happen to us, that our grandchildren might be total strangers to us by virtue of language alone?

At the present moment, however, I was a little chaffed by my parent's remarks. First, my command of English must be good, "because it is my first language". Then, I have to excel in Mandarin too, "because it is my first language". Oh my, did you actually manage to guess that dialect is incidentally "my first language" too, because I am Cantonese?

Which part of "first" do they not understand?!?

It's simply not feasible for the average person to be well-versed in all of the above. I am always mindful of the astute observation my psychologist friend Siaocharn made, that the first sign of being competent in a language, is being able to compose poems in that language.

Poems in English are fun to write, even quite rewarding at times. My poems in Chinese only make my little cousins laugh, and almost always earn me a black mark from Haoyun's family. And the dialect 'poems' I know, are firstly not original, and secondly not the kind you recite over a family dinner.

Sigh, but my parents are right. It all just boils down to effort. My friends in Medicine are struggling to pick up dialect now, in order to converse with their patients more effectively, and before long they will acquire sufficient dialect to sound halfway educated.

Oh well. One more addition to my list of New Year resolutions.

Cute And Cuddly

Received the first official complaint yesterday that my posts are getting too long. Will strive to keep this one short.

Since school began this year, I have heard at least three independant proclamations from various girls that they prefer their boyfriends to be 'cute and cuddly', rather than muscle bound. According to them, meaty boyfriends are nicer to hug, and are warmer in general.

Hello. Soft toys and blankets exist for a reason.

Indeed, this revelation has greatly vexed me. Whatever happened to the over-hyped six-pack alpha male we see in the media, the one who gets all the babes? Isn't he the default embodiment of manhood?

Last night, Haoyun mentioned Panda Xiong's weight, and told me that if ever we got further in our relationship she wants me to be as 'prosperous' as he is. If you haven't read the papers, at his recent wedding Panda looked like this, up 40kg a few years ago to 100kg now.

(If you don't know who he is, you can read more about him here)

Males don't handle mixed signals well. If you want us to be walking rocks or tottering marshmellows, just tell us. Clearly, please.

Life's A Tease

The earliest tease I remember, was waaay back in Primary Three or Four. There we were, a quiet, orderly bunch of students walking up four flights of stairs to our classroom. The epitome of discipline.

Suddenly, out from nowhere, someone shouted "Last guy up to the classroom loves XXX!" (XXX being, of course, one of the prettiest girls in class). Oh, how I remember that lovely stampede. Every guy's skin must have tingled with adrenalin, prickled in response to the challenge! The din we made as we scrambled and leapt and bulldozed our way to the top... sigh.

(Of course, we must have literally trampled over the girls in our class, but it was ok, back then we wouldn't have had to date them for a few more years to come.)

That first tease sparked off an unending torrent of teases. Maybe it was the novelty of the game, or just awakening hormones striving to make their presence felt, but before long everyone had caught onto the teasing craze. In one fell swoop, the entire landscape of boy-girl relationships changed.

One day you could talk to any girl you fancied, could eat with her, play with her, walk with her, and no one as much as batted an eyelid. The next you knew, there were suddenly all sorts of unseen rules in place that governed all interaction with the opposite sex - make even the slightest booboo, and the rest of the class would be up in melodious chorus about how you loved her, how you two wanted to marry, and how many kids you would have.

You know The Song as well as I do. Guy and Girl, under a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G...

For instance, no girl could officially be your 'friend' anymore. They were either an acquaintance or your Wife. You couldn't sit together alone with her in the canteen. You couldn't smile when you talked to her. You had to be mean to her, or else it meant you loved her. The list was endless.

Teasing, as it turned out, played an extremely crucial role in our social development.

Undeniably, it first helped differentiate between the people who could take jokes and the People Who Could Not Take Jokes. I am a person who can take jokes. At the very worst I would get a little miffed and irritated, but at the end of the day I would be fine. We learned to leave the Other Sort alone though, especially after their possessed fits of savage and brutal lunacy in class. You'll be surprised at how much an 11 year old can resemble a pitbull. On drugs.

Secondly, teasing was instrumental in helping us develop social verve. The first few days of the craze, the only known response available to us after getting teased was to cover our faces and run. That simply didn't cut it, and it was not long before we evolved resistence and adapted.

Typically, our development could be charted as such:

Stage One

Teaser: I saw you talking to XXX! You love her right? Waaa... *cue The Song*
Victim: Aaaarrrggghhh..... *wail wail*

Stage Two - The Denial

Teaser: You two were eating together! How sweet! How many children you want? *cue The Song*
Victim: Where got? Where got I ask you? I never sat with her! Girls are evil! I hate them all!

Stage Three - The Counter-Attack

Teaser: I saw you looking at her in class! You love her right? Right? *cue The Damn Song*
Victim: You talk about her everyday! In fact, you are the one who secretly loves her right? Don't worry ok, I'll help the two of you get married! *cue The Censored Version Of The Song*

The funniest thing is, boys and girls learnt to act more maturely somewhere around 13-18, when they realized that there was, indeed, much to love about the other sex. Guys stopped pulling girls' hair, and started stroking them instead. Even without couples officially announcing their relationship, there was practically no teasing at all.

I'm in no position to talk about the girls, but I believe there to have been a reciprocal understanding. All in all, there was a truce...

... which ended when University came around. This, you understand, puts a severe dent in the 'maturity comes with age' theory.

I can't deny it. The evidence is before my eyes. In University, the teasing has been resurrected. And, oh boy, it's a entirely new ball game. Where there was frankness before, there is subtlety now. Where there was inane blanket one-size-fits-all teases before, there are Target-Acquiring-High-Destruction-Homing-Smart-Bomb teases now.

And in this new season, you'll be surprised to find out how relevant the old defences are. It's a bit like war, where the core principles never change, only the exterior facades. As a battle-scarred veteran, may I humbly offer some simple tips for the more oppressed among my friends.

Principle One: Always act innocent. Most of the shots fired at you are test rounds, designed to test your reaction rather than score a hit. Any unusual response on your part would give your weak spot away, confirming any suspicions immediately. Remember, he doesn't know what you know.

A short case in point is reproduced below, taken from real life over MSN.

Me: Wow, today's his birthday. He must be really happy.
Victim: Yar lor. Haha.
Me: Wonder whether he has gotten any presents or not.
Victim: Think so la. Dunno what to get him leh.
Me: I know what's free! A birthday kisssssssss....
Victim: Probably go down to town lat
Victim: IDIOT hanting

(Note the uncommon, unusual and sudden interjection, laced with fire and brimstone. Score.)

Principle Two: Don't encourage them by reacting. Drop your jaw, freeze, stare blankly ahead and go into Suspend Mode. Refuse to react until your tormentors get bored and leave. Not advisable for the ticklish.

Principle Three: Always... wait a minute! Why am I sharing all this?!?

Seriously though, part of the fun is knowing where to draw the lines. People are akin to arable land in this respect. Farm the same piece of land too intensively and too often, and the returns decrease.

There might well be some fundamental anthropological explanation for the existence of the social phenomenon of teasing. Maybe in Univerisities overseas, teasing at this age is extinct, and that it is peculiar to our society. Maybe the effects of teasing upon budding adults has far greater consequences than we imagine.

But surely, life would be so much duller without it.

Movie

I like my movies, but it's really puzzling the way people view the activity of watching movies.

Just think about it. Everyone knows it's one of the more anti-social group activities out there. You hardly get to interact much as a group, and especially when time's tight and there aren't many opportunities to go out, it's a waste to spend a couple of hours glued to a mega idiot-box.

Yet, and test this yourself if you don't believe me, tell anyone you're going to watch a movie alone, and watch them gasp in shock. "Oh no, you're going to watch a movie by yourself? How very pathetic!". It's a mysterious contradiction, I know.

In fact, sometimes you just get the worst of both worlds. When I was out with a group of friends the other day, just bumming around town, I mooted the idea of watching a movie and promptly got crucified. Then, after a night of crying myself to sleep, I decided to watch a movie myself. The first two friends I told made me feel so gooood about it, I stayed home to study instead.

I can't understand it. Ruishan, and probably ten million other people, are right. Maybe it's just me. Sadly enough, the injustice doesn't stop there.

Another curiosity I've observed, is that you are what you watch. Watch too much fantasy and you start running into old houses and gleefully throwing open decrepit wardrobes hoping to find more than mothballs and ancient clothes. Watch too much horror or suspense, and everytime someone makes a loud noise you have to change pants.

For that reason, people keep an eye out for what you watch. In different pockets of society, saying without thinking that you watched a certain movie can be the last faux pas you make.

I remember one particular Monday morning in army. There we were, four officers in the same lift, on our way to work. My OC started off by saying he had a great time watching some gory horror flick with his girlfriend, and began describing the juiciest bits from the movie. We were impressed, after all, this was the movie that had reviewers leaving in repulsed disgust.

The other two officers happened to catch some cool action movie together with friends, and heartily recommended it for the brilliant cinematography and innovative fight sequences. We just had to catch it, they said. Then, the dreaded 8-month-pregnant pause came.

"So, Hanting, did you watch any movie over the weekend?"

"mmmmfff Yes mmmffphffmmmff."

"Huh? What type of show was it? What was it about?"

"Oh, it was quite good, you know, some super violent horror-action-science-fiction thing. Lots of blood, sex and gore. Foreign shows are like that, you know."

"What was it called? You watched with your girlfriend right? Come on, spit it out."

"mmfff Princess Diaries mmmfff."

You see what I mean? I can't watch Doom without being an insensitive tree-residing neanderthal, neither can I watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and escape jibes of being a soppy hopeless romantic. It's a lose-lose situation.

And when you finally do find someone to watch a movie like Nightwatch with, and you start making plans for it, he goes off and watches it with a girl instead. Confronting him later in righteous anger doesn't soothe any wounds either.

Me: Infidel! Father of Lies! Friendship-Breaker!
Mr. J: Sorry la. I lupchu, don't angry la.
Me: You tell me, you tell me, what does she have that I don't? Huh??

(Some questions... just shouldn't be asked)

But I've since learnt to handle quiffling problems such as these. It's very simple, actually - the One Rule To Rule Them All is basically to have an endless supply of imaginary company of the right sort.

Want to watch Sky High? Concoct an imaginary younger cousin. Want to watch Exorcism of Emily Rose? Dream up a bunch of havoc army friends. Want to watch Just Like Heaven? Fabricate a willing girlfriend (I will die for this, haha).

Die-hard movie kakis with similar schedules are just too few and far between. *sigh*

Ms Binder

I've always been soft-hearted. Not completely soft-hearted, mind you. A particularly poignant book will elicit a tear or two, but I won't gush everytime the sun sets beautifully, or weep for evey abandoned hamster out there. Think... The Rock being sensitive.

Strangely enough, I cannot bear to be harsh or cruel even in computer games. Of course, if my task is to fry every ugly alien there is invading Earth, natural animalistic instincts take over. I hardly blink. But conjure a sufficiently believable real-life situation, and I'm putty.

The last time that happened was in Star Wars KOTOR. As a Jedi Knight, I was faced with a deceptively simple choice: either take pity on a desitute mother I rescued and give her money, or kill her and loot the treasure she was hiding. Simple, no?

No. Although I began the game resolving to be a full-fledged evil Sith Lord, swearing to take every opportunity I could to swing to the Dark Side, I just couldn't do it. 5 minutes after killing that electronic character, my Sith Lord deflated. There was pride in ruthlessly taking over the world, but endless shame in killing the helpless. The Force left me. My lightsaber flickered, and went out.

Eventually, I had to load the game, and take the alternative choice of helping that poor mother. It's silly, I know, but I just had to. I would just have to take pains to keep this dity secret from the other Sith Lords.

(Incidentally, I think computer games are a brilliant way to diagnose how much of a risk to society your child is. For example, make him play Sim City. If every city he touches reaches its zenith, good. If every five minutes he triggers an earthquake, typhoon, tsunami, asteroid storm, Godzilla attack, and laughs maniacally, consider an exorcism.)

However, I've also always enjoyed mischief. There is this obscene thrill at delivering a jest so subtle it leaves your victim spluttering in shock, or in pulling off the most nefarious gag on a completely unsuspecting victim. The problem comes when, every once in a while, conscience pricks, just like in Star Wars.

Once at dinner, I discreetly spat out this particular bit of meat that tasted funny. Something was wrong with it, but I didn't know what and I didn't want to find out. Towards the end of dinner my brother spotted the rejected bit of meat on my plate, speared it with his fork, and asked if I still wanted it.

My face went blank, and I said no in the most casual and off-hand manner I could muster. There was no time to think. You can have it if you want, I said. Heaven was only a few steps away.

Ah... the good old days. I laughed sooo freaking hard afterwards even my dad was forced to take a stand and chastise me. A while later however, the thrill faded. My brother's face upon learning the truth, orignally etched in my mind under the heading 'Priceless', troubled my conscience to no end.

O, what had I done? What ancient brotherly conventions had I breached? The trust, the betrayal! The shame!

I marched straight up to him later, and muttered a heart-felt apology, which he graciously accepted. The incident scarred me so deeply, I remained nice to him for a full two days.

More recently, however, there was Miss Binder. For the fortunate few among you who don't know, the Research Binder was this mammoth assignment/project where we had to assemble a case for our 'client'. The Binder was such a huge strain on time and energy, I couldn't even summon the mood to write for weeks.

Near the end, I christened the project my Betrothed, and joked to friends that I felt like I was married to the damn thing. To make things more bearable, you understand. Then, I made the fatal mistake of signing off, in an email to my Tutor, as "Hanting, newly-wed to Ms. Binder".

(NO, I was not acting cute. Erase that thought from your mind, I know who you are.)

Lo and Behold the power of Cause and Effect. The next week, I arrived a bit late for class to find my Tutor looking cheated and forlorn, as she stood over this heart-shaped platter of cookies on the table. My jaw dropped.

The more I heard, the tighter the vice around my heart wound. My beloved Tutor, thinking that I had truly gotten married 'to a Caucasian girl called Ms. Beender', had gushed to her husband and colleagues about her lucky student who found time to get married despite the heavy work schedule.

She admired the courage I possessed to settle down, and had her faith in romance re-affirmed. She even selected a special heart-shaped platter to bring her cookies on, to mark the twin joyous events of school term ending and my marraige.

O, what have I done? What ancient teacher-student conventions have I breached? The trust, the betrayal! The shame!

It's a sign. I just know it is. It's high time to revert to the sweet, wholly innocent boy I was 15 years ago. Because if I don't, at this rate, I'm going to get guano from Santa.