Never mind the fact that I missed last year (which i totally forgot about), I thought I would do something slightly different this year (a week early).

A recollection of a past event.

It was about 12 years ago, when I still schooled and was using this platform rather often. My life had begun to pick up again as I started to prioritize my education. Away from the stray that devastated me in my younger days, though that, perhaps is a story for another day.

Taking lessons seriously, it was one fine assignment that I somehow remembered even till today.

English. One of the many subjects I have the least confidence about, one of those that I preferred to shun and do the bare minimum. But as I said, my life was picking up then and I was striving to be better at everything I can do in terms of grades, and even English was not going to stand in my way.

The task was simple. A composition assignment. One that requires students to craft a story, to display their grasp of the language. One that frankly speaking, has been around since the beginning of compulsory education.

But to me it was different.

I wanted to do something special (much like today I guess), I wanted to be better than all I had ever done. I wanted to write a story.

And so I did.

I can't remember the exact details, but the word count was measly (but considered heavy to students of that age). It was either a 2-pager or a 4-pager (perhaps 500 words?) that I had to tell my story and I was determined to do a damn good job about it.

I didn't know about drafting outlines, re-reading and making revisions then, so I more or less wrote the story in one seating, but it was a story that I was proud of (at that time).

To me, it had a setting, a scene that was clear in my mind as I wrote it. It was characters that wasn't just some xiaoming that I fall back on for all of my assignments. It had a plot. It had mystique. It had a plot twist.

It had an open ending.

God knows how I put all of that in within a 500-worder (or 2/4-pager), but I clearly remember having some of those.

Sadly I can't barely remember anything from that story now (who can remember what they wrote for composition assignments more than a decade ago?), but I vaguely recall it involving a small young boy, a chess game and a revered, old man as his opponent.

The plot twist had something to do with the old man, but despite no one ever getting to read the story again (including myself), I shall not reveal it.

But perhaps what was defining was how proud I was at the work I had done. I had submitted it on time and eagerly waited for it to be graded. To me, it was my best work and should clearly earn the best marks I have ever gotten.

Except that it didn't.

Sure it was above average for my standards, but it was nowhere near the top scoring essays written for that particular assignment.

I was pained.

I wanted to know why. I wanted to know how I could do better. I had a hunger for improvement then.

So I did something I had never done before in my life at that point in time.

I stayed back after class and asked my English teacher how I could possibly improve it. Change the ending? Would that help? Include more suspense?

Of course in hindsight 12 years later, the answer is probably "use better English, have a better flow" (which sounds simple but can be incredibly hard to do).

But right there and then the answer was nothing like it. It was nothing I was expecting and it was disappointing to say the least.

In fact, based on what I can recall, the Caucasian teacher at that time couldn't even remember what I had written, not specifically nor in a broad sense. It was simply put, just another essay to him.

Now I'm not blaming him for his response then, it was 40 essays he had to grade from my class alone and I have no idea how many classes a high school teacher was supposed to take simultaneously. It probably wasn't like he graded them the night prior so really, would have been hard for him to recall.

But a 15 year old mind wouldn't think like that then. And even as I re-read my story again, I thought it wonderful, thought he numeric figures in red at the corner indicated it average more than anything.

It clearly affected me more than I thought and perhaps in typical millennial fashion I kind of gave up and think writing was not for me.

So perhaps I should be grateful today that I have re-discovered how fun the process of writing can be. And while recognition would certainly increase the overall experience, I now know it isn't necessary.

There's nothing wrong with being average if one enjoys being average. Some may chide for the lack of ambition, but why should ambition come in for a hobby?

25

As per tradition, once a year, probably around the same day.

It's been a new and very different year. Many many life changes. If I were to reflect, I could see many things that I may have done better.

But I also see many things that I have done well, and give my thanks for.

This year, having just returned from overseas, I would like to state how much I love my country. Even from high up in the air, the country is unique. An island just like many in the ocean, yet so distinct from all others. Civilization so well thought out, nice and good-looking roads, street lamps, clear and well thought-out structural planning of land and space. It's really amazing.

I often fall back to how people my age, people from my generation look past all these way too quickly. It is as if they do not appreciate the effort, the thought that goes into putting all of this together. Well, all you had to do is to try to do it yourself before you would clearly understand how difficult all this is and how much effort all this would require.

I rarely travel, but whenever I do, I always felt like people should do it often. It is when you are away from the comforts of home that you realize those comforts do not come easy. Sure, I am a tourist in my own country sometimes, I am confused as to where I am in this urban jungle sometimes, but I am never lost.

Can't say the same about other countries.

It is thus amazing to me, how others could travel oh so often, yet fail to see the beauty that is right before them.

Perhaps it is true that the grass is always greener on the other side. But I guess we have to learn to appreciate the grass that is below our feet. Itchy with lots of creepy crawly they might have, it is not a sight one should take for granted. At least, not in an urban jungle.

After more than a decade spent in neighbourhood schools, I have developed this unreal confidence/cockyness when it comes down to exam. This absolute confidence that as long as I prepared/studied, I would be at least as good as the next guy next to me. And believe it or not, it has really really helped even in exams at the university level. It has always been my strongest weapon, my confidence.

And it has just been utterly shattered just by one module, and so easily at that.

It's the time of the year again! Where I return to this secret? haven to kind of report on my life year by year.

Well, I always say, the lack of posts indicates a happy life. Or perhaps a more correct way to say it is a happy and busy life. After all, there's no need to retreat to a haven if you're advancing on in life right?

I guess that's pretty much what's going on. Busy here and there, happy here and there. No major heartbreaks, no major setbacks. Life seems awesome and one could only hope for more awesome things to come.

Cheers!

To life and... beyond...?

The more they know of my ways, they better they guard themselves against me. Maybe i should have just stuck with a life of secrecy.

Can we really live a life without lies?

I've tried it, I've read about it. In the end what seems to happen more often than not is how people who claims to never lie ( Like I tried to do), just twists their words in a sense that its so vague and subjective that we mislead people into thinking something else.

Purposely.

So whilst a direct lie was never said and done, the intentions behind the partial truths are in a way worse?

But going back to why that happens. Can our every single action really justify our own causes so much so that we are unafraid of letting others know our intentions? Can we proudly proclaim our intentions, our actions to anyone and everyone who wants to hear? Probably not. At least, not in every single situation.

After all, freely giving knowledge always give us a sense of vulnerability. Being humans, I guess that's something we will always avoid?

Then again, would I really be able to live a life without lies? Without malicious intent, just a pure, content life untainted by lies and deception?

A passionate fire that burns quickly to dust or the slow flame that always seem to last.

With anger I would pretty much prefer the fire. Fast, furious and leaving fear in its wake. As if its sole purpose was to scorch its enemy to death, and then fade to nothing but ashes.

With love I want the slow flame. Warmth, welcoming and willing to stay small and silent. It could escalate to a bright burning fire with every little spice, yet cool to its original purpose without any vice. As long as we remember it does not burn without a little fuel, we can keep it on forever.

Yet in life things never go our way.

Anger is instead portrayed by the flame that bursts into outrages with just little bits of agitation, stealthy and lasting with grudges, and hatred fuels its low but omnipresence desires.

Love is instead the passionate fire that burns when lovers first meet, as if they were meant for each other from the beginnings of time, leaving bystanders green with envy. Yet it often burns faster than expected, leaving us puzzled how everything that could seem so right just a while ago, feels so wrong to our ego.

How then could we love like a slow, warmth flame, and hate like a hot, passionate fire?