err once

paper, we tear apart ,

and one whole book become a piece

of parched blank parchment,

thirsting for her fountain

ink pool

Yet, parched,

crackling with a delicate crispness

fragile sheets ,

white

as old bones,

sway with the air

down

to the dirt

or wooden floor,

freckled age spots.

err once,

when it not time

as if a marble

atop a vessel

cruising mid-ocean

once sunk

forever lost...

- 2 -

Once, I was assigned a drawing homework in Primary 3, and obsessed as I was with perfection, I sketched an immaculately drawn artpiece obviously man-made in terms of the fruits' arrangement and positioning. My still life is literally a still life. Its stiffness and rigidity couldnt have beaten any other. Having finished the masterpiece, I ran up to my dad to earn his praise. Instead, he glanced over at my painting , tossed it aside, and sat me down on a table with a fresh sheet of plain paper. 'Watch.', he said, flatly. So I watched, as his nimble grubby fingers of an ex-mechanic maneuvered and skated black crayon atop the pale sheet. As the pastel danced, shapes materialized, one after another before I could realize it - finally, a basket of tropical fruits with a backdrop of bamboo sheets. As he proceeded to sketch the pineapples' scales, the orange's rough , dotted texture, and the bamboo sheet's plaited structure, I protested vehemently about his 'careless' dotting of the fruits, and lining of the textures. He frowned and stared me down as he said : nothing in this world is perfectly aligned. A lot of things, are random. And that, is art.

'But i want a perfect art piece!', I insisted.

'This is far from perfect! My drawing reflects myself - it had to be perfectly aligned !!!'

With a huge sigh , he gazed at me and spoke.

'Nothing in this world is perfect , but one.'

'What is?', i challenged.

'You are. ', he waited , ' I am. '

'But i cant play the piano..I cant...you wont let me learn, so i cant....'

'We all are imperfect in our terms and conditions,' he quipped, ' but we need to know one thing. We are indeed perfect. But we cant see it sometimes.You know why?'

'Why?'

'Because God never make a mistake. We are all perfect designs. Our lives, are perfectly fine as it is if we just try our best. But to see that, you need to first accomplish one very critical requirement.'

'That being...?'

He smiled a smile I could never dream of seeing again now. Not that I had dared to face him given my present state. ... There is a bitter laughter which I felt choking up my throat. I felt like laughing - but airy tears seem to well up my eyes, fogging my glasses as I thought of my imperfections. No, not yet . I have not finished living. To me, I am still too far, much too far from achieving perfection. But deep inside, maybe I am too afraid to acknowledge this.

Am I ready yet ?

If only I try to give it a go, is it possible that I could be ready?

But I am too scared , still, to give it a go. With hours left to count, should I try to accept defeat, or see death as defeat at all? I had always wanted to ask him this, directly, face to face, just for the sake of hearing his answer. Dad...have you ever regretted your 'perfect' life? Have you ever wished you are somewhere else, with somebody else but Mom and us?

'But first, you must learn to love yourself.'

- 1 -

If you only had 09 days left to live, what would you do ?

Would you travel all around the world ? Eat everything you'd wanted to , played to your heart's content, do the craziest things you've always thought you'd never do ?

Please, be serious.

I am very serious.

What if, you are a meager student not earning much salary.

A self sufficient individual who supported herself through school and life.

With no home to return to, and alone - abroad.

I, had been too occupied to wonder about such things earlier. Nine days earlier, to be precise. There was work. There was money, roof, and food to worry over - although no, I did not worry much. By nature skeptical and laid back, I observe and critique - and when things didnt go well, or become too overwhelming to overcome, I stepped down, and watched. I observe and accept. Maybe I've developed this trait from years of desensitizing myself. Seemed like, my effort to appear to fit in, did succeed after all, to a disappointing degree. I am a product of years of self-oppression and rigid self-regulated control exercise. But I have always been quite contented with what I have. As the scripture has said, I tried my best to be grateful. I have shared and loved. I had more than plenty to give out. Even when the worst seem to have stricken - virtually orphaned and abandoned, with a looming shadow of dread ahead of me, I stopped fighting when I know nothing would change everything. Something will change something at least, so I tried, but only tried and did. I still managed to feel grateful, though a resentful gratitude be it. I amuse and bemuse myself - an attempt at compromise for a survival. I will not do without a smile a day. Smiling hurt - but staring into spaces burned. In a state of transfixed stare, i had instinctively, temporarily held my breath, and for what seemed like an eternal cycle, my heart would slowly freeze into a hard cast of stone - impossibly sturdy to chip off. But at least, I tried to be happy. I was bathing in illusion of elation most of the days. And at least, I can still afford to be grateful, and a graceful attitude I directed to the world.

But 09 days ago, my whole life flopped down - an ugly piece of smashed cheesecake, toppled o'er its throne. What is there, that remain to be admired? No longer a decent sight, not a taste , not a smell. Pure still-life remained - an art piece due to expire soon, before 'the collector' comes to retrieve it, and store it inside its rightful place - the garbage garage.

what could I have done back then, there's no use wondering now, i understand.

But even in its throes of death, a mice will still kick and breathe. I maybe a fool that I still wished, now, resentfully, that i had been a more child like, and a less sceptical being. Thinking now, I cant see my place in this world. Where have I been ? What have I done? Who have I been ? How many times have i called 'enough', when it is not nearly enough?'

More than ever, now, I want more.

Not only the good things,

bad things ,welcome if you will.

I've barely had enough.

I want to go on.