| Short Stories: Nineteen Hours Ago (By Elise Valentine) |
[14 Nov 2009|01:59pm] |
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On a misty winter afternoon, I prepared to settle down in my reasonably-priced studio apartment with my newly-married husband Mike in Toronto. Kicking our shoes off by the door, I could smell the paint which hadn’t properly dried yet. In front of me was a large modern abstract painting. The double bed on my left hand side stood tensely next to the three-seat herringbone linen sofa, elevated above the rest of the room. The TV hung firmly from the wall bracket, confronting the painting above the sofa.
Something’s weird, I mumbled to no one in particular. At the far left end, a wide floor-to-ceiling window was blocked mournfully behind linen drapery. I could tell that the panels were meticulously handcrafted. What separated the bed and the window were two Victorian period oak wardrobes that I instantly recognised.
The chilling wind blew in when I freed the window, reminding me of the shivering cold I felt from the ceramic-tiled floor. Behind the door there was an open space mini kitchen, where a Haier fridge sat defiantly. A potted ponytail palm grudgingly completed the kitchen’s look.
Within a mere two hours, the room became incredibly messy. It got even worse in the following hours so that it increased the room’s uneasy atmosphere. I was unpacking my clothes when I suddenly found my silver box missing. It was a precious birthday gift from my grandpa. I could hardly believe it! I frantically checked through my luggage as well as Mike’s. I couldn’t bear the thought that I’d just lost something I’ve been taking care of for so long. Within a few minutes my panic escalated.
‘Where is it?’ I shrieked, looking in all possible directions. Mike gazed at me bewilderedly.
I squirmed. I felt that a part of me had suddenly gone missing. I made a swift recollection of the day. The last time I’d laid my hands on the silver box was precisely eighteen and a half hours ago. It was when I’d made sure the box was carefully placed inside my luggage. I triple-checked the luggage before we checked out of the hotel and took a taxi to London Heathrow Airport.
‘Was it you?’ I snapped at Mike, thinking I was losing my mind.
I did all I could to regain my composure when I felt a glossy object underneath my right foot. At that moment I collapsed and burst into tears. It was a picture of Rachel and me posing merrily in front of our house.
Rachel was my half sister, but we argued in the past over our grandma’s death and drifted apart. Maybe it was a sign, I thought.
I sniffed miserably and took a closer look at the photo. All of a sudden I recovered and felt tempted to take a leap, and bury my stubbornness.
After quickly engaging in a mental calculation, I realized it was nearly midnight in England. Never mind, go ahead with it, I encouraged myself. Before dialling Rachel’s number, I brewed a mug of calming jasmine green tea for myself and prepared what I was going to say. Okay, I’m ready for this, I muttered.
‘Hey Rachel, It’s me Sophie. I…I…’ I wanted to go straight into it and avoid any possible awkwardness, but I stuttered.
‘Sophie? Wow, is it really you?’ It felt good to hear her soft voice again and it brought back memories of home.
‘I found an old photo of us while I was looking for my silver box.’ My eyes landed on the icy glass table in front of me.
‘Really?’ She seemed distracted. I cringed at the thought of her being unconcerned, when Mike thoughtfully put on my favourite song How Does It Make You Feel by Air into the DVD player. But the gloomy sound of it saddened me.
‘Are you alright?’ I asked, sipping my tea. Oddly enough, the tea tasted bitterer than ever.
She sighed almost simultaneously, ‘Sophie, I have to tell you something.’ I held my breath. Tell me something? Tell me what? Tell me that she no longer loves me because I didn’t keep in touch in previous years? Tell me that she’s already moved on and doesn’t feel like dragging up old memories? My response would be no, no and no. This is unacceptable, Rachel, can’t you realize that? I was considering all of these possibilities and more when she said, ‘It’s about grandpa.’
She sobbed. ‘Poor grandpa…he died yesterday…nineteen hours ago.’ I gasped and wanted to cry. ‘I…’ was all I could manage before darkness enveloped the room and the phone went dead on that dreary Sunday evening.
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| Short Stories: I’m Sorry (By Elise Valentine) |
[13 Nov 2009|05:54pm] |
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On a sunny spring afternoon, I flew from England to Canada with my newly-married husband Jamie. Our luggage was fully packed. It carried all our clothes and shoes, most importantly, my precious silver box. I couldn’t bear the thought that my box was left behind in a cold room, covered with dust for whoever would found it out some year later.
As soon as we settled down in Toronto, I decided to confront Sophie and call her at a perfect time in an evening on Sunday, which was nearly midnight in England. Before I dialled her number, I brewed myself a mug of green tea. Sitting down in my comfy sofa, I thought I was mentally ready for this.
‘Hey Sophie, It’s me Chloe!’ I smiled so big as though she could see me.
‘Hi Chloe, how are you?’ Her voice indicated her weariness. I could always tell.
‘I’m great. Sorry to be calling so late. The time difference really sucks.’ I grabbed the fluffy cushion towards me, wondering what she was doing at that moment.
‘Not at all, I’m glad you called. We stopped talking to each other since finishing uni, which was like a year ago or so.’ She whined.
‘Yeah, I’ve been moving quite a lot lately due to work. The company I worked for wanted to transfer me to a different department which located in Canada. So here I am.’ I took a sip of tea.
‘Oh my God, you moved to Canada? Wow! That was quick.’ Had everything been normal, Sophie would have been in touch with me and kept track of where I was. Now, despite knowing Jamie well, she didn’t even seem to know much about my situation.
‘Absolutely, considering the fact that we’ve already moved a few times while in England.’ I sensed that neither of us would acknowledge that we had huge knowledge gaps about each other’s lives, merely within a year.
The early spring wind blew in, chilling me a little. I tried to block out the thought that Sophie and I had no common topics anymore. So I walked towards the DVD player, just to buy some time to think of any topics. I put Beethoven’s music into the disc when Sophie began asking: ‘do you still have your empty silver box with you, or have you totally said goodbye to your childhood?’ Good question, I thought.
‘Don’t be silly Sophie, you know me too well to answer a question like that.’ I giggled. Little did she know that the silver box had found its belongings. I continued enthusiastically all of a sudden: ‘You know how people design their scrapbooks? Now my ‘‘scrapbook’’ is my silver box.’ I announced proudly. Oddly enough, my green tea tasted sweeter.
‘How? I mean it’s not a book.’ I was glad she asked. She sounded almost as excited as me, confirming her curiosity over my life.
‘Well, it doesn’t function like a book, but it’s a very useful container. Do you still remember the letters Jamie and I used to write each other?’ I didn’t wait for an answer, as I was sure she would listen attentively just like old times, ‘Yes. Those are the kind of things I collect now, from anything like letters and photos to small gifts he bought me.’ I almost clapped for myself, seriously.
‘Brilliant! Such a wonderful idea Chloe.’ She laughed. It was so nice to hear her call my name again. I wanted to hug her for that.
‘I knew you would like it. That box had been empty for too long, you know. Speaking of which, how’s your pond doing so far? I remember it was no longer empty when your grandpa moved in and he used to take care of it so well.’ I tried to picture her grandpa’s face.
She sighed almost simultaneously, ‘Chloe, I have to tell you something.’
I held my breath. Tell me something? Tell me what? Tell me that the pond somehow went empty again? Was it possible? Tell me that there was a severe drought and it destroyed the humid environment for the pond entirely? Tell me that her grandpa had completely given up on the hopeless pond? I was considering all of these possibilities and more when she said, ‘It’s about my family.’
I nearly gasped and asked cluelessly: ‘what happened?’
‘My grandpa…he…he died today.’ She sobbed and I wish we were closer.
‘I…I’m sorry’ was all I could manage before we had a power cut on a bloody Sunday evening.
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| List of Films/TV Series I've Watched Recently |
[13 Nov 2009|05:50pm] |
Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen
The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3
G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra
The Talented Mr. Ripley
Kiki's Delivery Service
Les chansons d'amour
Howl's Moving Castle
Whisper of the Heart
Murmur of the Heart
My Neighbor Totoro
Revolutionary Road
La belle personne
Sophie's Revenge
Angels & Demons
The Tournament
Drag Me to Hell
The Ugly Truth
The Other Man
Public Enemies
Fast & Furious
A Time to Kill
Quid Pro Quo
The Proposal
The Reader
Feng sheng
Surrogates
Orphan
Class
Up
How I Met Your Mother
Flash Forward
The Mentalist
South Park
Family Guy
One Piece
Dollhouse
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| Should We? |
[12 Nov 2009|10:16pm] |
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Do we really love the people we think we love? Do we really love them as much as we think we do? Do we love them unconditionally? Would we sacrifice anything for them? If they ever hurt us, would we be revengeful? Would we forgive them no matter what? Would we still love them even if they don’t love us anymore? Would we be grateful? Should we let them go? Do we still see them? Is it possible?
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| Movies I'm Going to Watch |
[06 Nov 2009|03:25pm] |
The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus
The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn
The House Of Sand & Fog
The Invention of Lying
Alice In Wonderland
Jennifer's Body
The Stepfather
Daybreakers
Next Day Air
Pandorum
The Road
The Box
Spread
Legion
Avatar
2012
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