High High Jagga: 2017

Sunday, September 17, 2017

Best Anime Series

I am attempting to step into the world of anime. I did not know where to start. For this, I needed help.

So, who is better to turn to than my trusted 'little brother', Google?

I typed 'Top recommended anime' into the search bar and clicked the top-most website on the result page.

Number 1 spot surprisingly for me was Death Note. As of today, 7.30am, it was recommended at 68, 862 votes.

Dragon Ball Z and Dragon Ball (although I have yet to know the difference between the two), takes slightly lower spot on the list at number 6 and 32, respectively. To be honest, I thought the two would take a higher level than this.

Pokemon takes spot number 26. But let's be totally and brutally honest here. If it wasn't for the ever viral Pokemon Go application, the anime would probably be somewhere lower than the result.

It wasn't a few days ago, I think when I typed Samurai X into an anime website I frequent and failed to find the anime my sister and brother used to watch years ago. When I scrolled into the list of ranked anime, I found a familiar name. It turns out, Samurai X wasn't called Samurai X everywhere in the world. It's called Rurouni Kenshin. So I went back to the anime website I frequented again and found the said anime. I could not be any happier. On a side note, Rurouni Kenshin takes the number 28 spot on the list.

Any other recommendations for an anime newbie to watch? Please let me know. Drop your comments below, no matter what year you read this in. Thank you.

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

The missing sock

Hi there! Meet me and my partner. We’re socks! We are white in colour, and our job is to warm our master’s feet and to protect his feet when he wore shoes. Our home was in a clear transparent plastic package before our master bought us from the store. We were washed when he took us home and worn with his running shoes. Our master cleaned us fairly often. When he sees us getting grey with dirt, he puts us in the laundry to wash.

It was raining one night. Our master had sent his other socks to the laundry and he only had us to keep his toes warm. So there we stay on his feet when he went to bed. We were very happy to do the honour of keeping his feet from the bitter chill of the downpour air of the tropics.

Soon the rain stopped. Our master’s foot isn’t cold anymore. Slowly we felt his foot getting warmer and we felt ourselves started soaking the sweat. Our master was getting restless. He was getting uncomfortable. He was tossing and turning in bed. He reached for my partner and peeled her off his feet and threw her away in the dark. Unable to do anything, he peeled me off his feet as well and threw me across the room where I landed in the dark corner of a dresser.

I hated it there. I felt lonely. I was alone. I wanted my partner with me just as we had so many days together. A spider decided to spin its web on me, stretching it to the dresser. I didn’t know how many days had passed since that unfortunate night. The spider web had collected some dust and the spider was gone. It had decided to abandon it probably. Once, I heard my master call out to his father whether he’d seen me around because he can only found my partner. He knows I’m missing! Sometimes I saw glimpses of my master’s shadow fell over me and I will with all my heart that he’d see me here. But he never noticed.

More days had passed since. I was getting anxious. Most people will throw away the single sock when they can’t find the other. I was scared my master might throw my partner away if he couldn’t find me. What would become of me then? I’d end up in the landfills with other garbage and rotten trash. Then one day, I heard the sound of the floor being swept. I heard the sound of furniture being dragged across the floor from its place so the tight space under and around it can be swept clean. I heard it getting nearer. The dresser was then dragged away and I saw my master’s amazed face finding me in such place. He picked me up, beat me against his thigh to clear the dust and puts me in the laundry basket.

As water and soap wash over me, so does my relief. My master washing me means, he still kept my partner somewhere. I was rinsed, wringed and put on the clothes line where I let the sun dried me. I was white as snow when my master picked me up. When my master sorts the laundry out in his bedroom, he picked up my partner, folds and rolls us together and puts us in his underwear drawer.

The next morning, my master picks us up again and wears us during his routine walks. I was just happy I’m together with my partner again.

Friday, August 18, 2017

Because ordinary failure just wasn't enough

Friday, August 4, 2017

Someone who was in my life that I miss

At first, I can’t decide if I wanted to publish this post. I have been keeping this to myself for quite a few years. When writing this post, telling one story might reveal another. But in the end, I decided to be professional and publish this post. This is a story of forbidden love. I won’t use his real name here, so I’ll change it to Mr First Love.

Ever since I went to school in KK, I learnt from my friends that first loves aren’t necessarily your first boyfriend. That’s true though. I met Mr First Love at his workplace. Nineteen years my senior, he’s not my first boyfriend, but he was never my boyfriend either. He’s just someone who’s so dear to me. Who would have thought that I would fall for him so much when I first met him?

I have spent so much of my time after school with Mr First Love. When I don’t feel like going to school, I went and hang out with him, coming home in late afternoon. Even when I was sick with menstrual cramps, I’d hold the pain in and ride the stuffy bus to his workplace. We would just talk and talk endlessly.

It seemed like there’s an unspoken agreement that we’ll only be each other’s best friends and not more. So we talked about the two women he dated, about the boys I liked but didn’t like me back; we talked about his workplace and I talked about my school; we talked about our families and our homes. When I’m in doubt, I’d ask him for advice; we exchange jokes; we exchange experience; he told me such amusing stories of the two women he dated. I really enjoyed our time together.

But then during those times together, I fell in love.

I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell anyone. He’s the only person I loved who I kept in secret. I want to keep him and all my feelings for him all to myself.

Mr First Love occupied my mind. When I’m in class, when I eat, when I drink, before I went to sleep and when I wake up. It was safe to say that in every breath I breathe, he was always in my mind. I can’t help but wonder if he thought of me the same way as well. I can’t help but wonder if he could possibly fell in love with me as I had fall in love with him.

I guess the relationship between us was too casual. One day Mr First Love revealed to me, through a picture he set as wallpaper in his phone, he’s dating another woman. That takes the count of the women he dated to – three? I got jealous. I was right there, in front of him, for almost a year. Yet he didn’t date me. I swallow my envy and asked him how he got to know her? He tells me everything without sparing any details aside. Once or twice, he let slip of how in some ways I am better than her. That made me felt good. I told him I didn’t believe him, but in the frown I displayed, there’s a relief knowing how he thought of me.

I asked Mr First Love why he didn’t pick me to be his girlfriend. I gave him a look of mock jealousy, when what I truly want is to show him how jealous I truly feel. He told me that he did want me. But he cared about me too much. He wanted to protect me from anyone who wants to hurt me should they find out I’m in a relationship with him. Looking back at the time now, I realised that he also meant he can’t trust himself not to hurt me as well. We can’t be in a relationship together because he’s such a player of women’s heart that he might one day inevitably hurt me.

That’s when I realised he had feelings for me too.

One day, I got myself a boyfriend. Then I stopped being friends with Mr First Love. He called me and texted me a few times, probably because he missed me, but I didn’t answer or reply. When we met face to face at his workplace, he gave me a mild look of resentment and accuses me of forgetting him now that I had a boyfriend. But that’s not the case. I just can’t be around him, feeling what I felt. He both made and breaks my heart. Soon, he stopped calling. Soon, he stopped texting.

There were times, over the years after that, where I thought about Mr First Love, wondering how he’s doing. For the past months so far, I have been missing him so much. My random scribbling had been about him, my daydream always had him in the background. Maybe because our friendship ended so abruptly, we haven’t had any closure.

I made a promise that I’d tell Mr First Love one day. Writing about this gave me a sense of relief. As if a weight had been lifted off my shoulder, I felt a little better now. One day, I’ll meet him, just me and him alone to talk about what happened in the past. We both deserve a better closure than we had all those years ago.

(Dear Mr First Love, Happy birthday)

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

After someone has experienced terrible suffering, they no longer think about what kind of person they are... They only think about the kind of person they must become...

Sunday, July 23, 2017

Your worst battle is between what you know and what you feel

Post your selfies for YOU. Doll up for YOU. Take naps for YOU. Eat good food for YOU. Make YOU happy. Who the fuck are "they"?

Saturday, July 22, 2017

I hope I never get tired of the night sky, of thunderstorms, of watching cream make galaxies in my coffee. I hope I never grow to be someone who can no longer see the small beautiful things.

There are four things in this life that will change you. Love, music, art, and loss. The first three will keep you wild and full of passion. May you allow the last to make you brave. - Erin van Vuren

Friday, July 21, 2017

She's been through Hell and came out an angel. You didn't break her, darling. You don't own that kind of power. - BMM Poetry

Thursday, July 20, 2017

One of the hardest things you will ever have to do, my dear, is to grieve the loss of a person who is still alive.

Friday, July 14, 2017

Cats sleep anywhere, any table, any chair, top of piano, window-ledge, in the middle, on the edge - Eleanor Farjeon

Sunday, July 9, 2017

Bake me a cake I can throw to your face!

Friday, June 9, 2017

Microscopic picture of a butterfly wing

(Source: Pinterest)

Thursday, June 8, 2017

Sometimes my head makes shit up that scares me

How to save your heart

SHOULD

never expect

never demand

never assume

KNOW

your limits

where you stand

your role

DON'T

get affected

get jealous

get paranoid

JUST

go with the flow

stay happy

Monday, June 5, 2017

The reason why I write, by Julie Martinez

There was once a boy, and this boy had the kind of laugh that kept me up at night with the uneasy thoughts of ambivalent desire I had for him.

He had the kind of half-hearted smile that showed only half of him was there, and the other part was elsewhere.

He had the kind of voice that was thick enough to spread across each hole in my Heart and mend it.

He had the kind of eyes that lit up with the pronunciation of each beautiful word that came out of his mouth.

And his hands, oh his hands; he had the kind of hands that were widespread enough to carry my soul with him, and calm my own quivering hand.

This boy was the boy I carried with me everywhere I went.

I carried him in my heart, and I carried him in my transparent smile, I carried him in my lost eyes and remorseful soul.

I carried him in every tear that dropped from my sad eyes, and I carried him in every tremble of my voice, and every tear in my laugh.

I carried him in every thought that travelled my mind, and every word that never escaped my mouth.

I carried him in every word I ever said, and in every beautifully written work of art I ever wrote.

Yes, behind every word I ever typed, there he was again, hidden in every deep sentiment of every deep thought.

This boy was a part of me, he was in me, attached to me.

I had to succumb to his languish affection.

I gave him my head, and he turned it away.

I gave him a piece of it, I gave him the whole thing, and he still turned it away.

I spoke words of genuine, and kind thought to him, and he turned me away yet again.

This is the story of my bitter-sweet love for a boy whom I carried with me (everywhere), but who turned down my ready heart.

This is the story of a boy who's lovely words manipulated my soft heart, and twisted it into a story of pity.

This is the story of a girl who cried for a boy, so desperate for his love.

This is the story of a girl who listened to the rain which reminded her of the boy she cried for.

Oh this story, this well written, unplanned story, is filled with sad extremes and uneasy feelings as the boy took her love for granted, and he took it for granted, and he took it for granted.

I loved him.

Oh I loved him with every ounce of flesh and bone in my body.

I loved him so much that I could no longer contain it inside of me, and had to pour out my love into these words and sentences that have him hidden in every passage.

I loved him so much that my heart shrivelled away and my mind became consumed with thoughts of only him.

I could no longer contain it, and I had to write, and my love that I once had for him, became the new-found love I now have for my writing.