A Peaceful settlement.... continued


For a moment so still, it seemed like one at the crossroads considering options. In this case it was two persons, and the event of the scrub brush “to ask or not to ask”. Certainly not so much for Leah as it was for Eve. As the former went away that day to continue on her toilet floors, she wondered about a friendship. In the Rosemary the girls are continually surrounded by people. They smile at the love birds and stare from behind doors at the celebrities. What stories the French or Chinese bring, or the polite nods from Japanese, they embrace interestedly and dream about. But they are selfish with these dreams. Quite unlike other young girls who chirp and twitter long into the night, it’s silent for Eve and Leah. Telling out dreams would simply vaporize them. But while music and morning walks and breakfast cooked encourage dimensional crossings via the mind, the morning walks end, music becomes the cook’s crisp instructions and breakfast is digested.

This night at 9p.m, having prepared rooms 502 and 511 for guests due to arrive the next day and leaving a stalk of primrose on the pillows, Eve paced her own. It was a simply furnished bed-sit with cream-washed walls and no television (because television kills romance). Perhaps the only remarkable items were two framed pieces of painting hung up side by side above the two- seater. One shows the back-view of a young girl tip-toeing looking out of a window but only being able to see some red brick wall. This brick wall continues down into the alleyway where it is home to a family of cats and some dancing brown leaves, which is what the second work of art depicts- that, and the opened window from the upper storey with a small part of a girl’s head in view. Eve liked to imagine from the two paintings. She also liked to rearrange the furniture in the bed-sit. Tonight, she did no such thing. After flipping restlessly through her book, Eve laid it down with a sigh and went to sleep.

There was unrest in The Rosemary the next day. The paperboy had dashed into the motel crying, “Accident! There has been an accident!” It was fatal, it seems. At about spring every year, a pair of siblings makes it to the Rosemary B& B together. In their early 30s, Missy Prindaville is due to be married in August. Adrian is still single. It was a pact between them that for 5 years and without fail, they would take time off from work to spend “family time”. Being orphaned from young, they were affectionate towards each other and like family to the motel staff. Adrian came primarily to ride his horse. Horse was purebred and entered in competitions. But having suffered an ulcer that took 6 months to heal and that later became a keloid in his left buttock, Horse henceforth lost his material worth and the owner let it graze in the orchards. This was until Adrian came along and loved it to its palm-sized flaw. This morning however, Horse did not successfully leap over the trunk in the brook and Adrian went in head- first, breaking his neck instantaneously.

Missy Prindaville wept and mourned at the funeral, said she would be back every spring. But for now she had to return to the city for her wedding. The Rosemary too had to go on as before, for though deeply saddened by the demise of one of their much loved patrons, Adrian was after all only a patron. Eve and Leah were the biggest hit. Eve felt like the little girl in the painting, and death was the red brick wall, certain and hard. This wall obscured all that was beyond and Eve blamed herself for not being able to know more. These feelings had not, however, obscured her observations of the other young girl who had taken to writing music late into the night. Eve hears the humming and scratching sounds of pencil on paper when she crosses the hall to use the toilet. Despite the late nights, the kitchen hand’s work did not suffer. The cooking and eating area was always without grime and now that some cooking jobs were left to her, the fragrance of eggs and bacon seasoned with pepper continued to raft in The Rosemary. But if Leah was once upon a time polite to Eve, she now didn’t see her.

One late January morning, when the autumn leaves had started to gather and part for the fairies’ crossing, the girls once again came to face with each other with a little more than a perfect courtesy. It all happened when Eve stepped past Leah’s room and the latter was not around. The door was ajar and Eve could see that the wind had started to blow the transcripts loose on the table and onto the floor. She quickly ran in to prevent more mischief from being done. Having placed a paperweight on the papers and set the panes firmly down, she turned to leave but jolted when she saw Leah standing at the door frame.
“ Your papers…”
“ yes, thank you. I rushed up here when I realized my carelessness.”
“Alright then. They’re safe.” Eve smiled shyly as she stepped past Leah. Until she realized the tears coming down the girl’s face.
“This is the music playing in my head the days and nights of the wake and funeral. I couldn’t sleep until I got them on paper. But how do you get rid of the sadness?”
“You don’t. But you know, it’s going to be ok. We can go through this together.” And saying that, the taller girl gave the smaller, sobbing one a hug.

Dear Heavenly Father,

Thank You for Your many promises of blessings. I am thankful that You are my refuge and I can run to You when I am in trouble. I am also grateful that You keep me from the traps of the devil. Lord, I do love You, and I ask that You cleanse my heart from any thing that is not like You. Strengthen me to walk worthy before You and my fellow men. Lord, restore the "fear of the Lord" to Your people today. Lord, forgive us when, in certain areas, we have become too casual about the things of God. Instill in us, Your people, a reverential fear of Your Holy Name and Word. I ask this in Jesus' name. Amen.

Prayer from http://www.bible.com/devotional-detail.php?juli=2454210&dtype=Proverbs on Psalms 109, “The fear of the Lord”

Something about swimming (III)
-Creatures of habit-

I swam in different waters today. Where usually I’d inhabit the third lane from extreme right, I took the centre lane. This part I tip-toed to with trepidation, for even the waters felt colder. This is the lane which dissects the blue rectangle block in half and which many avoid for obvious reasons.
Firstly, it’s a mother’s warning that centre lane is where you will most possibly experience some form of danger and difficulty; cramps, breathlessness or sudden inability or forgetfulness to swim. For the life-guards to get to you, they will have to cut through four lanes a- side, most inadvertently being hindered by several bobbers along the way, and all these essential minutes, only having ascertained it not a prank. Of course, normal swimmers in the neighbour lanes will not even try to rescue you since they are not the mandated life-savers.

Secondly, the kind of swimmers there are harder to assess. Just today, I was doing the usual can’t-look-in-front front-crawl when suddenly I felt some strange inhibition. A palm was placed atop my head by an old man swimmer from the opposite direction to stop me proceeding and banging into him. Quite akin to a policeman signaling “no going ahead” (pun not intended), this was his own way of avoiding collision. Thirdly, centre lane is attention-grabbing. I have memories of the campus pool, where lanes are numbered according to the efficiency of the swimmer. Lane one is fastest, lane ten for those opting for aqua-aerobics aka water walking. Lane five is judgment lane because obviously, if you were a lane six swimmer you were below average. Centre lane is viewed with intensity and interest.

Could these, then, be the reasons for snorting in more water, battling bigger waves and experiencing more jerky motions and strength-less kicks? Is it more pieces of queer pieces of band-aids, dark thread, hair and leaves I see on the pool floor?


Or could it be that I am just a creature of habit- third lane from extreme right, and that only?

Something about swimming (II)
-The head-on collision-

So. swimming takes my breath away. It starts from the kick-off, thoughts of life and its ironies; the seventh lap, the ‘what would I be having for dinner’ question… and… with a “BANG!” “ouch!” I cough , sputter and flail my arms. Do I look back to indicate contrition or intense pain or do I swim off? This time I continue on my way hoping the other person won’t recognize my blue swim suit and matching turquoise goggles. Always expected but unexpected; inevitable and yet trained to avoid, is the nature of collision. There is always the question of who’s at fault. And of course most of the time, I won’t think it’s me. It can’t have been. The other person must know that when you do the front-crawl you look down, and then tilt sideways to get air, not up and ahead.

There’s the nicely plump, middle age auntie in her flower power suit who can’t control her breast-stroke direction; the 7-year old kid in his lesson-explaining-pyjamas, and the sleek snobbish swimmer who should’ve known better. But when auntie murmurs “OI!” in a shouting kind of way, the kid looks up at his coach and points to my direction, and the sleek swimmer is triathlete whose timing I’ve apparently ruined, it becomes my responsibility to practice pool safety. No wonder judgment comes from above, when you are not in a position to say who’s wrong. But saying all that, the “sorry” is hard and late. It either comes out in a gurgle or the other has swum away.

When I finally finish the laps and rest at the side, still breathing hard and thinking, I ponder that given the natural nature of collision, the only time you may not bump and knock is when you remain like a frog on a lotus leave. Calm and unruffled; undisturbed because uninvolved. Oh is that so? Because even with me clinging to the wall and my back facing the populous, the arm’s stroke of an in-coming swimmer hits me like electricity.


With that, the lotus leaf overturns and the frog plops back into the water.