The Magic Pointer

It was one rainy day (‘not too torrential’ he might say.)
when story- teller walked in
to a bookstore.
there by the counter lain
a shiny (say ‘sparkly’) pen.
but lo and behold it was in fact!
a pen built-in
to the extendable metal pointer.
Surely it’s no power laser nib,
Or reaches 10 feet up to meet your tip
But story-teller likes its independency
A kind of pride- non battery powered.
(‘magic!’, that’s his word.)

For magic it did turn
out,
For the moment he went back home
And closed the door behind him so,
The pointer extended to his wife’s (‘the hag’ he called her)
mid-life stress
and showed the dirty fireplace.
It might as well reveal the thin curtains (rags in fact)
And poor old misty, the pregnant cat.
He shook his head as she approached him
“dear”
“ We’ve run out of baked beans”
“it’s not my fault”
“there’s only bread”
“for us both”
Story-teller gazed (like in a daze)
His magic pointer quivered safely
In his warm gloved hand.

He didn’t stay long, for next moment
he turned
And strode right out of home.

He was smug,
the magic pointer did work.
The magic pointer perhaps could do his work!
Story-telling was his forte,
twenty-seven solid years
That is what bought his bread.
But he quivered now,
from cold.
The pointer pointed to where it went
To the vagabond on the street
And the rich man’s stride ('a dollar sir?')
To each he felt dumb disdain
For his lips, too cool to speak.
His hands, too numb, from cold
Dropped the pointer when he tried
To twirl, to spin a yarn.

As it fell the pointer nib turned to face
The face of him.
An immediate dismay befell,
When he realized what great story
He had to tell.
So as people start to gather round,
The man used his shame to entertain.

As soon as he was done,
Story-teller fell and died.
The magic pointer rolled into
the dispersing crowd,
Picked up by a child of nine-
Later as we are to know,
Stabbed his baby sister in the toe.

Not meesing in action

All trail mix and cliché chat

This is probably going to be the second and last time I write in this manner, first time was the introduction to onerottenorange and which turned out, well, to become more a book and play review than anything else. I can’t put a point across without the use of fiction and metaphors, it seems. But hopefully this job transition/ crossroad intersection/midlife crisis gives good reason to talk earnest and make cliché chat.

I’ve just come back from Perth which people know that I always think about and speak with a degree of fondness. The grass IS greener there and softer too. It makes fertile ground for dreams to come true, even if the gulls do S.O.Y. But with this visit, I found that I was happily nonchalant to be emotionally removed from the place. No, it is not a repetition in the former statement. I was happy to be unaffected by my unaffected feelings towards Perth. Not that she no longer attracts or inspires me like my boyfriend still does, but that reliving or trying to relive old experiences is no more a must.

For all you who laugh at me, you pretend that you do not try to relive good O’ times. It is possible that because you don’t succeed in doing that that you return to clichés for comfort.

So as I was saying, I found that the moment I could let go this necessity, I immediately shared more present moments with people- both new and old friends, young and OLD friends. They provided some insights to me which when you pack into a suitcase, looks like a big sack of jolly trail mix.

1. Celebrating small victories. Two years since graduation is not a terribly long time as compared to erm say… 25 years since birth. But it is nonetheless significant enough for many. With our testimonies of struggles undergone and some still present, it has only magnified the need for God in our lives. Some issues remain unresolved. But I know that my God will make us whole in spite of that. Celebrating small victories may then mean returning back to our mustard seed faith that God is good.
2. Not to fear aging. ALL My friends look better with time.
3. Evangelism has got to go on.

Fourth but not very lastly, there is a sense of continuity. It is somewhat like the installment of the Harry Potter book never being the last. Many and I thought coming back to Singapore meant the point of no return (to perth). This may not be so----


If the migration point system does not increase again, thank you very much.

In God we continue to trust.