Saturday 17 November 2012

"The Writer"

"A man, who finds struggle in his life, decides to take on writing as a gateway to an alternative life. Little does he know that it is rare to be able to control one's own fate."

Night fell over the bustling city as the wind blew cold through the winding streets. The stars glowed dimly in the clouded skies, but the moon shone bright. Its glow reflected off the puddles of an undying rainstorm, along with the lights of old street lamps. Everyone was pushing their way through a crowded and narrow sidewalk, running to later be embraced by warmth and family. All were in rush, but a lone figure, who strolled leisurely against the herd of stampeding civilians. He was a tall and slender figure, in his mid twenties. He had a messily combed hairstyle and a face of an ordinary man. A man whose whole life struggles came from financial problems. Though he had a home, his life was far from luxurious. You could tell by the paleness of his face, slim with cheekbones protruding out. His grey eyes could have pierced the night just like the moon, but his face lacked motivation, drawing more attention to the lines burrowed into his forehead from stress. His name was Wilfred Serling, a man who couldn’t even spare a dime for his sorrows.
Continuing on his way, Wilfred found little salvation under his broken umbrella. He sighed and took in the scenery. Across the street, he could see the corner shop owner pulling the gates over the store. The woman, who had owned the flower shop, was doing the same. To his left, he saw a homeless man, cuddling with his dog, squeezing and comforting it with his murmurs of hope to a better future. Wilfred sighed once again, rummaging through his pockets for a dollar bill to hand out. As much as he may have needed it in the future, the stranger was in much greater need. Through their exchange, Wilfred gathered the effort to have made a heart warming smile, a seldom act. Perhaps, the day that he ended up on the streets as well, another stranger would hopefully do the same for him.
Turning back to his destination of home, Wilfred got soaked by a speeding car, whose path came across a deep puddle of dirty street water. He groaned and thought to himself sarcastically that life could not get any better. Drenched in rain and the water from the ground, Wilfred finally arrived home. He stood at the doorsteps, gazing up to find concrete steps awaiting him. Struggling towards the top he began fumbling for his keys. His home was a single room occupancy in a Victorian style building. As he walked briskly to his suite door, he could hear the distant yells of the landlord forcing another tenant to pay up. Locking the door behind him, Wilfred peered into his room. It was dark and dingy, with telephone and internet wires lining the walls. To the left of the entrance, the kitchen displayed a two ring stove with soon to be collapsing cupboards. Ahead of him, a small window with a crusted cream curtains poorly illuminated the typewriter along with the brass banisters of his single bed.  He was tired and only wanted to sleep, so he stripped of his street clothes and dived to his bed.
Dazed of the long night, Wilfred scratched his head the next morning and looked up to the circle clock hung near his typewriter. He chuckled; did he really need to worry about the time? He was jobless and friendless, after all. He went around to doing his normal morning routines, but decided to try something new. He would write a story, a gateway to an alternative life, about a different man who found love and lived a comfortable lifestyle. He smiled at the thought and stretched his arms out. He plopped on his wooden chair and began on his typewriter.
  “There once was a man who lived in a perfect world, who lived a perfect life and who found a perfect love. This is the story as to how a man found happiness of a lifetime through love at first sight. It had all began with a walk in the park. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. This man, who went by Wilfred Serling, happened to be at the right time at the right place. Smiling to himself, he walked through the park trail, going with the wind, continuing until the fateful moment that he had bumped into another passer-by. He turned around to apologize, but his words were lost. She was a beautiful redheaded woman. Her eyes beamed bright brown as the autumn leaves, and her lips were the very same red as her pea coat.”
Wilfred, who awed in his own writing, could almost imagine the woman in front of him. He longed for his perfect girl to show up in reality too. He frowned and threw on his jacket. He decided to go for a walk in the very park he wrote about. Maybe, he could find the girl of his dreams?
Upon arriving at the local park, he decided to circle the perimeter of the park once. He had figured that it was no use waiting for an imaginary person to show up. Disappointed by his own self and the harshness of reality, he stared at his feet and kicked pebbles strayed from the side of the road. He was getting in rhythm and almost amused at his fun little game when he had suddenly bumped into someone else. He looked up in embarrassment and hurried to apologize. Who he had saw made him lost for words. It was the woman as described in his story, her flowing red hair with bright hazel eyes. She even had the same perfect complexion with her red lipstick matching her overcoat. Both stuttered for an apology, more so, Wilfred was stunned.
He looked down at his feet, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I must have been so caught up-.”
He was cut off by the sound of laughter, she smiled, “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I guess I’ll be off now.”
            She ran off, later to be escorted by another gentlemen. Wilfred looked wistfully at the happy couple as they clung tightly in the frosty weather. Staring into the sky, he groaned. Of course it wasn’t a coincident that he had saw her, it was just God’s way of mocking him of his misery. In his anxiety, Wilfred decided to go to the local café, a place in which he observed the people as they flocked to life’s daily challenges. It was his source of reassurance, as it showed him that there were others who shared his dilemma.
A walk that only distanced several blocks away dragged time through Wilfred’s mind. His footsteps which were usually of a quiet and soft nature, echoed and rang through his body, almost making him wince at each step he took. Slowly turning his head, he could see the flaps of wings, as a cluster of pigeons took off in front of him. Around him, time had begun slowing, making every second appear as a snapshot to an old style flipbook. Unwary, Wilfred staggered with each passing step, his vision distorted, almost greying to monotone. Honks of cars and buses droned from his senses, which left a deafening high pitch tone to besiege his ears.
“What’s going on,” he panicked.
In attempt to shake off the fatigue, he lightly shook his head, only later to grasp it of a massive headache. He was beyond tired; he had felt that he was dying. Clutching his heart, he gasped for breathe. Could he be having an asthma attack, he wondered. Surely, a false hope from his story along with a short acquaintance could not have caused for such a drastic heartbreak. He reached for the small golden doorknob of the café, and onward, he had felt a sudden jolt of energy, almost as if shocked by a defibrillator. Suddenly, he was regaining consciousness, as his vision and hearing recovered. The sudden change of heart rate made Wilfred clutch his heart once again, he gasped for breathe, frantically turning the knob to find rest in one of the seats. It was a swift movement, but Wilfred collapsed unknowingly into the seating area of another patron. Minutes passed before Wilfred realized what had happened. He bolted up immediately, readying himself to get up to leave after saying his regards. However, the man who sat across smiled and gestured for him to sit. Wilfred grinned, and nodded his head. He returned to his seat and held his hand across for a handshake.
The man, who had a welcoming smile, had just a welcoming voice, “Hello, I couldn’t help, but to notice you looked rather ill? Would you like me to get you some water?”
Wilfred shook his head, “Thank you so very much for the kind offer, but it is best I do not begin mooching my way through others.”
The man chuckled, “Well, alright. Anyways, my name is Devon. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Wilfred replied, “Likewise, my name is Wilfred.”
Wilfred scanned Devon, noting that he was maybe several years older than himself. He was an average height male, with a chiselled face. He had a cleanly shaved head, which had given off sharp characteristics. To add onto his distinct features, he had frameless spectacles, making him look wise for his age as well.
After exchanging introductions, they had found themselves conversing for hours. Wilfred was astonished to find out that Devon had happened to be a published writer.
Wilfred inquired, “Any new work of yours lately?”
Beaming with excitement, Devon claimed, “Why yes, it happens to be that I’m writing a new story, it’s quite interesting. You see, it’s about a young fellow, who finds trouble throughout his life.”
Wilfred smirked in response, “Give that character hell, I guess. He’s only fictional.”
They both broke out in laughter.
Wilfred peeked at his wristwatch and quickly stood up, “It’s getting late and I must be getting home now. I guess I’ll be seeing you around?”
“You certainly will,” Devon replied as he watched Wilfred hurry out the door.
The following day, Wilfred returned to his typewriter. Reading his previous work in discontent, he ripped the paged from its holder. He wanted to start fresh; he did not want to recall the events that led to happen the previous day. He sat, pondering as to what to write. After a session of silence, he decided that wealth proved to be a better topic as love could always end in tragedy. With his ideas plotted out, he began.
“Wilfred Serling, in his mid twenties, is an incredibly lucky man. His story begins with the findings of a winning lottery ticket. At the time, the jackpot was estimated at over fifty million dollars. Without realizing its great importance in the future, Wilfred tucked the ticket in his wallet with great care regardless. Stowed away in his pocket, Wilfred decided to go for a stroll, going out to the corner store to check its possible earnings.”
Wilfred leaned back and read over his work.
“Now what,” he asked, “he wins all the money in the world, and I write about his endless great adventures?”
Wilfred paused to think. He tore out the paper from its holder once again, and threw it to the ground. He wasn’t sure what to write, maybe it was time he seek Devon for help. He decided to pay a visit to the local café a second time.
Locking the door of his suite, he noticed a piece of crumbled paper kicked aside the dusty baseboard of the hallway. Zipping up his jacket, he cautiously walked towards it, slowing bending down to pick it up. He delicately unfolded the paper, hysterical to his findings. It was a lottery ticket. Could it be that what he writes becomes of his dull reality? Hastily, he crumbled the ticket into his wallet and ran to the coffee shop. Bursting through the door, he saw Devon remain reading in the same spot.
Devon, Devon! You wouldn’t believe what’s going on! What I write is reoccurring in my life. Look, I wrote how I found a lottery ticket and guess what I found? A lottery ticket,” Wilfred, opened his wallet to show the crumbled ticket.
Devon put down his book and glanced up, “There’s nothing in your wallet?”
Wilfred looked into this wallet, disappointed feeling the lump in his throat, “But I put it away, it must have flown out somehow?”
Frowning, Devon patted Wilfred, “I’m sorry to hear about your loss.”
Wilfred drooped down to his seat, “I could have possibly won fifty million dollars.”
Devon sighed and leaned back quietly. Wilfred was soon to follow the same actions.
Almost instantaneously, he got back up and headed to the door, “I think I’m going to go home and sulk now.”
Devon managed to suppress a small smile, but his voice cracked, “Aw, cheer up, my friend. Life will turn around soon, hopefully.”
It had been weeks since Wilfred left his home in search of Devon. He had dedicated his new found life to rewriting a new one. By trial and error, no matter how simple his story deemed, it would consistently end opposite to its glory and purpose. Whether it was as simple as having the bus come on time or the taxi driver being friendly, his reality would twist his words to the exact opposite, changing the bus to come early, but only to signal that it was out of service or that the taxi driver was friendly at first, only to later con him of more cash, circling the city pretending to be lost. Through all of Wilfred’s work and what he had hoped would become a “gateway to an alternative life,” it had only lead to more dismay and agony. Wilfred was sick of the same results, repeating over and over again. It was time he would visit Devon again.
For once, Wilfred felt happy, happy that he could see an old friend once again in the same place as if nothing happened. Devon who was reading stacks of papers, glanced up to see Wilfred walk by the window.
He smiled and greeted him with open arms, “It has been so long since we have last met!”
Wilfred returned the smile, “I know. I’ve been busy with work. I discovered that I really can change my reality through my writing, but no matter how pleasant I make it, it always ends miserably. I don’t know what to do.”
Devon frowned and scratched his head, “Sit, sit. We must talk, it’s been awhile. I have great news to share to you.”
Wilfred dropped to his seat and leaned forward, “So, what’s new?”
            Devon gleamed, “My story, it’s almost complete. You remember? The poor fellow whose always down on his luck?”
            Wilfred nodded, “So, will I be getting a sneak peek of this new book of yours?”
Devon smirked and looked down his stacks of paper. He flipped through some pages and rearranged them. He looked at Wilfred almost teasingly and handed him the papers. Wilfred reached out for the papers and looked at the front. It was a blank page. Wilfred flipped over the page, reading silently the story portrayed.
            “He was a young boy, who was born and raised in a suburban city. He had loving parents, who had always taken good care of him. Life was fun and happy. Perhaps, more better described as simple, as he was easily satisfied. However, in his adulthood, he strived for more, finding discontent on the ordinary beauties of life. Always, looking beyond his time, never living in the present, never to enjoy what was in front of him all along.”
            Wilfred cocked his head to the side, “May I ask if this is your life story?”
Devon shook his head and nudged him to read further. Wilfred flipped through the next few pages.
            “In the course of his adulthood, he became more solemn. At first he found, joy in his life through the typewriter passed on from earlier generations. He would sit at home and write stories of his childhood, reminiscing of happier times. It had seemed that he felt a longing for what he did not appreciate.”
            Wilfred stared at the words, why did this all seemed like deja vu? He skimmed over more pages, briefly reading over what he had missed.
            “Upon one of his strolls, he bumped into the love of his life. Her locks of hair, flowing red, her eyes glimmering a bright brown, her nose petite and rounded, she was everything he was looking for and although it would be the love of HIS life, he would be merely just a stranger to her.”
            Wilfred squinted at the words; did Devon witness the event from across the park from the café?
            “On a fateful day, this young man did indeed find great riches, riches beyond his wildest dreams. However, upon putting his treasure in his wallet, he did not realize that he had actually brushed it along the side of his wallet, dropping the ticket once again.”
            Wilfred threw the stack of papers on the table, “Is this some kind of joke to you? What do you think you’re doing?”
            Devon looked sternly at Wilfred, not saying anything further. Wilfred glared at Devon and collected the stacks of paper. He flipped through the ending pages and soon found that there was no more resemblance to his life in the story anymore.
            Wilfred stared at Devon, “You replicated my life into this book, and then you later include events that never happened? What’s going on? How come I’ve never seen any of your work before? What’s your full name?”
            Devon returned the stare, sneering maliciously, “Look at the bottom of the last page and you will find your answer. I hoped you liked my story, it’s called, “The Life and Death of Wilfred Sterling.” By the way, I hope you didn’t believe you were rewriting your own life this whole time.”
            Quivering, Wilfred looked through the last page to find Devon’s full name, “D.Evil.” Terror-stricken, Wilfred looked for the last sentence of the page.
            “No use in looking for your demise, I haven’t decided that yet,” as the Devil laughed.  

Tuesday 6 November 2012

LOVE


Love
A meaningless word to the English language
Four letters
Just like the word hate

Love
A devotion to time and fate
An expression of purity and happiness
And a journey or search of a lifetime

Though these are opposite perspectives
My senses tell me something new all together

What do I see?
I see a beautiful girl whose eyes gleam with excitement
With a smile that radiates the dark of night
           
What do I hear?
I hear a laughter that echoes in my head of youthfulness
While her voice is the melodies of angels

What do I feel?
I feel an ache to my heart
Twisting and turning
Wrenched in agony and dismay
But still beating fast
As if in haste to send the message of hope through Morse code

Love
A devotion to time and fate
An expression of purity and happiness
And a journey or search of a lifetime

As much as I want to believe so
I can only wait patiently
Waiting at the border of reaching out
Waiting until a hand reaches to hold mine
Waiting for what I think is love


Friday 28 September 2012

A Plea for the Physical


            In teen culture, there goes a quote that states you only live once. It’s unarguable that the statement is true, but its context goes beyond its general definition.The motivation it brings along, challenges those who live under it to try and strive beyond the average person. However, life should be enjoyed with moderation and balance. This is why I can be considered someone who is physically active, while still maintaining a lazy and sedentary attitude.
            Life is far from sitting at home, waiting for things to change or the clouds to clear up.As BJ Thomas sang, “I’m never gonna stop the rain by complainin’,” it pushes me to step outside, despite the weather. In Vancouver,I love to hang out with friends. Although I’m not particularly sure that my friends favour the idea, I especially love walking in the cold, sightseeing the city. There’s a certain sense of cosiness, when walking about, tightly bundled in layers of clothing. Even if its not outdoors, I try to make sure I get some physical activity done over the week. This can include going to the UBC aquatic centre to work out or swim. Furthermore, it’s when I’m on vacation that I feel that I’ve hit my physical peak. Especially on my trips to Hawaii,am I constantly in motion and moving about. You would never catch me dead,sprawled across the sand with a book at hand. The day plan there is simple,beach all day, shop and walk all night. Anywhere I go, I’m always in attempt to get my heart rate going.
            Nevertheless,I still like to reside at home sometimes on the occasional lazy Sunday or during the winter holiday in Edmonton.As fun as it is to play outside, it is just as relaxing to lie in bed all day.Sometimes, I wish the day would never end, giving me more time to rest or just be indifferent to the outside world. Being alone at home doing nothing also proves to be important. It gives me time to reflect on prior experiences or to allow me to be self aware.
            In my opinion, I find myself more leaned in with the physical. I enjoy going out and doing activities with friends and family. Moreover, I also like to stay at home dazed. I can’t find a particular favourite, but I like the idea that the two attributes can be harmonized.

Having fun in Hawaii

 Having more fun in Hawaii (nailed the landing fyi)

 Just walked the Golden Gate Bridge

Most importantly, hanging out with my friends. 

Sunday 29 April 2012

I Am Bullied


I remember standing along with the others
A small girl rejected
I was hiding
I ask myself, why?
It wasn’t the first time this happened
In fact, it happened on a daily basis
Tears flowed down her eyes
I ask myself, why?
The young girl was the same as you
She had feelings
She was a human
The only difference is
All the sorrow and frustration is hand cuffed to her 

Explanation:
This poem is narrated by the victim who conveys the message directly to the reader. The intentions are to expose the true feelings of how the bullied feels. This is shown by the way the girl is neglected and disregarded by her peers. In an act of doubt, she emphasizes the emotions by describing herself as the third person. 

This poem was created by the "Witness" section of the article.

Tuesday 17 April 2012

Digital Chapter Summary

In the final chapter of “The Chrysalids,” David, Rosalind and Petra are greeted by the beauty and serene of New Zealand. Throughout their stay, Petra learns to better understand the thought-shapes which allow her, as a character, to develop more maturely and understandingly. With the great power, many of the population pay respect to Petra and rely on her wisdom. As a token of appreciation, the group of David, Rosalind and Petra live lavish lifestyles. However, as dependency becomes the norm, responsibility becomes an essential trait that Petra must pick up. As Petra grows older, soon her powers begin to fade, beginning with the loss of connection with the others in Waknuk. In response, Petra sends out waves of distress throughout the city unaware of her actions. Though the remainders of the group become unreachable, the lives of David, Rosalind and Petra continue. The Characters of this chapter consist of the three figures. Though the chapter is still narrated by David, we thought Petra should be the main component to this chapter as we felt the need to find a good conclusion as to how she is dealt with in New Zealand. As for David and Rosalind, they played a minor role, as their lives would be considered the norm, at last, in this telepathic city. The motif used in this chapter was “lack of personal freedom.” We had used this due to the characters’ experiences of hardship and requirement of concealing their identities which change for the better in their arrival to this new city. Keeping in mind that Petra has become a role model, we knew we had to keep the final chapter in New Zealand. Though we held little regard for the remaining telepathics, we still wanted leeway for the reader to further imagine. 

Digital Chapter




Monday 26 March 2012

Tribulation

Tribulation, the word feared amongst both religious and atheist people. Due to the sins and greed that has controlled our society of today; God had decided to punish us for these horrible deeds. Controlling what’s left of the natural environment against us. Draughts in where there shouldn’t be. Floods in where water has never known to exist. These were just the examples of the tribulation sent to us by God. Very little of us knew what would be brought upon which caused the wipe out of more than three quarters of the population. What is left lone is the English class of block D. Isolated amongst the forest in UBC, 25 peers and a lone teacher must survive the harsh environments. To the extremes, every block held a different dilemma, whether it was a drastic change in environment or weather. Thankfully, due to the central position of the English class, the 25 students were well protected from the harsh environments outside.
 As the rumbling and howling of the winds slowly started to die, the students began to get curious of what has happened. Slowly gazing out the window, a student is quickly blinded by the blazing light. Covering his eyes with his forearm, he touches the shattered window to find that it was extremely hot. With the room heating up at an alarming rate, the students being to panic. Sprinting out the building, the students find salvation in the forest for it’s’ shade. To their dismay, the forest was burnt to charcoal. The students panted and sighed, catching their breath from the unbearable heat Their hope of salvation was literally burnt to the ground. Quickly they ran off elsewhere until they had decided to scavenge themselves into the local super market. After the short journey they finally approach the automatic doors welcomed by the air conditioning. The students were exhausted and fatigued by the extreme sun. Immediately exploring the aisles, the class found food and water sufficient for their needs. Suddenly the hum of electricity creates a loud boom and the lights shut off aisle by aisle. Next there are slams against the walls and shattering of glass. From the bright lights of this haven, figures are seen approaching slowly towards the classmate in herds. The students all bare the same question, what other life form is this? 

Wednesday 15 February 2012

Poem to Juliet

To Juliet,


Juliet, my love for thee is an undying flame of passion
Unexplainable to words
Let it be known as a fiery lust, whose sparks flutter and dance
In a warm summer night
Eternally burning of a desire for you
To be able to one day wrap my arms around thee

Like a koala who hangs onto it’s tree
Only to intend loyal, as it is
Vulnerable without it
Ever most comparable, to myself to you, Juliet

Love, 
Romeo



Restrictions:
1) Cannot use the word "the"
2) The beginning letter of all the sentence combined was intended to make the words "Juliet" and "love."