Letting Go

Never let go, many would say. And some would say, let go. It depends on the situation. You get someone or something so precious and valuable, and you wish to have them forever, that's not letting go. But sometimes, somehow, something just came knocking at your door, demanding that the precious to be taken away.

Not forcibly, I hope.

But when the time comes, will you fighting your way to stop that from happening? Or, will you just let it go and watch it slips away from your grasp?

Certain things are very certain. If you fight, you get tired. If your let go, you get sad. How much do you treasure your treasure?

I remembered a story posted on Facebook about a guy's life. It's all happening to me right now (I think). OK, main point is, shitty things do happen in your life, but it's your turn to make the best out of it.

I have pondered on the issue for very long and I think I have got an answer. I think. Nothing is for sure right now. But if it goes right, it might be a very drastic change in my life story, something that makes the readers angry. It's not reading the next chapter, it's stopping at the right chapter. Imagine you are reading an intense part of the novel and before it continues, it wrote below:

"YOU'VE FINISHED THE STORY"

Pissed off right?

I know, but I can't help it. Every time I smile and talk, or sometimg bitch about, it's nothing reflecting my inner heart because I know, if I reveal my heart, it's too ugly to be seen. So, I pretend. Everything is not real around me.

I have made up my estimated decision, and it is up to my willing heart to continue it.

God Bless!

The Piano Boy

 

 

Play this song before you read!

"The saddest thing about a masterpiece is that it often portrays the deepest emotion and thought of the master but never quite understood it and when interpret them, it is either too late or misinterpreted, like Chinese whispers."

 

 

I met this brain child, five years old, sitting upright with awkwardly accurate bent elbows but graceful fingers dancing around on the ivories. His eyes were closed and his lips twitched occasionally as if mumbling a mantra. He was playing a piece so beautifully written that each key hammered into the depths of my heart.

 

I waited till he had finished playing. He would slowly open his eyes and breathe. He turned and stared at me, waiting for my reply.

 

"Wonderful!" I nodded as I touched his scalp of thin hair. "Who wrote this?"

 

"Me," he forced out a smile. His blue eyes locked into mine. Eerie but deep.

 

"Amazing!" I couldn't think of any better answer. I had to stop scaring him at each exclamation. "You know, I wrote a piece when I was eight and I thought I was already a genius."

 

He chuckled, either in disapproval or in amusement. I didn't know which.

 

"You want to hear it?" I asked.

 

He nodded rigorously, like a child being offered with a big lollipop.

 

I moved to the piano seat, and he carefully sat on one edge. "It's OK," I said. I wrapped my hands around him and hugged him closer. "I want you to hear it nicely. I want you to feel what I feel. I want you to see the moon and the stars hovering above the lake as little glowing fairies dance with the petals of a cherry blossom."

 

He stared at me.

 

I began, with a soft E note an octave above the middle C and entered into the key of A minor. For me A minor is blue and melancholy with a little sense of hope and joy. It's beautiful. The tune echoed around the room and he stared at my fingers closely, as if my fingers were making the music rather than the keys.

 

I finished with a pianissimo ritardando A note two octaves above middle C, accompanied by a slight Tierce di Picardi, to show the last ray of moonlight casting on the grey mountains before being clouded over again.

 

He clapped. "It's nice, Mr Wavericky. I like the birds soar and the white cottage near the alley!"

 

I grinned, his picture was not too far off the mark. "You can see it?"

 

"I feel it, Mr Wavericky. It's pretty but fragile, like a thin mosaic glass on the verge of falling."

 

"Genius!" I exclaimed. I reminded myself not to scare him with my booming voice again.

 

"Three C sharps are used in your piece, mister. Did you wish for hope much often?" he asked, looking at me. "C sharps in A minor are rare but exotic when used in appropriate places."

 

It's my turn to stare at him. How did this five-year-old boy talk like a professor? I fumbled for an answer. "I guessed so. My mom was seriously ill at that time. I wished for her recovery."

 

"What illness?"

 

"I don't know. Something to do with heart. Infection, I think."

 

"Did she - "

 

"No, she didn't," I breathed, held my tears. I am a man who never cries. I reminded myself this.

 

"I'm sorry," he looked down.

 

I tipped his chin. "It's OK. So, tell me what's your song is about. It's too beautiful that it clouds my perception and heart."

 

"It's a C major song. The chord goes from C, to A minor, then G, then back to C again, E minor, going to D minor chord before going to B diminished chord, but I think I sharpened the F in that. With a few random chromatic notes, I transposed it to G major, then to the seventh chord of it, and to B minor, A minor and to F major. There was a long two bars of A minor and B minor and ended with a imperfect chord of D major."

 

"Hefty chunks," I nodded.

 

"It supposed to mean something."

 

"Such as?"

 

"I thought you could feel it," he slammed down the piano cover and left.

 

*

 

The next day, he died peacefully in his sleep. The cancer couldn't be stopped. It anchored into his mind, rewired them into a genius pianist. I wanted to cry, but I told myself again I am the man who never cries.

 

His song entitled Sky was played on his funeral. He had no father or mother. He was raised in an orphan house. His interest on piano and music brought me to him by his superintendent. Nobody attended his funeral, that was sad enough. But at the very last minute, his superintendent came to see him one last time.

 

"Charming boy, he was," she wept.

 

"He is," I corrected softly, staring at the pale cheeks of the boy in the coffin.

 

I held back my tears.

 

*

 

I remembered the song. It hammered into me. I rewrote the piece again. At first I didn't notice anything about the chord progressions.

 

Till then, when I found out...

 

I cried.

 

Very bitterly.

 

 

 

 

A Biased Review on TERMINAL WORLD

Alastair Reynolds, or simply just Al, is somehow a master in crafting sci-fi. Have to say, hard sci-fi. I know, I have heard of Paul McAuley or Iain M. Banks, but trust me, I haven't read either of them yet. I have bought one book from Iain M. Bank's collection, Excession. But anyway, I am not going to point on that book because I haven't started reading his book yet.

So, this time, the biased review will revolve around Al's Terminal World. OK, first thing to mention before I continue: I am reviewing against his works not across the global span of sci-fi literature and authors. So don't shoot me down just yet. I am telling and characterising the difference each book Al has written.

When Al announced that he is going to write a steampunk fiction that doesn't include interstellar travel, spaceships or planetary environment, I couldn't help revealing my disgust. I am sorry, OK? I am too addicted to those high-tech-but-not-too-high-till-tractor-beams-or-FTL-exists. I have already been flung into deep space and time by his Pushing Ice, travel through umbilical cords to Alternate Earth in Century Rain, to the crushing gravity of a neutron star in Revelation Space and to the frigid environment of a Kuiper Belt Object in Blue Remembered Earth and the list goes on and on. It's not easy to adapt his sci-fi in a whole new level.

Steampunk? Yes. The word 'steam' and 'punk' turned me away. I cannot imagine Jedis using sabre (instead of lightsabre) to duel or a pilot riding on a Wrights Brothers' plane. Or occasional trespass of a chugging steam locomotive. It's... wrong. I felt it was lacking of something. Something 'profound'.

So, I waited three years. Scouring every single review I can dig out from websites and blogs. So far the reviews were not bad at all. In fact, someone even rated a five-star on this book. RM72.90, hardcover, on local bookstores. Convert that to USD at that moment was around $17.80. Or more or less.

It is expensive for my budget. I can only afford RM35 to RM50 (do the maths of the conversion yourself) but in the end, I bought it. I ripped open the plastic and start to set in a thought "I hate you Al for Steampunking (if that's a word)".

I regretted for that thought.

The Big Object (no, not Big Dumb Object in the case of Spica structure in Pushing Ice or the shell wrapping Alternate Earth in Century Rain) is the towering Spearpoint, or Godscraper. It's so tall that I can't help visioning it next to me. It rises to the zenith, tapering from a flat base to a needle sharp tower (as seen on the bookcover)

Spearpoint has a strange property: it is divided into zones where one technology is different from the other and crossing a zone will have danger to physiology as well as other objects. The lowest zone is Horsetown, then Steamville, Circuit City, Neon Heights, Cyborg zone and lastly Celestial Levels. From the name we know how technology is more superior when one crosses from below to the summit (called the Ascension Day).

At first, I felt it's too much medieval magic here. No science could make this happen. It's not hard sci-fi anymore. Al screwed it! I screamed in my heart. It's the tractor-beam sign! No! But wait for it, more to come:

The action, which compared to other works of his, started right at the first 30 pages. Fast, quick and dark. Quillon, a doctor (or pathologist) was warned by an angel - nothing religious, it's a post-human with wings and strange midnight blue eyes - that other angels are coming after him from the Celestial Levels. He is forced to leave Spearpoint immediately and never to return. Exile. Poor prince. (No, he's not a prince)

Mix and match, mix but not match, whatever it takes, Quillon was paired with a very strong character Meroka. Mind you, this woman can give you laughs if you are in it, or make you curse if you are a very noble parent who never cuss (oops!). Quillon looks weak all the way, except when he deals with the things he know best. A professional. Meroka on the other hand, wow, talking about support here. She is one tough woman you can never touch.

When I read this book, I felt very unsafe. The world is dying upon me. Trees stop growing and air turns colder. I wonder will this happen to Earth. I took pity on the inhabitants. I wanted to help them. The desert world. The desperate need of needs. The desperate need of antizonals (things that make you wow when you want to cross zones)

There is other medieval magic too: the tectomancers. The people who can control zones. My goodness! Had Al finally loses his charm in hard sci-fi? Witches, the people called those tectomancers. And they burn them wheneer they see them. Medieval much huh? Wait, there are even caravans and gondolas.

But, I need to say this, all these medieval magic? It's not magic. There is speculative science and sociology on it. Nothing like abracadabra-ey here. Read properly about what zones are and who are the witches.

I am sad towards the ending. Many readers wanted a sequel. The cliffhanger was bad. In my humble biased opinion, there wasn't any cliffhanger. The loose ends are tied up properly if you read it slow. Read nice and slow, with some cappucino, I suggest. No, I don't wish for a sequel. Al has made his point too. The story arc is complete, but it's up to the readers to think the "right" ending when it's already given.

And one more thing I would want to praise Al for is the riddle of landmarks around the "Earth". Read properly about the Mother Goddess mountain and the Night Maze, Long Gash, Spirit Landing and two halves of the moon. Dying world, red soil.

Yeah, I have revealed much about the location of this planet.

Overall, when you read this book, you will know what is the true nature of Spearpoint and what happened to the zones. I cried (softly and invisibly) at the ending of the book because I don't want the tectomancers to be like this! (oops!)

Go buy one and read it. Trust me, it's a sister of Blue Remembered Earth on world building. These two books are better than the rest of his collections (not really) and please, read it SLOW!

Message in a Bottle (1)

Dear Sea,

I don't know whom to talk to at this moment, so I chose to cast my bottle to you.

I have been a little lonely. I remembered my tutor told me, the older we get, the lonelier we are, until only family is the one who clings on to each other. Is it true that this is happening to me now?

I am quite confused about something about myself. I don't know how to speak out. I need someone with an exceptional good ear to listen and help me. But in my heart I know, there is nobody. Not even one in the entire Earth population. LOL. Because if that person really do exist, he might explode by the sheer fact of information overload.

Dear Sea, I am reaching to another stage of life. My dreams are not realised. The sense of frustration and guilt overwhelms me while I try to keep it down. Nobody understands me at this time! They may have simple life, and so have I. But at some point, it is tangled way beyond hope.

A tight knot in my life.

I want to be alone, forever. I want to live a place where nobody knows me or my existence. Why? Because I tend to find 'the One' quickly. A symmetrical complement of myself. Sigh! I am now very 'emo'. I want to cry.

I am about to lose many important things in a few months time. My heart can't cope it. I can't! Why do I make such silly mistakes? Is it just for me to learn? Or?

Sea, I trust you. You are my friend for now. I wish I can be with you forever, even if that meant I jump and drown myself.

I don't want to face my life like this anymore.

From
Sad loner.

Listen to the Rain

Rain. My favourite weather.
But not for my dad, who works better under sunny weather.
But not for my mom, who dries her laundry better under sunny weather.

So, I keep the rain to myself.

Everytime I watch the clouds roll by and darken, I smile.

I await the moment of rain.

See
     the fountain sputtering and struggling over the rainfall
     the window tainted with beautiful pearl drops
     the leaves in the garden keep nodding in meaningless agreement

See
     myself, watching over the moist air
     your face, under the heavy downpour
     my smile, over the distance measured in puddles

City life has transformed everyone's heart.

Rain is a trap. It doesn't make you go free
    to eat, to shop, to go to work or school

But rain, is freedom.

Stand in the natural shower
Drench yourself in the sweet tears from heaven

Don't feel it.
Don't feel the rain with your heart just yet.

Open your ears
Listen
Listen very closely

It calls your name

Then,
you feel the rain.

Looking Out of the Window

Have you ever looked out of the window?


Outside, it is so shiny and sunny,
with the greens, reds and blues of nature's beauty.

You sat by the window and stared and stared.
     Every bird which flew by,
     every flower that bloomed away,
     every trickling water from the grey fountain,
- each sparkle of Mother goodness was enough to hammer in your heart.

You wanted to go out from this dark cold room.
     to touch the colours.
     to feel the wind embracing your body.
     to inhale the fragrance of spring.

Or you wanted a blue Adonis butterfly
     to land on your petty fingers.

It's a dream of heaven out there.

*****

Then, you stepped out of the window
fell on a pungent shrub with violet bells.

You squeezed the carpet grass
and plucked the thorny rose.

Canary flew by and you thought it was a phoenix
spreading its fiery wings and casting light to the darkest corners.

You turned back and saw where you came from:
A wooden shed with neat four windows.

L41187

"How long?" she asked.

"72 hours, maybe less," he replied.

"Can we survive that hit?" she asked again, eyes locking at his.

He flipped through a few pages of a thick book of nonsense about some evil antagonists taking over the world. He inhaled.

"Mr President, can we survive that hit?" she repeated.

He looked at her, observing her sad eyes. He shook his head. "No. No, we can't. Nobody can."

"You do realise we our doing live telecast, so I have to ask you this and it will not go uncensored: what is your best hope?" she reached her microphone closer to his lips.

He thought.

A meteor seven hundred metres at its widest point, lozenge-shaped, had been zipping past Jupiter and heading straight for Earth. Its speed was boosted by Jupiter's huge gravity well. And now, it had reached top speed of eight times the speed of sound. Hypersonic.

A month ago, nobody reported seeing any incoming celestial danger. There was one huge Trojan asteroid as big as five kilometres minding its own business. It was labelled and categorized properly as L41187. Then something happened to that asteroid. Something slammed on it and chipped a piece of from it.

And that piece headed towards Earth.

When it was discovered, the people realised it was too late. Nuclear missiles were fired, but turned off at the very last minute. The missiles were too slow for the chip. By the time the missles intercepted the chip, the chip would have entered Mars orbit. Scientists feared of contamination of the virgin Mars.

But now nobody could devise a better plan.

"My best hope," he began, "is praying. I urge everyone on this blue planet to stay calm. We can do nothing but bring ourselves closer to God. Wash away our sins. Help each other. All the useless wars we had, we must stop. We must forgive."

"You strike us as a very religious person, Mr President," she said. "Do you believe God will save us?"

"Do you?" he asked back.

She startled. "I believe that this is our punishment for all our sinful and silly acts. We deserve it."

"Look at the countries at war. Will they think like you do?" he questioned. "It's just a filthy rock reported three weeks ago and now every nation is fighting over each other for food and water and shelter. Where is the love? Nuclear warfare is on the verge of erupting. I am glad my nation stays out of the war. Look at that country," he pointed at the computer screen. "Tell me if there's anyone left on that area."

She went silent.

*

25 hours left.

"Is it ready?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr President," General Sully replied. He opened a huge metal door.

"How many?" They both entered. A blue glow washed over them.

"Easily 400. But till now we have got only a hundred and seventy-three. Some are on the way and some died."

"Died?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Shot down by rebels and wars," General answered.

"Alright, my condol-"

"There's one more thing, Mr President," General began.

"Yes?"

"Two hundred containment units went faulty. We have no experts to repair them, let alone time. The ones who are already inside were toasted."

"Is there a place for me?" he asked.

"Certainly, Mr President," General Sully answered.

"Then stop worrying about those. Get me into my unit and I will see you later."

"Regarding on the L41187, does it exist?" General asked.

"Yes, what makes you think it doesn't?"

"Then why I need to activate code L41187 for the missile launch? It coincides badly with the asteroid's name. There was a failed Jupiter exploratory mission whereby the craft Copernicus' Flight went faulty and can never reestablish contact. The last transmission sent in was two light seconds away from Jupiter, that is, close to L41187. Coincidence, isn't it?"

"You think too much, General. L41187 asteroid was named long before the activation code came to my hands. The code restructured to be similar to the asteriod name because it is easier to recognise the target-lock of the missiles. We don't want any wrong missiles firing, don't we? As for that poor chap lost in Jupiter, it remained lost."

General Sully nodded.

"How many countries are beyond hope?"

"Around ninety-four, Mr President. They will be doomed by the time the chip slam in."

"Good, get me onboard."

"Do I have a unit for myself as well, Mr President?"

"Did you sign up?"

"No, but there seems to be some empty units over there," General replied.

"Wait till you are left with 30 minutes. If the casket remains empty, you are allowed to come onboard."

"Yes, sir."

General Sully sealed the door of the unit, leaving the President in it. The casket was a top-secret military unit for cryogenics and life support. It can inter-switch roles. Radiation, heat and any known toxic or physical damage are nothing to that caskets.

General walked out of the chamber and took an elevator to the President's office. He noticed the book the President always read. The book about an antagonist take over the world. He took it and opened it up.

His nostils flared and eyes went red.

"... R and D caskets. They must be done within five years. Deploy and prepare Copernicus for orbit interference on L41187... Reprogramme coordinates of missiles... Destroy Copernicus after chipping using mass drivers..."

So, it was the President orchestrating the doomsday...

He read on, and he felt limp:

"Self-note: real event takes place 24 hours earlier than own speech."

And he saw a glancing white light in the skies.

A Biased Review on BLUE REMEMBERED EARTH

Add caption

"It is necessary to speak of beginnings..."

That particular phrase opens up on the first page far (not that far) before the Prologue section. And Alastair (or Al) closed the book with a good twinning phrase: "We spoke of beginnings, at the start of this. It is well now to speak of endings."

One of Al's bookfan mentioned that this is the only book which Al uses three words as a title: Revelation Space, Redemption Ark, Absolution Gap, Century Rain, Pushing Ice and many more. And another good (bad) news: it's a trilogy (of a sort).

There are a lot of trilogies out there swarming the bookstores, like The Hunger Games, or something as epic and classic as The Lord of the Rings. Al has his own trilogy in store: Revelation Space. But this time, it's different, I can tell that. The upcoming two more sequels are not really a direct sequel, but rather, lay in a much larger major plot line, or story arc. So don't expect continuous flow of reading. You can read the second book without the other three. It's semi-independent.

Blue Remembered Earth is a masterpiece of his works. I have all of his works. I read all of them, each with distinctive flavour, and this Blue Remembered Earth is the only book that made me want to cry. It has a happy sad ending, or sad happy ending, whichever you want it to be. But definitely not the sad kind in romance film, or which everyone dies in the end. It's a sadness of both nostalgic and awe that we are still babies in the universe.

The title itself struck me in my heart. "Blue remembered Earth". A pale blue dot in a vast cosmos. What have we, as humans, done to preserve it? Pollutions and wars. Business and industries. Where is the blue? Where's Earth?

Geoffrey and Sunday Akinya are the two main characters of the story, dotted by various interesting people like their cousin Hector and Lucas, as well as the Panspermian Initiative and the whale-woman. Set in the 2161 year, we can still find traces of our local tech, although economics have pushed as far out as to the Kuiper Belt. So, there would be no ridiculuous incomprehensible tech like teleport and time travel. You would feel comfy at home.

If you are too pushy on plots, this book could pose a danger to your mind because there are tonnes of new ideas "fizzing off every page". These new ideas do not relate properly to the storyline but actually serve as a base for the future two books, convincing readers that something like robotic organisms is not impossible. Some of the new ideas (spoilers!) include, well, robotic Darwinian evolution, dwarfing organisms and extreme bioenginnering of human bodies.

Geoffrey and Sunday (siblings) are from Africa whereby it has bloomed to be a major economic force in the world, and they are the descendents of the powerful matriarch Eunice Akinya (their grandmother). When their grandmother died, she left clues for her family to pick up. Oh, and mind you, the first clue you stumble upon, Geoffrey was right.

The search does not end on Earth of Trans-lunar space, it goes beyond till the Kuiper Belt. The adventure doesn't end. The sightseeing doesn't end. Every time the characters go to a new place, you have to relax and breathe in the sea of words and description, particularly the underwater city of Tiamaat.

There are so many worlds: the savannah of Africa, the blue waters of Tiamaat, the grey-white of Moon, the arid red desert of Mars. The colours are so blinding that you would stay awestruck for few seconds.

Besides, Al made us ponder on issues like: is it our imperative to spread life across the universe? is a world free of crime good for society?

Speaking of free of crime, Al created a Mechanism for this book, an All-seeing God that would annihilate any possible crime in the entire solar system, except the Descrutinized Zone on the Moon where Sunday lives.

It's a book of wonder, no doubt. Wonder as in wonderful, or thoughtful. It meant both. Get the book now and start soaking yourself in a brand new way of story telling by Alastair Reynolds!

Visit his website here: www.alastairreynolds.com. You can even email him or blog-comment him. Further information can be found on his website.

Oh you want to know why I made this for Al?

Because I only love Al's story-telling and friendliness to readers!

Aquarius

It's 2013 now, and New Age or Pleiades is playing my mind with the colour:

 

 

 



 

 

 

____________________________

___________ RED_______  ____

____________________________

I have an urge to dye my hair maroon, which never occur before. I have NEVER ever thought of dyeing my hair in my life, but 2013, this thought blinked in my mind.

Second, I bought two red shirts: one for brother and another for myself.

Third, I bought a red book by Lovecraft for brother.

Fourth, I bought a red dress for mummy.

Red?
 
RED?
 
REDDDD?????


What is going on in my mind?

New Age please restore my colour to my mind. I am either Amethyst or Sky. Never RED.

NEVER!



Oh, by the way, CNY is coming, so, yeah, RED for you all! And me! And us! GONG XI FA CAI!

HP Lovecraft

HP Lovecraft (1890 - 1937)

 

 

 

 

Great story teller. Go get one of his works. He is awesome in telling horror stories. No, he doesn't do ghosts, he does other things that are more chaotic and dark and mysterious. Notice the tentacles behind lurking him.

 

Also, notice that I used present tense.

 

He is still alive in our minds.

 

I will update more on his works and synopsis soon, including some bizarre pictures.