The Ravenous Inferno

The fire alarm constantly chimed in an ear-piercing tone that vibrated my eardrums vigorously, causing my brain to suffer from sudden dismay. Agonizing and sorrowful cries were heard throughout the neighborhood. The ebony smoke and its aroma, which I despise with a passion, spread and polluted the fresh air. At that particularly nerve-wracking moment, I was shivering and trembling in the darkness as my ears detected the noise of fright. When I stared through the window, image of tongues of fire licking the ceiling as though it was licking its lips, hungry for human lives, formed in my retina. My parents darted into my room and ushered me out immediately in fear that I will become the victim of the fire.

When we were out of the apartment, chaos appeared out of nowhere. Tears from the eyes of the victims’ parents could possibly flood the scene. Fire brigades were busy extinguishing the fire, people were scurrying out of the apartment covered with a fire-proof blanket, paramedics were alleviating victims’ injuries. “Hydro pump” shot in high pressure towards the monstrous inferno in hope to obliterate it. The blazing fire mercilessly replied by billowing thick smoke across the light blue sky.

The traffic was extremely sluggish as people were all flummoxed of the situation and tried to observe and assimilate what was happening. The street became busier upon the arrival of the journalists. A group of cameramen brought their enormously high-tech cameras as they clustered to the fence that was set up by the fire brigades followed by bystanders who were “keen” photographers. Flashes and flashes of their cameras made me lost faith in humanity, instead of lending a helping hand, they were technically gloating at the incident by taking photographs in hope to get it viral on the internet. As the fire slowly released its grip on the building, there was an obviously large dark spot, which strongly contrasted the colour of the apartment, light beige. The traffic returned to its original state as the people went about their chores, left only several people broke down on the side way as grievance to their loss. As we made our ways to our once lovely home, I was left open-mouthed… *Sorry for the late update. As you’ve seen, I’ve lost contact with my routine that I planned to keep up with. Procrastination demon got into me 😦 ……. Will update more often in the future! *Finger-crossed* Until then, BYEEEE!!

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A Woman’s Unspeakable Agony

Her cheeks

Were flooded with streaks

Of tears.

Her hopes

Were shattered

And crushed

By the edge of gear.

She bled

She screeched

She screamed

Miserably

But none

Were heard by ears.

Months of affliction

Endless torment

Generated a piece of

Melancholy melody

Followed up by

Echoes

Of mourning

And fear.

She bore

Only to find

A pair of bootees

That will never

Be worn

For years… –TheGagaTan

To The PTA Moms at My Son’s School

Raising My Rainbow

Last week I published a blog post about things said during a PTA meeting I attended at my youngest son’s school. I wanted to shine a light on the homophobic, transphobic, insensitive, hateful and hurtful things that some moms said during the meeting and show that as far as we have come in LGBTQ acceptance and equality, there is still much work to be done. And sometimes that work needs to be done in heavy doses at places much closer to home than we’d like.

Almost immediately, PTA moms from our school started commenting, messaging and reacting viscerally on social media.

As they did, I stared at the PTA tagline: Every child, One voice. I’m not convinced that our PTA as a whole cares about every child and some of the voices I heard that night are not voices I want speaking on behalf of my child. That being said…

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Words Not To Say In Front Of My Kids

Dysfunctional Literacy

I tell my kids they can think anything they want, but there are some things they'd better not say. (image via wikimedia) I tell my kids they can think anything they want, but there are some things they’d better not say. (image via wikimedia)

I told my daughters this morning that they’d need to take a sack lunch to school tomorrow, and they laughed at me.  I wasn’t expecting them to laugh.

It took me a moment to realize why they thought sack lunch was funny.  When I was their age (around 35 years ago), sack lunch wasn’t funny.  I carried a sack lunch to school every day, and nobody laughed.  I think I even called it a sack lunch.  Everybody called it that.  But somewhere along the way, kids picked up on the word sack, and a new source of humor was created.

Now I can’t say sack in front of my daughters; I have to say “brown paper bag.”  If I had two sons, maybe it wouldn’t matter much.  But…

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What Happens When You Go Viral: On Wanting to Give Up

Such Small Hands

I recently found out that the hit count on my Relevant article back in June was over 1.6 million. The editor told me it was the second-biggest traffic day in the history of their website. That’s mind-boggling to me.

If you had asked me a year ago what I thought it would mean to have a piece get that much exposure, I would have assumed it would be my big break. That it would boost my blog, lead to freelance opportunities, help connect me to the right people. That it would be my open door into the world of professional writing and publishing. That it would bring me validation and satisfaction. It would reassure me that what I’m doing here isn’t pointless and that my story matters.

Do you want to know the truth?

It hasn’t done any of those things. For a few weeks I received a lot of…

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