In a frantic rush for the Jul 21st deadline, I typed this out and almost sent it for the competition. I have been 'blocked' ever since :(

How do you write a story when there is no story to be written and you’re well into your 11th hour? Well, not yours exactly, as you’re not really on your death bed grasping desperately onto whatever little life you have got, but there’s a mean deadline waiting. As the minutes tick by cruelly, you almost give up in despair, for who has ever heard of anyone with such a predicament?

Anyway, you just continue with your attempt to write. It can be done, you believe although it must be admitted that it will definitely be a difficult process. In the end, you will finally know that if it can’t be done, then you will not be reading this.

How you managed to get yourself into this mess, you ask yourself quietly as you see the clock at the right hand corner of your computer change into the next minute in a blink of the eye. You know for certain that you’re never going to get that minute back!

You scan your brain for an idea to expand into a wonderful tale that could enthral future readers, wondering why it is suddenly turning its back on you. You begin to believe that both your brain and your muse have gone for a long vacation and conveniently forgot to inform you about it, and now you’re stuck with no story, with nowhere to turn to. Crazy ideas that pop into your head seem to head nowhere. It is all a clutter of unconnected thoughts that pervade the empty crevices of your brain and they end up being discarded like garbage in the bin outside.

Finally you give in to your fingers as they move across the keyboard at speeds you never expected them to achieve.


This happened some time back... when I was at home, forcing myself to read a book which I started in December but find it almost impossible to complete... I blame it on all the other distractions!

Anyway, my dad was watching football (or soccer depending on which part of the world you're from) on the telly and was rooting for Liverpool, whereas I was not really rooting for any team in particular. Well, except for the team that was playing against Liverpool....

Me: (in a quiet whisper) Man U! Man U!
Dad: I thought you quit supporting them after Cantona left.
Me: Yeah
Dad: Then read your book... Liverpool has to win tonight (day). Anyway, why are you suddenly watching football?
Me: I just saw a cute guy
Dad: I think I know who you're talking about
Me: Really?

"It's that one right?" dad asked pointing to a guy in white. "He's Neville." Dad said rather nonchalantly.

There are 22 people on the field excluding the referees. 11 of them play for Man U. There's a 1 in 11 chance for my dad to guess the right one and he said it correctly the first time. Could the myth about parents knowing their kids well could be really true?


Where is the fine line between being a fan and being an addict?

I always thought that I was just a fan, be it in the simplest form of 3 in 1 with some hot water, or at the mamak, or even the version with all the fancy names... think frapuccino!

Yesterday, I realised (rather horrifiedly!) that I've passed the stage of just being a fan and had graduated to the status of an addict. As to when on earth did this strange occurence take place, I have no idea.

Now, it's been a habit of late (on working days, that is) where I have a cup in the mornings or during lunch break, where I rummage my bag for that red tube of deliciousness that exudes an aroma that fills the air with delight, but to my dismay, I found none!

I rummaged again, but all I found were rectangular packets of cereal... no way, this can't have happened. I'm sure I replenished my supply just last week. Distressed, I opened my desk drawer, hoping against all odds that a stray red tube might be lurking underneath the pencil and pens and business cards. Alas! There was nothing there... just an empty drawer where the business cards looked as though they were secretly laughing at me... "She's addicted... Ha! Ha! Ha!" they whisper amongst themselves. Presuming that I can't hear them.

You can bet that the rest of the day was pretty much miserable... the hours stretched painfully, the sleepy feeling overwhelming as the afternoon turned to early evening. The line has been crossed. There's no turning back... I have made myself into a slave of the beans that mean the world to thousands of others out there. I'm in the 'ín crowd'.

Dear world, welcome a brand new coffee addict!

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