A strike
Followed by some sparks
And some smoke
Produces a flame
A stick of flame
Such a glory
Such a sight
A new life
A new hope
Fleeting
But impactful .
I attended a creative writing workshop in Kota Kinabalu, Sabah last Saturday. It was organized by Jude Day, president of Society of Performing Arts Kota Kinabalu Sabah(SPARKS), The invited speaker was Robert Raymer, a Sarawak-based American writer who is a lecturer of creative writing at Universiti Sarawak Malaysia. He is the author of 'Lovers and Strangers Revisited', 'Tropical Affairs', 'The Boy Who Shot Santa' and 'Spirit of Malaysia'. It only took me ten minutes to get to Wisma Anglican, the workshop venue from my hotel on shanks's pony. I felt honored to have met Mr. Robert Raymer in person.He exuded a quiet air of confidence and patience. I bought a copy of his 'Lovers and Strangers Revisited' and got it autographed by him. I was thrilled and could not help smiling from ear to ear. I picked up a lot of knowledge during the workshop. First, Robert Raymer expounded the essence of creative writing.Next, he showed us how to organiz...
The title is originally 'A Realisation As An Overaged Art Student' but it was changed to something cringeworthy. Many young children between the ages of six to fifteen hunched over the tables in the sitting room, sketching and painting. At the age of forty-five, I was by far the oldest student, overweight, too, and somewhat shabby looking. Sitting in an inconspicuous corner, under a freezing air conditioner, I surfed the Internet on my ipad to hide my discomfort. One by one, more kids poked their heads around the door, entered the house barefoot and took their seemingly pre-assigned positions in the sitting room. When Vaz, the elegant art teacher in her late fifties arrived, she frowned at where I was sitting. “This is not where you sit,” said the lecturer cum artist, while beckoning me to follow her into a little room beside her office. She handed me a beginner kit and frowned again when I told her that I had forgotten to bring my coloured penc...
The first time I came to Kuching was in 1990. Failing to secure a place in government schools after the SPM, I enrolled in the sixth form at the now defunct school on Stampin Road, St. Patrick's. It was my first time away from the comfort of home, and I was staying in the school ’s wooden boarding house, naturally fe eling emotionally challenged. In the first few months of my stay, I was wrought with unmitigated homesickness, which sapped my confidence, energy, and optimism for life. My weight plunged, and it took a toll on my health. One time, I was so delirious with fever that the world was almost dead to me. My fellow boarders took turns looking after me, bringing me food, sponging my feverish forehead, and washing my sweat-soiled clothes. I finally came to my senses when a boy named Simon warned me that if I continued letting my emotions control me, I would disappoint my parents. Like me, he had come all the way from Miri to study. He...
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