Aditi and Debraath talk about the intriguing themes in one of Agatha Christie’s world-renowned masterpieces: Death on the Nile! Do you find the shift in Jackie’s character arc fascinating? Ever wondered how Agatha Christie got the inspiration to write a novel set in such a unique holiday destination?
B: Hey school! Journsplit is back with another episode; the second part of our miniseries on Agatha Christie! If you haven’t heard our first episode, you can listen to it on our website/! This episode, we’ll be moving on to Death On The Nile! This book deals with some rather interesting themes as well, a few of which we’ll be covering: Obsessive Love, Allure of Evil, Envy and Greed, and finally Entitlement.
A: Let’s talk about the theme of obsessive love. Jackie, the best friend of affluent Linnet, was very volatile, her feelings always towards the extremes. This was even observed by the astute detective Poirot very early on in the story. He remarked that Jackie cared too much and that it was not safe. Later on in the story, Jackie’s prescient obsession over her former fiance was proven to be dangerous to everyone as she committed multiple murders just to get him back.
B: The second major theme was the Allure of Evil, especially as Jackie fell victim to it. Jackie appeared to be a wholesome person who could never turn to evil, but when her character arc is scrutinised, we can see her gradual shift to being malicious. To some extent, we can even sympathise with her and understand why she committed such cold-blooded murders that were so not in line with her character in general. (Although, that wasn’t a very good way of dealing with her problems). This shows just how tempting and alluring evil can be and how easy it is for one to turn to the dark side especially when they run out of patience.
A: The next theme we’ll cover is Envy and Greed. Jackie was always portrayed as the encouraging and enthusiastic best friend, like the faithful sidekick to the hero, and was always happy for her entitled friend Linnet. Linnet did not reciprocate this when Jackie got engaged to Simon, and decided to be a killjoy, throw her weight around and rob her best friend of the one thing that made her truly happy.
B: Aside from that, Linnet was pretty, young and rich, a combination which attracted the envy of literally everyone who set their eyes on her. Throughout the story, people keep commenting on how Linnet didn’t deserve anything she had. Jackie started getting jealous of all the attention that she got and her envy led her to develop a strong hatred towards Linnet, and drove her towards evil deeds that no one could have imagined of her because it didn’t fit with the loyal best friend vibe that she strongly personified at the beginning of the novel. Nevertheless, all this said, Linnet wasn’t content with what she had – she was already engaged to Lord Windlesham, a fancy, posh affluent guy but she still wanted Simon who was technically out of bounds. This links with the next theme, Entitlement.
A: Linnet’s love for Simon was very materialistic. Throughout her smooth life journey, whatever she wanted was presented to her in a golden platter before she even realised that she wanted it, due to which she was accustomed to getting her way. When she realised that she wanted Simon, she didn’t think twice about pushing the limit and taking her best friend’s fiance. When she wanted something, she got it, no matter how much it affected others – but this backfired on her in the end. Part of her attraction to Simon Doyle was not just his appearance or his personality, but the fact that he was poor and that she could dominate the relationship easily unlike Lord Windlesham who actually was very influential and also very fond of her but owned a lot of land, causing her to have a fear of being known as “Windlesham’s wife” instead of Linnet Ridgeway.
B: That, along with the fact that she could have married any man in the world but she decided to go for Simon Doyle speaks volumes of her selfishness and insecurity – she just couldn’t see her friend happier than she was. Was it really a true friendship or just a toxic excuse for a relationship?
A: A small observation I made was that the characters in the book who were neither greedy nor jealous seemed to be the happiest in the book (i.e. Rosalie and Cordelia).
B: Let’s discuss something lighter. Did you notice that on the very boat where three murders occurred with love and vengeance as a motive, new couples came together? Ironic, isn’t it?
A: Yes! Tim (the kleptomaniac) stops stealing things, corrects his ways and decides to marry Rosalie. Ferguson wanted to marry Cordelia but Cordelia eventually married Dr. Besner whom she thought had a good moral compass and whose profession she found interesting. Something positive, at least!
B: It’s really interesting how one needs to re-read these well-crafted novels in order to pick up such subtle hints. The exotic setting of Egypt was likely inspired by Christie’s husband, Max Mallowan’s vocation as a prominent archaeologist.
A: Oh, I didn’t know about that! Well that’s all for today, folks! We hope you enjoyed this episode about Agatha Christie and her works.
B: Look out for our final episode on A Pocket full of Rye! ✨
As sure as a start of another day, the sun rises from the east. Fact.
Most things erode with the sands of time. Fact.
All men will die. Fact.
No matter rain or shine, whether the graveyard is bustling to welcome another or whether deathly silence prevails, the fact is that we, guardians of the dead, keep the balance by sweeping the graves clean and pulling out overgrowing weeds.
Everyday. A duty. Like the generations before who carried it out dutifully.
With no respite under the unbearable tropical heat, I put aside my rake, taking a breather from the arduous work. Leaning against the girthy trunk of the Saga tree, protected by its thick foliage. Gazing at the swarm of visitors streaming through the cemetery gates, some walking stiffly, their faces sombre, weighed down. They trekked along the coarse soil paths, breaking away into their own groups as they moved toward different headstones artfully arranged along the side of the hill. I, visibly wincing as the inconsiderate few decide to take a “shortcut” at the expense of the newly trimmed grass.
It is the hungry ghost festival, the day of the seventh lunar month, when the spirits wander the world of the living. It is the day for those who believe in it to honour the dead, to let them go in “peace” by freeing them of their earthly resentment.
These family members and friends kneeling in front of the tomb stones pray as they light incense and place offerings. I see them leaving relaxed and renewed, leaving their burdens behind. They are in a world of their own, oblivious to the very man who kept this place clean and tidy, a presence less dense than air. The day passes fast like any other. As the last person left, I was once again left alone in the empty grave. Year after year I toil unnoticed, unappreciated with not a single thank you to be shown for my work. I could only sigh in resignation.
I trudged back to my little shack, falling on my bed that welcomed me with a warm embrace. Listlessly I lay, sinking ever so softly into a dream. A sweet dream away from dreadfully monotonous work awaiting me the next morning.
The bright light of the new morrow streamed through the dusty blinds and woke me from my dream. I was greeted by something that was atypical. At the door of my decrepit little shack was an inconspicuous newspaper article with Government tearing down cemetery written in dark bold.
It read in the most patriotic of ways:
It is with a heavy heart that the government has included the demolition of the Ngee Ann graveyards in the remodelling of Orchard Road. Singapore, a land and natural resource scare country, must use whatever it can to develop to keep pace with foreign powers. While some might be upset about the disturbance to their ancestors’ graves, it is for the sake of those living that these sacrifices must be made.
It was all too soon before the dingy yellow metallic monstrosities came in waves. Their only objective: squashing the flora and fauna that dared block their path. They raised their hands high, smashing them down on the stone, shattering it. Again, and again, the machines dug, ravaging the earth and removing the coffins.
The unearthed coffins were unceremoniously tossed into a fire, for disposal. The flaming inferno gobbled the coffins up, swelling in size after each one, illuminating the pre-dawn sky. The wood hissed and crackled as it burned to black, letting out tortured screams.
The fields, once green, turned a barren brown Stones scattered. Family members stood, fist clenched, wishing that they could advert the destruction before them. Yet, a single flimsy red and white strip blocked all advance.
I stood there among the masses, oblivious to their anguish. As the clanking of metal stopped, the roar of the fire quietened to crackling embers, the dust starting to settle, and they left… one by one… I still stood rooted. This was what I wanted, yet there was an abject feeling of loss. The eerie, looming possibility of the unknown.
Like a person that had stared at a white wall all his life, finally accessing a world of colour so vibrant and full of possibility—overwhelmingly and scarily so.
The sun rays filtered over the horizon, painting the sky hues of orange and yellow. Golden warmth slowly inched up me, first from my feet, washing away my worries. I could only clench my fists and steel myself, preparing to stride into the unknown.
Time waits for no man, the world will keep turning with the cycle of day and night, ups and downs till the end of our time. That is an unchanging fact.
Singapore’s first national library was built. I lived on Stamford Road, and it was just a short walk from my house. I remember being six when my parents took me there for the first time, and as a child I was fascinated. The completed library had a reinforced concrete framed structure with brick walls, the architecture reflecting the red-brick epoch of the British architecture. The place was tremendous, spanning a large area and three stories tall. Like a child to its parents, I felt a strange comfort and connection to the place, as if it were holding me in its arms. That day, I spent hours burying my nose in books, tossing each aside after my childish attention span decided it was enough.
Unfortunately, it seemed that almost everyone had something negative to say about the library. They said “it looked “horrible” and “out of character”. But I didn’t care, I loved it as it was, unfazed by any criticism.
From then, my parents took me there every week, and occasionally I would visit it on my own on the way home from school. The librarians seemed to like me; they were always okay with my antics as long as I kept quiet.
My grandfather died.
I came home from school one day and saw him lying on his chair. My ten-year-old self took a while to notice how his head was tilted back in an awkward position, his jaw slightly open and his movements still. All assumptions of him sleeping fell away when I shook him by the shoulders and he rolled onto the floor, his arms limp and unmoving.
I called him once. Twice. No reaction, no pulse. My calls turned to screams as his breath reached its silent halt. My mom gasped when she heard my pleas and came down, greeted by the sight of me with a tearstained face and a lifeless grandfather.
Dealing with it was never easy. It was my first time with death and the experience made me hate it. I ran to the library, because it was the only other place I felt safe. I hid in the furthest corner, among the back rows of shelves, crying. To cope, I started to read. Tears stained the pages of some books lightly, but as they piled up, my heart felt a subtle sense of release. One after another, these stories helped with the grief I was facing. The warmth of the library returned to assure me that everything was okay.
I knew it wasn’t but at least for a moment, it made me feel alright.
In my pre adult years I was experiencing some rough times. What’s surreal is how at 18, you’re thrown into the world to survive so suddenly, as I entered the cycle of job searching and tax counting. Overwhelmed by stress the only thing that provided me solace was the library. In this place of refuge I felt like a child again; the security it provided in this turbulent phase in life put me at great ease. There was something about sinking back in a chair with a book in hand that felt so timeless.
This friendly silence showed me relief in distress, and the feel of these pages gave me a reason to believe that I was safe and sound.
Years passed; I’m 50 now. My daughter had her firstborn a month ago, a beautiful baby boy. Age has brought me wisdom and throughout the years I continued to hold onto that library as something of deep sentimental value to me. It accompanied me through the bad times, the good times, and sometimes it was my safe space, where on the rougher days I would pray through my sorrows there. One is never be too old to read; it was these pages and rows of bookshelves that got me through my life, giving me the will and courage to go on, to be able to live through the tough times to make it where I am now.
Now, the library is being demolished. It closed on April 1 this year to prepare for its destruction, the reasons for this being poor land use in the area and traffic congestion. A new national library was to be built in its place in a different location, on Victoria Street, while the land the original building sat on would to be used to make way for the Singapore Management University and Fort Canning Tunnel. I visited the library one last time to utter my last silent goodbyes to it, before it got taken down.
Entering the place, memories of my youth came flooding back. I brushed my fingers against the shelves, seeing the familiar titles and the feel of the covers. I picked up a few classics I used to read, Ray Bradbury, Robert Louis Stevenson… I ran through those one last time. Memories of my grandfather returned, but in my maturity I had come to terms with the inevitability of loss. The world moves, things change. I guess I had to move on. Just like this library, I know the new library will never be the same, but everything must go at some point.
So there I sat, for hours on the stool that bore my weight for decades.
Part 1 of our Agatha Christie miniseries! Aditi and Debraath talk about Dame Agatha’s eventful life and analyse the themes of one of her best-known works: And Then There Were None! Did you marvel at the buildup of paranoia as the story progressed? Were you intrigued by the moral ambiguity of Justice Wargrave?
Aditi: Hi School! Journsplit is back with another episode!! This episode will be a bit special as this is the first episode of what will soon be a three-part miniseries on the queen of crime, Agatha Christie, and some of her works.
Debraath: Dame Agatha Mary Clarissa Christie, Lady Mallowan, was an English writer known for her sixty-six detective novels and fourteen short story collections, particularly those revolving around fictional detectives Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple.
A: Yes! She also wrote the world’s longest-running play, The Mousetrap, which was performed in the West End from 1952 to 2020, as well as six novels under the pseudonym Mary Westmacott.
D: In 1971, she was made a Dame for her contributions to literature. Guinness World Records lists Christie as the best-selling fiction writer of all time, her novels having sold more than two billion copies.
A: Since childhood, she was quite the rebel. According to her, her mother believed she should not learn to read until she was eight, Curious young Agatha paid her no heed and was reading by the age of four. In 1905, after her father died, her mother sent her to Paris, where she was educated in a series of pensionnats (boarding schools), focusing on voice training and piano playing. Deciding she lacked the temperament and talent, she gave up her goal of performing professionally as a concert pianist or an opera singer.
D: Yup, definitely a rebel. Apparently her husband had asked her for a divorce soon after they got married, because he had fallen in love with a woman called Nancy Neele. On 3 December 1926, the pair quarrelled after her husband announced his plan to spend the weekend with friends, unaccompanied by his wife. Later that evening, Christie disappeared from their home. People back then were really hungry for a scandal and this disappearance made headlines. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes even gave a spirit medium one of Christie’s gloves to find her!
A: The following morning, her car, a Morris Cowley, was discovered at Newlands Corner, parked above a chalk quarry with an expired driving licence and clothes inside. This disappearance drove people to utter madness. People were scouring the streets for any trace of where she might be, but as you can deduce from the true stroke of genius with which she wrote her stories, she wasn’t found for quite a while. Finally, after 10 days, she was found at a hotel. You’ll never guess what name she was registered under – Tressa Neele! She used the surname of her husband’s lover! Savage… It’s really cool how she could think up such a sophisticated plan in just a day! There’s no doubt where the criminals and detectives in her books get it from!
D: According to a few sources, Christie’s autobiography makes no reference to the disappearance. Two doctors diagnosed her as suffering from “an unquestionable genuine loss of memory”, yet opinion remains divided over the reason for her disappearance. Some, including her biographer Morgan, believe she disappeared during a state of psychological dissociation and amnesia. The author Jared Cade concluded that Christie planned the event to embarrass her husband but did not anticipate the resulting public melodrama. Christie’s biographer Laura Thompson provides an alternative view that Christie disappeared during a nervous breakdown, conscious of her actions but not in emotional control of herself. Public reaction at the time was largely negative, supposing a publicity stunt or an attempt to frame her husband for murder.
A: If you thought her life was interesting, wait till you hear about her stories. Today, we’ll be talking about And Then There Were None.
D: We’ll be analysing its themes today. Ten Little Soldier Boys, a well known, rather morbid nursery rhyme is a major plot point as it dictates the manner in which the people are killed.
A: There were three main themes for the story: Conscience and Guilt, Paranoia (about dying) and finally Justice. The first theme is evident from the start where the ten people killed by the judge, Justice Wargrave (including Morris) all were responsible for killing someone. Wargrave also fulfilled his lustful intention of killing others.
D: Yes! You can tell the story is about guilt right from when the gramophone record sets the story going, with a voice reading out which of the ten was responsible for whose murder and when the murders were committed. This also causes the breakdown of Mrs Rogers. After hearing the voice, she let out a scream and collapsed.
A: By the end of the book, Vera has killed 2 people in the course of her entire life. The first was Cyril who was her charge when she was a governess, and the second, Lombard, was shot by her as a means of self-preservation. After killing Lombard, her mental state coupled with her guilt and regret causes her to kill herself by hanging. To think of it, the way Wargrave set up the hanging was sadistic. Wargrave took his mind games to a whole new level… Vera saw Hugo and Cyril whenever she was close to encountering death.
D: In the epilogue, when Wargrave tells the reader indirectly that he was the mastermind, the resolution is when he shoots himself in the forehead in the manner he disguised his death on Soldier Island, hence rendering the case nearly impossible to solve. Indeed, the set-up was very intricate.
A: Quite a sizeable portion of the book involves frequent flashbacks and monologues. They detail mental conditions of the people and their lingering guilt such as Ms Brent, who kicked Beatrice Taylor out of her house as the girl had gotten pregnant out of wedlock. Following this, Beatrice jumped off a bridge and committed suicide by drowning. Especially for Vera, when even the seaweed and the smell of the sea it released caused her to remember the repressed memory and trauma. She was so terrified at the point of time that she thought she was being strangled when the seaweed touched her neck in the bathroom.
D: Here’s an interesting observation: Lombard does not consider himself to be a murderer because he didn’t think that the natives he killed were actual deaths. This is clearly evident from “And natives don’t mind dying, you know. They don’t feel about it as Europeans do” to which Vera reacts in a shocked manner initially but is not affected by it (“They were only natives”) and when Ms Brent replies that they were humans too, she mockingly replies “Our black brothers – our black brothers. Oh, I’m going to laugh”. It could be hysteria from immediately listening to the record recite the misdeeds of the ten people, or it could be her actual opinion.
A: The second theme is Paranoia, especially about their deaths. As the number of living people left on Soldier Island begins to dwindle, everyone begins to suspect the other living members left. The suspicion and terror mounting is written in a way so that the reader too feels terrified. From the moment when there are six people left, the monologues of each person show how panicked they are getting.
D: Indeed, this culminates when only Lombard and Vera are left. Without hesitating, she shoots Lombard because she knows that she isn’t the murderer and hence wrongly deduces that Lombard must be responsible for the killings.
A: Wargrave purposefully exploited this building paranoia by making the people whose crimes were worse suffer from the slow mental breakdown and guilt by killing them last (he mentioned this in his letter). Hence, Marston is killed first for his recklessness and the absence of guilt he had towards the death of the two children while Vera is killed last, by her own hands, for the guilt of killing Cyril by purposefully letting him swim in the sea when she knew he would not be able to survive the strong currents. She then lived with the guilt of her lover, Hugo losing all his trust in her after she killed Cyril for his inheritance. (this was proven when Wargrave met up with Hugo where he talked about the vile action she committed).
D: Also, from the very start, there is a blame game being played. Dr Armstrong is blamed first after the death of Mrs Rogers, and this is then further exacerbated once the hypodermic syringe used to inject cyanide into and hence kill Ms Brent is found to be missing from his room when the remaining people go to investigate. The paranoia leads to a continual exchange of accusations and distrust. This shows how easily people turn against each other when their lives are at stake.
A: The last theme is Justice. Wargrave wanted justice for those who died unnaturally at the hands of others, and thus went on a relentless hunt for ten murderers who slipped through the loopholes of the Law. As a judge, he could not help the victims of these murderers because the cases fell through the cracks of the law. Thus, he tried to be a vigilante by killing the perpetrators.
D: Come to think of it, that is a common line in some of her books! Remember Murder On The Orient Express? Cassetti was not punished for his crime hence people ganged up on and murdered him.
A: Oh yes! That’s a very good observation. Wargrave really wanted to help avenge the victims, though. He went the extra mile to find the ten murderers and then methodically kill them. Only in the epilogue do we realise the judge kills them in those ways to avenge the people who were wrongfully killed.
D: But then, the ethical question arises of whether whatever the judge did is justified. There’s two sides to this: Some people think his actions are justifiable – he was delivering justice where the legal system had failed. Others consider him to be in the wrong, along the lines of the quote by Gandhi, “an eye for an eye makes the whole world go blind”. Furthermore, he enjoys killing so it’s a personally motivated goal rather than an act of avengement. This is exemplified by the methodical way he killed them in accordance with the nursery rhyme, which he himself described to be childish.
A: In the end, Wargrave wanted recognition, and wrote down the whole setup of the crimes because he was proud of it. This can also be seen in the way that he tucked in the chair neatly after Vera hung herself (which also shows the level of conniving organisation and diabolically methodical planning that went into being the mastermind of such a grand and heinous crime – it was as if he was taking a bow after starring in a play or putting the finishing touches on a 10-layered cake). He wanted to confuse the police (which he successfully did) as the moving of the chair indicated that there was indeed someone left alive after Vera hung herself, but the police were unable to figure out who it was as by then, Wargrave had killed himself, but had made it look like the work of another, in line with the nursery rhyme, further showing his childish yet elaborate scheme.
D: Unlike the other people, he felt no remorse for killing the people as he felt he was enacting revenge. Pity though, he orchestrated such a finely woven plot and could have used his intelligence for the betterment of society instead of the sadistic murders that he committed.
A: In this way, Agatha Christie explores the line between true justice and vigilantism. Wargrave seems insane due to his actions. Although he is avenging their victims, the guests on soldier island seem likeable, which could be indicative of how appearances are deceiving.
D: I agree. Everyone starts out by feeling wonderful and excited about spending the weekend on the island till the record plays and people begin dying soon after. They are driven to extremes by the mounting paranoia of their impending death and are pushed from civility to a total breakdown of such courtesies. For example, at the start of the book, they behave in a very civil manner during their first dinner on the island but when the guests are murdered, everyone begins to suspect one another. People are terrified of being accompanied by only a single person in fear of them getting murdered and the formal politeness disappears among the terror. In the book, when only half the people remain, the dinner is a very terrifying moment because they know that there is a murderer amongst them but they cannot pinpoint as to who that person is.
A: Here’s some Fun Facts! The judge was mostly described as reptilian and wherever someone died, the murderer was described with turtle-like qualities. For example, when Emily Brent was killed, the murderer was described as somebody all wet and dripping with soft dragging footsteps.
D: Oh, cool! Another interesting thing: Agatha Christie was compelled to write And Then There Were None because it was such a difficult plot to write effectively that the idea fascinated her. The story outline went through massive rewrites before she was ready to write it.
A: I also read that initially the crimes the characters committed were quite different from the final version. Vera Claythorne originally drove her lover to suicide instead of indirectly causing her lover’s nephew’s death, Emily Brent bullied her servant into taking poison instead of kicking her out after she got pregnant out of wedlock, and General MacArthur sent thirty soldiers to die in battle unnecessarily instead of purposely sending his wife’s lover to his death in a war operation, just like the biblical narrative of David, Bathsheba and Uriah.
D: Ending off, there were originally 12 characters on the island, instead of ten. And finally, this is kind of obvious, but the name of the island is Soldier Island, just like the rhyme Ten Little Soldiers. In older versions where the rhyme uses Ten Little Indians, the island was called Indian Island.
A: That’s all we have for And Then There Were None. In the second episode of our trilogy, we will be exploring another one of her famous works, Death On The Nile. Hope you learnt something new today, and we’ll see you in the next episode.
Preamble, preamble. It doesn’t matter anyway. Nothing really does. Which really contextualises our futile struggles for connection in a dying world, no?
In a memory pulled from the heart, I found
a long-lost trace of your gentle cadence;
your fiesty tenor, diminished but resolute.
It compelled me, enveloped in a drugged haze
to once again wear the feel of you between my lips
like a wolf in sheepskin.
But the feeling is unfamiliar, the heft of a hilt
no longer meant for me to weild
for the edges of your inflections have ebbed,
and the shine of your blade has dulled, leaving your lustre
another discarded carcass at the mercy of time,
and another burden to be buried and offset.
Yet you continue to reside in the recesses of my soul,
the ghost of an old flame that withers me
when I hear your unmistakable lilt
trace the patterns of another
ousting upon me the unbearable realisation
that it is I who have lost you,
and not you who has lost me.
So I lock you away and leave the key
under my tongue, now limp and dormant,
until all that remains is my bored indifference
as my lips stretch, not into words that call upon you
but a tired yawn
as I look towards the laborious movement of hands
I compel to move faster still
and have now slipped gently through my fingers
to leave an awkward, uncomfortable stasis
that makes me wish I was some other where
so you would not be so regrettably out of my reach.
Caved In a modified twin cinema poem
Ng Yu Feng
i dreamt of hell once in my sleep
an empty, endless limbo
where eclectic waters run forever deep
and 'ships without people
where fragmented mind-blips bob intermittent
and snakes of smoke cloud wistful brooding
the bleached corals, the false commitment
of colours, washed up shore
the stars were bright, bright as your face
but now constellations are fading, blinking away
you, a mangled array of utter misplace
can't muster the memory of your face
room waltzed with you, a crazed kaleidoscope
sporadic coins of blue heavy on your eyes
and white sheets, and flustered red skin
and while im drifting away, a green goodbye
green of growth, of growing apart
blurring bounds between end and start
though your hands on mine, a gentle touch
but now, to me, it doesn't mean much
my bewilderment an abstract art
your grief-stricken a romantic
im dissolving, a burst wart
confused world frenetic
morning i woke, drenched in brackish dew
and your schedule starts anew
i know you don't love me, you never do
but im willing to make do
i know this relationship is all scorn and torn
and our first and only child was stillborn
but i don't need your "love"
and yes i know, my "love" for you has burnt out too
my candle now half as long but just as bright
and i want to end it right
it was a mistake, this "love", just the two of us on a small boat parting from the main ship
but now we've come so far, alone
and i only have you now
and i just need someone to watch me die
i dreamt of hell once in my sleep
and as much as i hate to admit, i don't want to lose you
Consolations (five, no order of merit)
King of My Heart
Dear Anon: You are the king of my heart,
And I, your ever-faithful, loving queen.
Fate dealt the cards and I knew from the start,
It’s your love that I’ve always sought to win.
A dream you were, so close yet asunder.
Bedazzled by the diamonds in your hand,
I took a leap of faith, and went under –
This shattered illusion my new homeland.
I lost the bid when I gave you my life,
Handed me a spade so I dug my grave.
Threw away my ace and I took a dive,
But you are no knight - just another knave.
And now Jack’s gone and he’s broken his crown,
Shards embedded in my heart - rip! - they tear.
In this endless ocean of you I drown,
Ever since you left me in my despair.
But even though you’ve shredded me apart,
Forever, you’ll be the king of my heart.
the next morning it rained gray
i was left out on the hill
standing, staring, looking away
hunter's crossbow hanging weakly off my arm
how many people does it take to ruin a dream?
the answer is none - a dream is like a bubble
shiny, iridescent, ethereal. be wary of when they pop.
the day it happened: a deer galloped by
sun glancing off its dappled cloak.
it trod thousand-eyed dandelions underfoot
crushed carnations into red,
left me in dust. stunned.
such a pretty specimen. i thought. what a shame
i haven't seen a single animal in months.
i raised my crossbow, and
spent the next months stalking its tracks.
the next months. obsession blossomed like a rose
the longer the hunt went on. i trekked after trails
fought through underbrush
spent days listening avidly for the tales
the leaves have to tell.
(the nerve. i thought. to turn my life upside down.)
the day came too fast. i tailed it to a stream,
got my first full glance:
gold antlers, bronze hooves, what an image it made
this was my one and only chance.
a deep, silent draught, conviction notching an arrow.
i thought i aimed true.
an arrow is fast, the deer was faster
it leapt over the river, outrunning the recklessness of my arrow,
ran off into the horizon, crushing my hope underfoot.
i knew it’d never come near me again.
how many people does it take to ruin a dream?
the answer is none - a dream is like fiction
satisfying while it lasts, but fiction has to have an end
the next morning it rained gray
i was left out on the hill
an unwanted rag. beheld
the destruction the hunt had wrought
all for nought.
On that harsh moonlit night
At a place where the sun does not shine
You appeared, a figure of light
Too good, too pure to be mine
As time flies and the miles between us grow
I wonder what I would sacrifice
To blur the line of truth and lies
Just for a chance to drown in your eyes
You were my anchor to this reality
Without you, I am blind to what’s ahead
Your cruel smile razes like the raging sea
Yet the warmth leaves me seeing red
Worlds collapse, dreams shatter, flames burn
With you, my heart runs rampant
Fact from fiction, I can’t discern
When unreturned, love’s a tyrant
Life of Penguin
Today, she gave me the book,
Small with green pages,
Filled with messages of hope,
Fired up that you are incoming.
Today, she lay back on the bed,
Frail with pale skin,
Fraught with ridges of worry,
Fear that you are in trouble.
Today, I place you in a box,
Tiny, with brown sides,
Frigid with pangs of despair,
Flayed that you are inanimate.
Joye Lim Qian Qi
linger in my scattered delusions
as i drown in an ocean of sleep –
rippling refractions of sun on the water’s surface
that fade as i fall
down, and down, and down.
flit among the trees,
always just out of my reach.
a flickering, dancing flame, bright blue against dark night
whispering for me to follow,
and i do.
now i am lost, and you are nowhere to be found.
are a closed book, and i never learned to read.
every eureka is proven wrong,
every experiment blows up in my face.
if a million stars and a thousand galaxies were scattered
across every night sky
maybe then you’d see me.
i hate you.
but the opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference
and my hate and love are so entwined
they may never be unravelled.
sometimes they suffocate me.
and sometimes they set me free.
My back, it hurts from her scars,
Love is a dirty trick,
But now I’m smoking cigars,
Going with whoever I pick,
A second-hand emotion, that’s all it is,
A husk of what you thought was real,
Deceiving others when I see fit,
Love, marriage? just another ordeal
Finishing and consuming every thought, action and decision
Undermining your social structure and putting everything at stake
Caring not for you and obscuring your vision
Knowing your heart, it will crumble and break,
I know the loneliness, I’ve been there,
This isn’t cynical, it’s the truth – why love really stinks.
roses, scattered on the ground endless echoes all around "just leave me alone", he said "end those thoughts inside your head can't you see i don't love you?" try i did, but that held true i, dejected, left the shred of hope i had in fate's red thread now my heart, no more, it's dead.
Neo Wee Zen
(don’t be so hard on yourself. issa good poem :>)
Stare with compassionate fury
As you settle the unruly jury
After all, you’re law and order, without reason
So please, greet me with distaste and derision
Deliver me death!
My adoration will stay so evergreen,
I wilt at the sound of your every breath
This agony, more than you’ve ever seen
For once, I was a tool, a jester under your rule
Then, I disintegrate, a translucent ghoul
I’ll fall into my place, and never show my face
For the fear of the taste of disgrace
My tale is all made up,
My soul is all makeup,
Call me out for my fraud,
Redact the moments I made you applaud.
She’s every misstep, every mistake
Her glance, her grin, an intoxicating gin
And a sentence said, with meaning but lacking intent
A sin without a chance of repent
Delusions, illusions soon follow
Attempts at redemption ring hollow.
She has me arrested, my thoughts overstayed.
She has me blocked, in front of heaven’s gate.
Filled with guilt, the atmosphere killed,
I pray for my love and the lights to fade.
Yet, your serenity shines through the clouds!
You unwrap my airtight shroud
Convict me of treason, to the highest degree.
Prepare my sepulchre and set my body free.
Deliver me death!
I wilt at the sound of your every breath
My adoration will stay so evergreen,
This agony, more than you’ve ever seen.
God, my heart's vacant now
Yeah, she hates me now
I popped a couple bottles of aspirin
But it’s not enough, the emptiness still reigns
I won't let the doubt creep in
Banish the pain from within
Happy I never let you in
Glad I saved myself from ruin
Love’s a game, it gives me pain
My heart breaks yet again
All I get from you is pain
Never wanna see you again
Now my life is spiralling down
Heartache is all I found
With love around my life’s damned
Now I’m lost, now what’s the plan
Love’s not a thriller
Nothing but a cold blooded killer
You, with that Viper’s tongue of yours
All you do, all it does is lures
But now I’m done with this
It is nowhere near bliss
It drives me to death
Forces me to take my last breath
Love is cold, and I’m done with it
After all this, I’m well and truly beat
Are you happy with what you caused
Or will you brush past without a pause
Just as you did before
I can’t take this anymore.
Breaking it off is what’s best
So why can’t I put this to rest
I’m tortured from the inside and this is how I’m gonna die...
Shen Xing Yang
Distractions and Fears
I'm not ready for such dedication,
O my treach'rous heart, why do you flutter?
Love unknowable, bard's inspiration,
But to me it's all just needless clutter.
I take comfort in your touch so gentle
It's become to me like bread and butter.
Every way both physical and mental,
On you I've become far too dependent.
Can we act like this is accidental?
Feels like you're the judge and I'm defendant.
Fear rejection, yes, I am a coward,
I'll look from afar, you're bright and splendent.
I'll just stay alone; my love has soured-
(Hence abandon I my love, unflowered.)
Eliora Delphine Loo Yun
everyone thinks that they know us.
how - how?
is that so?
they think they've got us figured out.
we know better
i do i do i do i do i do i do
i do until i don't.
i need you to know
that this isn't a confession.
of love, i mean-
i mean - it is.
just not like that.
i mean - i'm afraid.
i'm afraid that it will become so.
i'm so afraid, because
what love like that does.
it consumes everything
in its brutal onslaught.
i'm so afraid, because
when it’s through with us
there will be nothing left
but a you-shaped hole
in the fabric of my universe.
i'm so afraid, because
what's been done to me -
it would happen to you.
and it would be my hands
pressed over your mouth and nose.
and i need you to breathe.
it's not that i can't, without you.
but it's easier.
i cannot have
that the end to this tale
is us learning to breathe
through the gaps between
each other's fingers.
we'd still be gasping
i can do nothing but say -
God help me.
God help me
to love you enough
not to fall in love
As I watch her from a few seats away
Nice and beautiful, silent and sweet, her radiant smile illuminating my way
Destined for each other, or so I hoped, despite my faults and her flair
Running into her anywhere makes my heart stop, I swear
Emotions flood into my head with each glance, it seems
And here is her story, finally expressed in real words instead of daydreams
Which I believe is true, no matter from whose view
“Opposites attract,” Is it true?
As I raise my head for a glance
not daring to take a second one
I start to wonder
about the person out of my reach
“The ability to see across worlds
does not ensure granted dreams “
Have I truly been wasting time?
Daydreaming about happy endings
When it’s simply nonexistent?
If love is blind
Then so am I
Leong Jiandi Nathanael
My Unrequited Love
When I saw her, it was love at first sight.
Made my heart beat like the clock at midnight.
Her shy and reserved personality,
Was one of our commonalities.
Her blushing face is too delightful,
others glare at me, oh so spiteful.
That pout when she gets a little mad,
Makes me want to comfort her so bad.
Fluent in both English and Japanese,
Traveling overseas would be a breeze.
Having an obsession with history,
Makes our convos a constant mystery.
That girl, she is simply divine.
Forever showing up in my mind.
I want to go out with her already.
However, my love is stuck in 2D.
When they leave.
you, your eyes as dark as night
as the blackened skies where birds take flight
no emotions in them two
cold and endless, black and blue
under the depths of the sea
now you have imprisoned me
last year, i made a wish
a hope to get you as a duo
school was a time to group
talking to you was nice
looking to your time to get
expressing my attempted push
then sent a message, did i
to tell you how i mean
eleven minutes, before long
receiving none bliss
exit my delusion, not a spec
attempts too far, too extra
creeping gave you more pain
harassing made you no closer
lying to myself was no cure
i myself made this major mess
new year new me?
edit my fingerprints, i cannot
My Valentine's gift
A long awaited day
So loved be those that are loved
And lonely to those who arent
Butterflies flutter in my stomach as i think about whats to come
In the morning when I arrive
He walks through the dull hallway into my class
A spark in the midst of gloom
His friends await at the door
Eager to see my reaction
My heart pounds
He hands me a letter
Encased with hearts
Said something to me
So passionate and
Full of earnesty
"im breaking up with you"
So much for roses
“I loved you so much”
Chanting in my head while I carry
Visions of what we might have been
I would walk barefooted across the deserts
Swim like a dolphin, out of quicksand
To seek you
As I swim across the moat, hack at your fortress walls
I scream “LET ME IN!!”
I will prove my worthiness of entering your garden oasis
Let us be friends, so we may then be more than friends.
Excuse me please, while I still dream of holding
flowers, for a while longer in your corridor dead-ends.
Lower your guards, please. They bug me
While I sugar a distraction from my intrusion.
Don’t raise suspicion. Please trust me,
Allow me the way into your heart chamber.
Where there is no red carpet
I pave the forward path with a gilded tongue
Climb up upon lines of vines
To reach you
Here are a thousand poems dedicated to you,
I will write more every time I
smell your rose scents.
see through your tinted glasses.
hold up your bouquets by the stalk.
hear the music of your fauna. softly
harvest, plucking each plant one by one.
hush my wincing. Until I can’t even hold a pen.
My hands hurt, and they don’t look any less
A bloody pricking mess. What a catch.
Cast an eye of disdain over the pain.
Or cover it up, lest resentment infects it.
Day by day, our flags seem to match closer to the red carpets.
Since when? Did we litter rose petals on the floor for the purpose
Of being trampled upon.
The more I explore your castle,
The emptier this Large House feels.
Seeing red everyday doesn’t feel so rosy anymore.
Maybe I loved you
Only so much.
Ernest Emmanuel Cheong Haoen
The whole wide world was our galaxy,
Big enough for just you and me,
And you were the brightest star that could be.
She took off the head of Cassio,
And tore you away ‘till I let you go,
To leave me stranded with no way to know,
And in this equation
We solve for all three bodies
In a constantly chaotic path,
Because there is no solution
To the end of our stories
And the parabolic curtain laugh.
We used to rule the seven seas,
Even though I grew weak at my knees,
Couldn’t see the dark forest for the trees.
She rocked our boat like a tempest storm,
And before I knew it you were gone,
Swept past me with the past that I still mourn,
And in this assertion
We find ‘Z’s ‘Y’s and ‘X’s
In a constantly chaotic path,
Because my revolution
Around the central axis
Has been snipped in two and folded in half.
And there is no one in space
To stop tangential rejection
From the supernova’s aftermath.
When I first saw you, my heart skipped a
Beat but down the rabbit hole I go uh-
I’m addicted to you like a bottle of pills
And before I know it, everything’s going downhill
My brain’s high and it’s drowning in toxin
Drunk with dopamine and oxytocin
It’s like I’m taking a puff of a cigarette
It hurts but I’m still chasing your silhouette
My mind wanders around, I think I’m lovesick
And I still continue being overly optimistic
But you shot a bullet through my heart, “Eat lead”
Left me on the ground to bleed a shade deep red
Two Weeks of love: A Brief Summary of Infatuation
Monday, I first set my eyes on you on the way to school
Tuesday, I can’t stop thinking bout’ you
Statistically couples fall apart but we might just be true
Wednesday, gathering my courage, I approach you and ask
Surprise, there’s a smile there right behind your mask
With you with me there will never be a single laborious task
Thursday, we learn more about each other, at this moment (I think)
Between us appeared the red string, an invisible link
We talk to each other at the skating rink
Now this is a ship that’ll never sink
Friday, let’s watch a movie
Saturday, walk in the park
Sunday, go for some ice cream
And walk home after dark
I’m starting to lose myself
Don’t want fame and don’t want wealth
You’re the only thing in my soul
Monday, my eyes don’t feel quite right
Tuesday, my mind is telling lies
Wednesday, my love’s fear in different light
Thursday, new complications arise
Friday, I realise, I have been blind
Replay our memories in my mind
Shake free of our untrue bind
And go forth, leaving this all behind
Saturday, I wander through the street
Don’t know and don’t care who I will meet
Alone, by myself, I go for a treat
Sunday, I’m binging by myself, I’m seriously done
Let’s hope tomorrow I won’t meet another one
I guess I’m myself again
No more heartbreak, no more pain
The obsession has taken its toll
Witch Oh Witch Oh Witch Oh Witch
should’ve listened to my friends and ditched
thought we were happy together
but you kept changing like weather
girl I know the love is dead
should have known it way ahead
you told me he was just a friend
I caught you cheating in the end
I treated you like such a queen
but u went out with him on Feb 14
Trying to forget all that you’ve said
Can you just stay out of my head.
Lim Woon Seng
He was rich and she was young.
He was rich and she was young.
It was quite clearly not love,
When both act in self-interest,
While saying the same “I do”.
He was rich and she was young,
On the special day, they went out,
To get fifty-dollar chocolates by the river Seine
And pictures that last as scars soon after.
He was poor and she was young,
An economic crisis, a job retrenchment,
Laid bare the problem with the “love” between.
She was sad not for him but for herself.
He is poor and she is old.
He was tired, she was sleepy.
A petty argument over dishes.
A slow fire that burns.
He looked at himself in his mirror,
And she looked at herself in her mirror,
It didn’t reflect the image of who they want to be.
Thus, they slowly agreed,
That now, perhaps is the time,
To acknowledge that there was no “love” to speak of.
Her for him, and him for her,
It’s all a lie, it’s just a facade.
So much for love and joy and whatever
That you see in those cheap magazines from the corner stores
For humans are strange creatures who prefer the artificial safety of beauty and money
Law Rui Xi
Fluttering of petals, flowing like time,
Clouds drifting freely in the sky.
The girl I like, drawing sandcastles in the air
She’s so gorgeous, I think I could cry
Sitting at her desk, a picture of beauty,
Pencil poised, words dancing on the page.
She answers posed questions with unrivalled fervor
Her bright eyes are the highlights of my day.
Her house stands on a tree-lined street,
Her dogs greet her at the door.
She walks into a house smelling of delicious pie
And curls up on the porch with a tome.
A leafy dish graces her bowl as
She laughs with the apple of her eye
This painful truth, I struggle to grasp
Why must it be him? Why can’t it be I?
I am the only one for her
Why is she so blind?
I’ll prove it to her
That she can only be mine
I drag her away one day like a prince
Rescuing my princess from the dragon’s claws
I convince myself she did not just wince;
She’s with her only worthy worshipper at long last.
A brawl breaks out, a fist to my cheek
A foot to my chest and my ears start to ring.
A strangled scream calls me a “creepy freak”
But you refused to come with me
Is it my fault?
Scarlet mars my vision like blood in my eyes
The hum of strength coursing through my veins
I surrender no more to indecision
and ignore their desperate pleas I shall
She’s mine she’s mine she’s mine she’s mine
She’s mine she’s mine she’s mineshe’smines
By the end of it all, I wield a shattered bottle of wine
I stagger to my feet, woozy in the head
“It’s going to be alright now, it’s going to be fine.”
She flinches away, features plastered with dread
“Finally. At last, you are no one’s but mine.”
What's the point of love?
Love, you tell me
is something that’s everyone’s cup of tea
But I just have one doubt –
What’s the point of all this stuff?
What’s the point of love?
Remember that couple out on the beach?
They were smooching and hugging as though in love
But guess what? It was all fake
For exactly three days later, came the news
that the boy had left, and the girl suffered a heartbreak
What’s the point of love?
Now before you argue – here’s one more case
There was a second couple, who after reading
the fate of the first, decided that never by force
would they fall in love. But guess what?
They had three children, and then divorced
What’s the point of love?
Not satisfied? Here’s another tragedy
A couple were dating, but then were separated
The man went overseas, and three years later came back
The girl was delighted – But guess what?
He was carrying a baby and a diaper-filled backpack
What’s the point of love?
The last case is not so tragic
Two high school sweethearts were married together
They promised each other that they would never part
But guess what? The man died of a heart attack
and left the woman with an unfixable hole in her heart
What’s the point of love?
Is there any point of love seen?
I can’t see any – can you?
So is there a point of love?
I’ll say no – but it’s up to you
a few glimpses away
our eyes met
and we darted away
a few days at times
our paths crossed ways
and I fell again for the crime
a few nights in a row
you flickered here and there
I was kept lucid, yet alone
a few months trickled by
no there wasn't a few months
had fun while it lasted
felt dumb when it ended
oh wait it happened again :0
It seemed too good to be true
I fell in love without a clue
I loved her with my heart and mind
Never did I think she would leave me behind
It all ended that fateful day
When her feelings drifted away
Why did it have to end this way
She had left me to decay
She always wanted to go higher
I must have failed to fulfill her desire
Was she always a liar
She just had to set my heart on fire
Possible I was not caring enough
Perhaps I wasn't bold and tough
Why did I have to fall for her charm
Now in return all I get is harm
It has been so long since she left me
But she never left my memory
This has been my burden to carry
Never ever can I hope to be free
Why did I have to love her so much
Now all I long for is her touch
She was my love, friend and so much more
She had sent me begging at her door
As my cold heart shatters
It makes me think nothing matters
From love and anti-love, I choose the latter
Nothing is served on a silver platter
My empty feelings cannot be expressed
All I am now is depressed
Wishing that I should have shown my best
Wishing I could die of cardiac arrest
Why she left I can never comprehend
All my hopes are left to spend
Now that my poem comes to an end
Are you sure you want a girlfriend
Hope you feel less lonely after reading these poems, and thank you to all the participants!
A beautiful exotic Beast Beloved everywhere From north to south, from west to east For their Feathers and their Flair Their curious minds And playful manners Their sweet faces could light up a room They have talents for learning tricks of all kinds They can also speak on various matters They may also spread their wings and zoom!
However once you choose to welcome These creatures into your life You may find they are truly fearsome And soon may come a time of Strife From dusk to dawn and all day long, They make profuse demands Their beaks are poised even during play To bite if something’s wrong At times they’ll seem just to not understand “I HAVE A LIFE, OKAY?”
Yet the owner will always say I love my little Beelzebub Buddy He is Perfect in every way He can be a fuddy-duddy Or sometimes radically unstable But he’ll find ways to make me smile Or else, just—sit there with me So even when he’s ripping up a cable He’s just a friend with a lot of Style As you can see
Do you remember the days of Minecraft when boats didn’t have oars? Remember the days when people went to the End solely to fight the Ender Dragon? I was a massive fan of Minecraft back in 2013, I watched Minecraft videos every day the moment I got home from school, I read the wiki religiously and of course, I downloaded a pirated version.
I stopped watching around 2015 and I never thought about it again until one day I opened up a video talking about the panda update. Then I fell into a terrifying spiral of research about the new mobs that had been added since 2015. Dolphins, parrots, polar bears, striders, shulkers, illagers…TURTLES? BABY TURTLES?? New biomes! New naturally generated structures! A material better than diamond, the triumphant champion since the dawn of Minecraft! Needless to say, I was horrified. Could it be that my previous genius was now irrelevant and outdated? Could it be that I was now a ‘noob’?
I felt old. Like some old lady who didn’t understand how technology worked, like my prime had passed and now I was some relic of the past.
Then I realised I was only 14.
There are other things that make me feel old as well. I have friends my age who’ve already gotten white hairs, my back sometimes hurts, I don’t actually understand how to use Instagram stories.
It appears that feeling old when you are at an age typically considered “still young” is quite a common phenomenon, often triggered when someone learns that this thing they enjoyed during their youth happened a decade or so ago. I have seen countless Buzzfeed articles talking about old TV shows and how the actors look currently, recreations of discontinued confectionery products and videos showing early editions of Minecraft claiming they would make the viewer feel nostalgic. These things make me feel absolutely ancient, but the time gap from then to now is certainly not as large as I would think. My father, for example, can tell me stories from over half a century ago.
I talked to a friend during CCA who showed me a video from the Youtube channel CollegeHumor called ‘If You’re Only 20-Something, Stop Saying You’re Old’, what it made fun of is self-explanatory. I thought the point it was trying to make was a good one, when you’re young and complain about being old, you just look silly. Another CCA member then remarked that dismissing claims about feeling old was just like disregarding mental illnesses. I’m definitely not an expert about mental health, but I do agree that feeling old was not wholly a laughing matter.
An article from the BBC, ‘The age you feel means more than your actual birthdate’, talked about people from all ages not identifying with their age. A person feeling younger than they actually were was shown to have a positive impact on their health and wellbeing. A person feeling older than they were might have been because they felt physically or mentally unfit. In general, certain age groups tend to want to be older or younger due to factors like work or health circumstances. The article concluded that in the medical field, people should take not just physical age but mental age into account as well when they diagnose patients, due to its impact on health.
For now, I suppose all I can do is fixate less on how old I feel and focus more on relearning Minecraft my studies and the happy youthful moments in life.
The school is dark, empty. The lights haven’t even been turned on. The field is covered with morning grey as the feeble light tries to sweep past the concrete walls. Eventually the turnstile is grumbled at again, a car stops at the main gate, people have arrived. The few early birds enter their ‘nests’. The lights are turned on, or sometimes not, if these birds happen to be nocturnal. The fans start their mechanical ceaseless journey, each blade going so fast they all seem to merge together, yet going nowhere.
Time moans by… It’s still morning. Sleepy… Everyone is silent, resting. Their heads buried in their arms. Wait no, they’re just looking at the phones in their laps. Some have earphones on, passing the fresh morning in a completely different dimension, in the realm of memes, techno music and angry Tweets. The classroom is quiet, peaceful even. By now almost all the lights have been turned on. The writing on the board is clearer than ever. Just the previous day’s work that was so exhausting no one could muster enough energy to wipe it away. Occasionally there’s some artwork on the boards as well. It may not be good (in fact its intention may have been to be subpar quality) but it’s a part of the class anyway.
Vibrant people start appearing, chatting with friends, passing around plushies, sharing sweets. What a cheerful lot. Well, annoying actually, if you’re trying to cram in some extra last minutes of sleep. It’s alright. They’ll move along to another class soon. The people they want to meet in the mornings often seem to be somewhere else.
By and by, the classroom gets fuller. People start sitting up straight and the silence of mornings strolls away down corridors. Another day has begun.
What? You aren’t convinced? Well ok then. Let me convince you.
Boxes help to store items. You may think that’s obvious, but imagine your life without boxes. Where would you keep trinkets or souvenirs? Sure you could shove them into a cupboard, but then they would just fall over and crush the life out of you. How would you carry your things when you move to a new place? Personally I don’t have a thousand hands. Also, how on earth would you receive or collect large items? Wait, you don’t ever purchase large items? Well just wait until you are older and need to buy an oven or something. Hmph. Then you’ll see.
Also, boxes are fun. Have you seen posts from frustrated owners about how cats never sit in the actual bed they have, but in the box it came in instead? That’s because cats are intelligent beings that understand the omnipotent power that boxes contain.
Boxes are also fun for humans. Especially small ones. If you are a small human you should be able to fit comfortably into a large box. Now you can pretend you are mail. Or maybe you’d rather be in a spaceship, simply cut a hole into the side of the box to be a window. Since the box is made of cardboard, it can be easily modified to suit your imaginative needs. However, you may be too large to fit into a generic box, in such a case, I advise you not to lose hope. All you need is many large boxes, some scissors, tape and too much time. Now you can make your own custom gigantic box. Now you see, that boxes are not only practical, but can be a source of entertainment as well.
If you are convinced about the brilliance of boxes at this juncture, please go to your nearest box and appreciate it. However, if you still hold onto the false sentiment that boxes are ugly and boring, let me remind you that boxes are a metaphor for life. There are all kinds of boxes. From the outside, some may look dull or mundane while others look exciting or colourful. When some people open a box, they find it full of beautiful new things that they can enjoy. However, you may open your box to find some dusty dead insects or even nothing at all. Now’s your chance to fill it with something nice! Bit by bit, you will find things that you like and you can put them into your box but you can also take them out to admire.
Hence, I implore you to find the joy in boxes and treasure them, just like cats do.
Have you walked past one of those Chinese shops with a bunch of beads and stones? Those are mainly selling “crystals”. When most people think of crystals, they probably think of diamonds. However, in “crystal healing”, crystals refer to semi-precious stones like quartz or amethyst that supposedly can do miraculous things like boost your immune system. Yes, crystal healing is pseudoscientific and has no proof. As an NUS High student, I do not believe in any of the powers that these rocks supposedly have. However, I do believe that these rocks are quite pretty and that looking at lovely things will make you happy.
Now, let’s take a look at some types of crystals and their alleged benefits.
Let’s start with quartz, a common crystal which is sometimes called a “master healer”. It is said to improve your mental faculties and boost the effect of other crystals. Most of the time, quartz is semi translucent with a whitish tone, called clear quartz. There are also varieties like rose quartz, which is pink due to impurities of titanium, iron, or manganese. But hang on, if you are browsing the Wikipedia entry for quartz, why are there so many varieties that look like completely different crystals? Well it turns out that the most common crystals you’ll see people selling are all just quartz variants, even though they do not have quartz in their names, like tiger’s eye and citrine. If you believe in their powers, they all have unique ones, despite technically being the same mineral, silicon dioxide.
The aforementioned rose quartz promotes love and harmony; amethyst, a quartz that ranges from light to dark purple, is for healing and treating insomnia; citrine, another quartz variety that is yellow in colour due to ferric impurities, brings wealth, improves creativity and treats diabetes. There are actually two types of citrine, one is naturally found in the ground and another is amethyst which has been heat-treated to give it a yellowish-orange colour.
Lastly, let me introduce another common crystal, fluorite, which is not a quartz! It is composed of calcium fluoride and has a wide range of colours. It is mainly purple and green, but some can even be yellowish in colour. It is said to absorb negative energy and help in decision making.
An important part of ‘crystal healing’ is cleansing and recharging crystals, to get rid of negative energy supposedly absorbed by the crystal. This involves things like running crystals under water, putting it in the sunshine or moonlight, burning sage and using singing bowls. However, be aware that some crystals are soluble in water, so that you don’t see your $50 honey calcite get washed away. Normally people will consult the Mohs hardness scale and recommend you do not let crystals with a 4 and under value to be in water. However, due to Covid-19, I have washed pieces of fluorite, which has a value of 4, and it was perfectly fine. I would say, just refrain from washing anything expensive.
If you are looking to purchase a crystal, you will also realise that they are often carved into a huge variety of shapes, like bears, owls, foxes, fish, cubes, towers, hearts and so on. This is my favourite part about crystals, because no matter what you believe, their purpose is ultimately for decoration. So have fun exploring the world of crystals and enjoy collecting them!