The life and mind of Adeline Ong

This is the story I wrote back in 1999 that got me a highly commended award. I always knew that I want to be a writer and winning the award actually help me believe that I can be a writer.

Hope you enjoy it.

Your Time Is Up

Making my way through a dimly lit hallway, I recognised the carpets and furniture were from the time of Renaissance. The paintings on the walls were of the masterpieces of centuries of great artists. Amongst them were Leonardo Da Vinci, Vincent Van Gogh and Michaelangelo. I could not tell if they were the original art or just mere copies. As I strolled down, admiring the individual pictures, the windows burst opened sending a gush of wind into my face, blowing millions of dust particles straight into my eyes and nostrils. I sneezed. My eyes became watery. I fought my way against it and struggled hard to shut the shutters. Slamming the menacing wind out of the mansion, I continued my way to the library.

I did not know why my mother sent me here. The place sent shivers down my spine. I have never enjoyed staying at my Uncle Carl’s Vatican mansion. It was not that I dislike the kind big old man who always has us for the summer holidays. It was just my cousins. My cousins were not of my age group. Either they were in college or they were mere elementary school children. In fact, I did not even share the same bloodline as them. I have always felt so out of place. I knew that being adopted by such a rich family was not a bad thing. Uncle Carl and my mother knew it was hard for me to fit in. They encouraged me and gave me everything. Yet, I could not find my purpose in life. Plus the question why my birth mother abandoned me still lingered in my mind.

During my vacations at Uncle Carl’s, I often wandered around the neighbourhood, much to Fridley, the butler’s annoyance. I loved being alone on my little expeditions. Sometimes I travelled a bit too far from the house. Poor old Fridley had to come searching for me. The last time I got lost in the woods, chasing a hare to its burrow. I was just ten years old back then. I smiled as I continued down the hallway.

“Something amusing, my lady?� a curious voice called behind me.

It made me jump and then I pause for a moment. I spun around to see who it was. There he was a six foot five inches man, dressed in his best black suit. I looked up to him – the giant that was towering over me. “Fridley, old chap! You gave me a fright. Never do that again,â€? I exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, my lady. Nevertheless, I see that you have picked up the British accent. Hmmm..,� he replied smiling.

“Just a week is enough to get me going. And please don’t call me my lady. It makes me feel so old. I’ll be turning only sixteen in three weeks time.�

“As you wish, my lady,� Fridley shot back, sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue playfully at him. “Is that for Uncle Carl?� I pointed at the silver tray he was holding.

“Yes, it’s time for Master Fredmon’s medication,� he answered. Then the doorbell rang. “Oh dear, do you mind carrying this to the library? Master Fredmon is there. I’ve got to get the door.�

He left me standing there with a whole silver tea set. I gave a loud sigh. But no one could hear it unless the walls have ears. Balancing the whole tray, I slowly climbed the creaky staircase, which led to the library.
Outside the library, I could hear Uncle Carl coughing. I knocked gently on the door before entering. There was Uncle Carl seated in his big comfortable armchair, lost in his own world of fantasies. This was the only man that I knew who adores books. He has a collection of books that even my school library could not compare. He taught me many things about life. Especially, when I had problems, he always knows the answer.

He looked up from his book and gave me a warm smile. “What is it my child?�

“Well, it’s time for your medication,� I said, raising the tray a little.

After taking his medicine, I curled up beside him next to the fire. It was quite chilly for a summer night. It had rained the whole day.

“What have you been up to, my dear?� Uncle Carl asked. His voice was hoarse and weak.

“I went to the market this morning and I met this old beggar….�

“In the rain?� Uncle Carl cut my sentence. “Oh, dear. You are always out and about helping people. But please look after your own health.�

I nodded in reply and continued my story.

The scene of the haggard old beggar thrusting his gnarled wrinkled hand at me, asking for a coin replayed in my mind. He was dirty and smelt horrible. Yet, behind the dirt and grime, a white bush for a beard, his eyes caught my attention. Those eyes were baby blue. So gentle. If I left him there, my guilt would soon devour me like a hungry beast. I just had to oblige. I gave him a pound and then I took off.

Despite wearing a heavy raincoat and carrying an umbrella, I could not keep myself from getting wet. That is when my conscience bugged me. I had to go back and get the poor old man. I turned around and headed back to the almost deserted market place. The wind was howling. I was lost in the curtains of rain. I could hardly see a thing. Yet, I was determined to find the old beggar. I went from corner to corner searching for the old man. Just as I was about to give up, I heard a sneeze. It was funny though. With the rain pouring so heavily, it was even impossible to hear a yell but I heard a sneeze. To my relief, I saw the old beggar curled up beside a trashcan. I approached him.

“Come on, sir. Let’s go to a place where it’s nice and dry,� I said as I gave him my hand to hold onto.
We went to a small café. It was not very fancy but it was warm and cosy. I ordered a bowl of soup and some pasta for him. As for myself, I took a cup of hot tea and some toast. Although he was hungry, he ate in a very proper manner, unlike most people I have known. He did not say a word until he had finished his meal.

“Thank you, my dear. It has been months since someone has treated me like a human being,� he said in a grateful voice.

I came to know that the beggar sitting in front of me used to come from a wealthy family. Mr. Johnson as he claimed to be, had his own business empire, a loving wife and three sons. His wife left him for a better world five years ago and that is when he became ill himself. He left his fortune to his three sons fearing he might not live long enough to run it. In return, he was abandoned and disowned by his own flesh and blood. He was sent to an old folks’ home where he was mistreated. When the torture became unbearable, Mr. Johnson made up his mind and left the home. He began living on the streets and started eating out of trashcans. The thought of it made my stomach go queasy. He resolved to begging in order to survive. Despite all his hardship, Mr. Johnson expressed that for once he was happy.

Upon hearing his statement, I was surprised. A business tycoon, now a mere beggar was happy.

Out of pure curiosity, I asked, “But why sir? I do not understand.�

Mr. Johnson took my hand and patted it. He said life had been better now that he was on the streets. He did not have to worry about his business or his appearance. He would not have to be a hypocrite just for a business deal. For once, he could be free. It is true that now he is free. He told me in life, nothing could remain the same tomorrow. God has his own way of working and sometimes miracles may come in the form of pain and loss. Nobody knows when Armageddon might hit. Life is to be fulfilled with good deeds and if our time has come, we know we had left a legacy or a memory in this world. Materials may vanish but memories can be cherished. After that, he left me sitting down in the café all alone as I watch his fragile silhouette walk in the drizzle.

By then, Uncle Carl had fell asleep. I covered him with his blanket and gave him a slight peck on his forehead. I took a big breath and looked around the library. Some of the books were left untouched for many years. The paper was yellow and brittle. Thick layers of dust lay undisturbed on the covers. Uncle Carl did adore books but at his age, he had a hard time taking care of them. I walked to the nearest shelf and pulled out a big red book. I slowly opened its cover. On the first page it stated, “I am only one, but still I am one; I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything I will not refuse to do something that I can do – Edward E. Hale.�

That phrase was Uncle Carl’s favourite. I smiled and then my mind began to ponder. A million questions crowded my thoughts. I started to reconsider Mr. Johnson’s words. As I eyed every book around me, I began to think. What if these books were people? All the knowledge and wisdom left to rot in a neglected library. The books symbolised men like Mr. Johnson, now ignored by the public, treated like trash. What if Armageddon really did strike tomorrow? Will mankind be prepared to face their time?

Life is like that. You can never expect to have maximum results if you do not work for it. I was ashamed for it took me so long to realise my mistake. Even worse, I had to learn it from an old beggar. But it took mankind even longer. I might as well consider myself lucky.

I fell asleep on the rug by the fire. When I woke up, I saw Uncle Carl still resting on his armchair. I approached the gentle giant and shook him. Unfortunately, there was no response. I checked for his pulse but there was none. His body was cold. I screamed for Fridley.

Uncle Carl had passed away the night before. He seem so peaceful when the laid him down in his coffin. From the look of his face, I believed without a doubt that Uncle Carl had lived his life to the fullest. He had been kind and altruistic. It hurt me deeply to lose my uncle. At least I know that he had left this world knowing that I appreciated him and his wisdom. Plus the fact he had appreciated his own life and never took things for granted.

Many people do not realise how precious life can be. Others do not appreciate the things they have. You and I may be one of those who had never spent enough time appreciating and loving the thing there are around us. You may not realise it until your time is up. I just happened to be lucky.

From an article in a local newspaper not too long ago, I have found out that professional men have sorted to buying brides from other countries. Why buy brides when the local population is bursting with the female species? In fact, it is said that women have outnumbered men, 4 to 1.

However, men of today are intimidated by their local female counterparts. Most women of today are very career minded and prefer not to become the perfect wife, who cooks, cleans and be the baby-making machine. Women want to achieve more in life and they only a lifetime to do it. It is not that these women chose not to have families; they only chose to postpone the process. Men on the other hand wants to be the dominant one in the family, being outshined by their wives is seen as a symbol of weakness.

In desperation for a family maker, men have turned to buying brides from less developed countries. A few match making companies have been set up with the sole purpose of finding brides for these men. After having a certain number of eager suitors, the company will arrange a trip for them to choose their brides to be.

The women being ‘bought’ are usually come from poor families and are more than happy to marry a rich foreigner. However, they would have to go through a lot of classes and medical check ups to qualify. It is sad to say that men are very picky even when they are desperate. They want their brides to be virgins, something that is rare in modernized women and healthy enough to bare children. Secondly, they do not want their wives to be look down upon in the society they mingle with.

After meeting their future spouses for hardly two weeks, the couple are married off. The bride will soon have to adapt to a new environment, a new culture and a new language. The element of love is not applied in such a union; it is just the process of supply and demand.

At least, such unions are legal, as both have agreed on the matter. In some rural parts of China, young women are being abducted from villages and sold as brides to wanting men. The police have a hard time tracking and rescuing these women from their miseries.

It is really sad to see people of the millennium turning to such cavemen like tactics just to get married. Where is the element of love? Don’t feelings count anymore? Are we that desperate to fulfill that need as to use money? Life is full of questions but very little answers.

This is an oldies entry. Sept 14, 2002

A strip of restaurants and cafes surround the outer façade of the Sunway Pyramid Shopping Mall; cute little coffee corners, posh ice cream parlour and fast food stall. Among those lies a nice quaint Italian restaurant, Piccolo Mondo. Its bright green and red light, illuminating the name, calls out to the patrons of the mall.

It was an open-air restaurant situated next to the American coffee chain giant Starbucks. The black bar was practically empty as my friends and I waltzed in. The bartender seems to occupy his time watching the football match on the television while drying shot glasses in his hands. The ceiling fans spun violently to cool its phantom patrons. Not many customers were around. Perhaps it is because it was a weeknight. There were a few red vinyl booths accompanied by mock marble tables, away from the bar. We chose one and sat down. A large picture of groceries decorated the wall near our booth. R and B music played in the background. A rather unusual ensemble since it did not quite match the atmosphere.

A short waiter, clad in his crisp white shirt, black slacks and green and white striped apron came with three bright orange, dog-eared menus. After scanning the menu, printed with words that would make a non-Italian speaker’s tongue twist, Natasha, Jivani and I decided to have the Pollo Funghi, a mushroom pizza. The beverages were rather interesting ranging from hot to cold, heavy to light, alcohol to non-alcohol. Natasha, having patronized the eatery before, ordered her usual dose of Mussolini, cranberry juice with soda. As I was trying to make up my mind, a young Caucasian mother sitting at the table behind me, was trying to pacify her hyper active toddler. As the blond child wanders about, she dissects her pizza into small bite size pieces, keeping a close eye on him. She looks tired but nevertheless still a pretty being as she placed a piece in her son’s hand. With a pizza in his hand, the boy wanders around again, leaving his mother to finish her meal. I finally ordered a Sicily Strawberry while Jivani decided to excite her taste buds with a Tuscanny Shake. The mother, with her coffee blond hair tied in a messy bun, finishes her pizza and washed it down the remainder of her Diet Pepsi. Pushing her empty plate aside, she waves at a waitress to bring the bill. The woman then attended to her child, lovingly wiping of the tomato stains on his chubby face and tiny hands.

The waitress waltzed past me. She wore the aroma of freshly baked pizza like the latest French perfume. Or in this case, an Italian perfume. The woman paid her dues and left with her son in tow. An uproar from a bigger table caught my attention, a group of young men socializing over booze and fags, proud working youths, who happily burn away their hard earned cash, to break the routine of their working lives.

Our drinks soon arrived. Mine was a milky pink colour and tastes like strawberry heaven with the first sip. Its smooth and fruity texture lingers in my mouth even after a while. We sample each other’s drink. The Mussolini was sweet and had a rather peculiar flavour that seems weird yet familiar. It was gentle on the tongue and the fizz from the soda was an extra boost. For chocolate lovers like Jivani, the Tuscanny Shake would have been an excellent choice. This drink has done justice to chocolate. While being rich and thick, it was not too sweet, preserving the actual flavour of the chocolate. As the cool drink slides down my throat, it was ecstasy.
A couple joined the big rowdy group. The guy pulled up a chair for his partner. Momentarily, our main course arrived. The aroma of melted mozzarella cheese and tomato sauce greeted us with pleasure. The cheese was stringy as we pulled the individual slices, filling the empty plates. We tucked in on our flat meal. I tried sawing the pizza into bite size pieces but without avail. As Natasha had already started eating hers with her hands, I decided to join her. No formal etiquettes needed when it comes to enjoying good pizza.

Two young Caucasian men walked in an occupied the table nearest to Starbucks. They took a look at the menu, ordered and proceeded to chat. One was a stocky brunette, the other a slim blond man with a slight beer belly. At the bar, the bartender was busy, refilling jugs with beer. The beer was for some men sitting near the bar, blocked by a large pillar decorated with plastic vines. The big group suddenly dispersed leaving nothing but an ashtray full of cigarette butts and empty beer bottles. The efficient supervisor quickly cleared the table. Ready for the next group of customers that never arrived.

Soon only one slice of pizza was left on the wooden tray, I decided to pass it to Natasha. As I was doing so, the pizza back flipped into her plate causing an outburst. I would definitely make a bad waitress. Not long after chomping down the last morsel of the main meal, the sweet tooth attacked. We decided to have dessert.
Jivani picked up the menu and ordered the Tiramisu. To her dismay, the famous cake was sold out so she had to settle for the Crespella Con Gelato, pancakes and ice cream. I settled for the Pesca Melba, the Italian version of peaches in ice cream while Natasha ordered Coppa Del Gelato. In the next booth, two teenage girls were gossiping over a plate of pasta and pizza.

The two gentlemen were still immersed in their conversation when their main course was served, a pizza each. The blond was sipping his ice lemon tea while his dining partner was drinking a dark red liquid that seems to look like wine.

After much anticipation the desserts arrived, Jivani’s was an interesting combination of two scoops of home made ice cream, wrapped in a thin pancake, decked with almonds and walnuts, a squirt of strawberry sauce, whipped cream and a cherry. Although this dessert looks heavenly, Jivani was rather disappointed, as it was not what the menu described. She was hoping to add another dose of chocolate to end her meal. She complained of not having the proper cutlery to taste hers. Natasha’s was a simple two scoops of ice cream, strawberry and vanilla, peaches and pineapples, and had a cute orange little cocktail umbrella to finish. Mine came in an ice cream glass, decked with peaches. Every mouthful was a pleasure ride for the tongue. The vanilla ice cream was rich and smooth, the sweetness of the peaches every now and then adds to the outburst of ecstasy. Scrapping the last bit of the melted wonder, I tried to savor every bit of it.

A wonderful night came to an end, tummies are filled and eyes are weary, time for the bill. Most of the other customers have left except for the group of men at the bar. Eyes fixed on the football match. I called for the bill and the pizza-smelling waitress came. To our shock the whole thing came up to RM 114. We decided to go Dutch. It was a wonderful restaurant, however, it is best to save it for special occasions.

It has been over four years now since my dear friend Pei Sze left us after a coma. I was teaching in Free School back then, the same place where I met her. I mourned the loss as many of my friends did. Yet how can you put it to words? The image of her mother crying at the funeral parlour is still plastered in my mind. Yes, it is really heart wrenching that a parent should surpass a child’s lifespan.

When I was younger I read from a book that, Each and every person that comes into your life has a gift or a lesson for you. Once that lesson is taught, they will move on to enrich another’s life. Though Pei Sze has only been with most of us for such a short period of time, I believe she has managed to enrich our lives differently. I’m doing my part now to keep Pei Sze’s gift alive in both our hearts and minds. I know a lot of us still feel the pain but I don’t think Peiz would want us to be like this. Her sudden lost still stings me deeply for I’ve promised myself never to attend a friend’s funeral at this young age. Looks like our Earth Angel went back to Heaven. Yet my fondest memory of Peiz was when she locked the whole gang out of the apartment because she fell asleep in August 2001.

This is the poem I wrote, in Pei Sze’s honour.

Pei Sze.. I miss you girl…. I really do.

Copyright ©2006 Adeline Ong

Dear gang, I wonder if you guys still remember this….. Took Tash, Ji and I hours to come up with it but was never publish. So I figure that the world deserves to read it.

MMOC SSAM WARS
Not so long ago, in a galaxy known as the Troyals star system, there was a planet called Mmoc Ssam, whose inhabitants were all stark-raving mad. The Gni-Sit-Revda faction was waging war against the Maslir-Nujo. Once the peacekeepers of the planet, the Snoitaler Cilbup has dwindled until only a few remained. Things were getting out of hand.

The Gni-Sit-Revda and the Maslir-Nujo were fighting tooth and nail over the Sacred Jukebox; for whoever had the Jukebox would have the power to rule Mmoc Ssam. Distressed by the turmoil in his kingdom, useless King Sherman of Mmoc Ssam called upon his most trusted advisors (happily escaping Queen Shakiraalma’s tea party with her courtiers Nisha and Oja) to seek a solution to the crisis.

“I call upon the Charmed Ones!� squeaked the King.

With a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning, the Charmed Ones appeared; Jivani, Keeper of the Holy Crap; Firuz, Keeper of the Holy Cow and Sheela, Keeper of the Holy Sotong. They were powerful soothsayers, and the King begged them to reveal the path he should follow.

After retreating to the Zoo, they performed the Sacred Macarena Ritual for 50 days and 50 nights. Finally returning to the King’s court with their vision.

“Call upon John Woo to direct your army!� declared Jivani.

“Seek Theng Theng, the Bell-Ringer of the Gni-Sit-Revda!� cried Firuz.

“Destroy Canny, Keeper of the Very Corrupted Documents (VCDs) of the Maslir-Nujo!� advised Sheela.

The King pondered these prophecies. He did as the Charmed Ones advised – he ordered General John Woo to gather an army. He sent Ambassador Vicky to look for Theng Theng the Bell-Ringer. Finally, he hired Shahriar, the Boongalian assassin to hunt down and erase Canny.

In her quest to find Theng Theng, Vicky stumbles upon the Bokana Angels, the last elite members of the Snoitaler Cilbup. They were Natasha the Klutzy, Fieza the Feisty and Adeline the Berserk. Vicky pleaded them to help her. They only agreed to help after the Ambassador promised to give them a lifetime supply of Nasi Kandar. So the Angels boldly journeyed where no Bokana has journeyed before.

Meanwhile back in Mmoc Ssam, the daughter of King Sherman and Queen Shakiraalma, Princess Audrey Violet Eyes was playing with her nannies; Li Chin, Keeper of the cutie pigs; Catherine, Keeper of the kitty cats and Winny, Keeper of the pooh bears. However, they were distracted by gossips of how lousy King Sherman is. During this time, the evil sorceress Julie pricked Princess Audrey’s delicate fingers on a poisonous cactus, which sent the poor princess into a deep sleep. Her evil twin brother, Afiq proceeded to poison the royal guards (who were playing congkak at that time) with his powerful stench.

This was all part of a coup led by Canny to take over the palace. She wanted the Sacred Jukebox for herself and wanted the Charmed Ones to help her find it. She sashayed into the throne room and held the King and Queen hostage. She threatened to play Barney songs over and over again until the King summoned the Charmed Ones.

The smart and efficient kitchen maids, Gene, C-Mun and Cassandra hatched a plan to send for help. They stuffed Sharon into a trash receptacle and rolled her out of the castle. Sharon kept rolling up hill and down hill. ‘Goleking’ until she ran over Ambassador Vicky and the Bokana Angels. Climbing out of the receptacle, she promptly threw up on the unlucky people due to her motion sickness. The receptacle had been an old model and was not equipped with a sickness bag. Since Sharon could not find Shahriar the assassin, she informed the Bokana Angels that the castle had been attacked and their assistance were needed ASAP!!

The Bokana Angels barged into the castle. Everyone took one look at them and ran ‘lintang-pukangly’. Aiya, not because they were scary but they were smelly. They got puked on, remember? Anyway, the Angels attacked! DUSH! KA-CHING! POW! BANG! ADOI! SMACK! KICK! KA-POW! AIYA! CHOP! OUCH! SLAP! PULL!

The bruised villains finally raise the white flag but their leader, Canny escaped. She crawled under the large dining table. As she was crawling out, she ran smack into Shariar, who was there to hand in his resignation as an assassin. He caught Canny and brought her before the Charmed Ones, who turned her into a mushroom. Afiq and Julie were sentenced to watch a lifetime’s worth of boy band music videos.

Amongst the chaos, they heard peals of bells ringing and Theng Theng the Bell-Ringer pirouetted into the middle of the throne room.

“I sense much disturbance in the force. Dig here!� she commanded.

They dug – and unearthed the Sacred Jukebox! Everyone rejoiced as King Sherman’s authority was restored. (They didn’t have a choice anyway.)

However, King Sherman bellowed, “What about my darling daughter? Who is going to save her?�

“How about me?� declared a voice from behind the crowd. Many heads turned and there in the light stood Prince Alvin of the Gni-Sit-Revda. He strode over to where the Princess had fallen and kissed her on the forehead. Her eyelids fluttered open, she screamed and fainted. Despite the unfortunate incident of their first meeting, the couple was soon married.

And what happened to the Mmoc Ssam community? Well, as far as we know, they are still stark-raving mad.

Please note….
Name of these characters are taken from real people. Though the story is very far from the truth… All I can say that it is.. entertaining.