Read in The Star today ( 21st June 2006 ). Apparently they found another baby elephant left alone and looking for its mother, which was killed apparently by gunshot wounds. Small wonder so many people come to Hell, so be thankful that I will make sure these assholes get their share of hot pokers in their ass. Special treatment to animal killers, I will also make sure they get their share of being gang raped by 16 fat, ugly and hairy men, in generous amount ( this applies for both men and women )
Anyway, congrats to Zhi Wei and the debate team of High School Batu Pahat! ( Shafique, Shahrizan, Bryan, Joshua and of course, Zhi Wei ). We won the finals for National level Parliamentary Style English Debate. Broke all records, and set a new one at the very top now.
Just submitted my article to MERCU, my school magazine upon request. Found that it gets a bit shaky halfway through because Aisyah and Sarah both disturbed me at their own peril while I was writing. Here goes, feel free to comment. Haven't really written anything in a while..
EssayIs the person you see in the mirror merely a reflection, or is he or she a real life person in another world staring back into the same mirror at the same time?
That was the question I used to pose to my father as a young child. And each time my father would only shrug his shoulders and smiled at me.
“What do you think?” he would ask me back.
“I think they are real!” I answered eagerly. My Father was an infinite source of knowledge to me. He seemed to know everything from the smartest animals to the greatest man alive!
Father would smile again. “Then, they are real!” was his simple answer. Somehow, I am not convinced each time he said that. I even tried saying they were mere reflections, and each time he would agree with me. Feeling puzzled, I took it for granted that Father did not know, or just refused to let me know.
I grew up in a happy family. Father was a brilliant man, and Mother was just so beautiful and nice. I was a single child, so naturally all their love and attention would be focused on me.
As a child, I had always been interested in theology and philosophy. Rhetorical questions like “Does God truly exist?” or “How vast is the Universe?” used to strike me like a bolt of lightning. I always asked my father each time such questions came to me. And each time, he would smile and ask “What do you think?” and then agreed when I answered whatever my thoughts were. I believed that deep within his answer lies something subtle and wise. I just had to think about it and come up with a conclusion. I never did get an answer no matter how hard I thought.
My Father always had an answer for everything. I grew up drinking deep from his well of knowledge, and still found myself thirsting for more. Even when I became a university graduate, I still referred to my father with such questions. I could never sate my desire for answers in academies and institutes as they do not provide the knowledge I seek. But I studied the course of my choice nonetheless in University to pave my way to earn a living in life.
Until one day, I could not bear it any longer. I found myself beginning to doubt my Father’s knowledge; I suspected that he did not know the answers to my questions at all. I confronted him, feeling upset with him.
“Father, tell me honestly. Did you know the answers to all the questions I asked you before?”
He smiled again. My elderly father had not lost his touch yet. He gazed at me with his intelligent eyes.
“What do you think?” he asked me.
“I want to know what you think, Father. I am tired of thinking myself!” I protested.
“Son, I cannot give you answers to these questions. You must ask yourself what you believe. And what you believe will be your own truth whether or not others believe.” He said softly.
“That means you have been pretending that you knew all these while! You never knew the answers but you pretended to know!” I yelled.
Enraged that he had been pretending all along, I stormed out of the house. I never spoke to him again. I felt hurt. The Father I idolized all these years had suddenly been revealed as a fake to me. Mother tried to reconcile us, but I could not forgive him.
I went back to my own home and tried to vent my frustration alone. Soon, I found myself in the bathroom, staring at the mirror. Again, the question came to me again.
“Are you a reflection, or a real person?” I asked the mirror.
Silence.
I never expected an answer. I left it at that. Father’s nonchalant answer that shattered his image to me resonated in my head.
I began to occupy myself with my work. Day and night I slogged, trying my best to stop myself from thinking about my Father, or the questions I used to like to ask. And I still did not speak to my Father at all. In fact, I did not even visit him. I still maintained communication with Mother though.
On that fateful day came the phone call that changed everything.
It was Mother, and she was crying uncontrollably. Panic swept me when she told me the news. Father was hospitalized because he suffered a stroke attack.
I rushed to the hospital and found him in a coma. Suddenly, I felt the emptiness in myself embodies me. I missed gazing into his wise eyes. They were closed now, and would probably never open to see the world again.
I cried. Mother was inconsolable.
True enough, Father never opened his eyes again. He left the world peacefully. Mother moved in with me after she had calmed down a little. I attended his funeral and did my duties as a son, but the mantle of guilt inevitably descended on my shoulders. I had been disrespectful to him, and I had doubted his wisdom.
“He has never blamed you, son. He loved you.” Mother said to me.
“I know, but I feel that I had let him down.” I answered.
Exactly a year after Father died, I visited his grave. As I knelt and prayed for his soul, I could hear Mother beginning to start crying again.
Then, I took out a mirror and placed it on his tomb.
“Father, remember when I used to ask you questions about the reflections in the mirror?” I asked.
Silence.
I smiled. “What do you think, Father?”
It was then I saw his face in the mirror. He smiled at me.
Written by,
Ng Leslie
5 Science 1
High School Batu Pahat
*Only constructive criticisms are allowed. Or else its hot poker in the ass for you when you come down here. If you deal serious criticisms without any benefits, include the gang raping thing to your list of punishments.*
*Credits to Wan Aisyah for once again helping me to edit out stupid mistakes*
Sometimes you can't help but wonder how fragile life is. This baby elephant suffered a year before it is put out of its misery.
