Review on "The Canary Prince" (Italo Calvino)

"The Canary Prince" (Bahasa Indonesia: "Pangeran Kenari") is an Italian fairy tale retold by Italo Calvino (an Italian novelist and short story writer, 1923-1985). As a fairy tale, it contains some typical features.

Archetypal characters

The characters are royalty. The main character is a daughter of a king. She is hated by her stepmother "who then had the girl shut up in a castle in the heart of a forest". Still love finds its way. Her love interest is a prince, a son of a king. He notices that the castle is now occupied by a beautiful maiden, as he sees her at one of the upper windows. 

Picture from Alchetron.

Magic

This couple is helped by a witch. She gives the princess a magic book that can turn the prince into a canary then back into a human by turning the pages.

Obstacles or tasks

Unfortunately, this relationship is not approved by the evil stepmother. She hurts the prince by concealing her hairpins--with the sharp points sticking straight up--in the pillow where the canary form of him lands. The wounds are so severe that they refuse to heal over and constantly hurt. No doctors know what to do, until the princess flees from the castle then eavesdrops a witch telling other witches about the remedy for the sick prince. 

Happily ever after

In short, the princess reconciles with the prince and he insists on marrying her. For the wedding, the prince's father invites all the kings and queens in the vicinity, including the princess's royal father. The princess's father recognizes her, but the princess denies him as he lets the stepmother imprisons her. He has the wicked wife seized, and the marriage is celebrated to the satisfaction and joy of all, with the exception of that wretch.

Moral lesson

From this fairy tale, we can take some moral lessons, such as:

- The wicked would eventually be punished.

- Love is a strong power. It drives the princess to break free from imprisonment and find her lost love.

- Can you think of anything else?

As a fairy tale, in this story there are things that can not happen in real life, for example the magic book that can turn a man into a bird. But there are also some other things that are relevant in real life, such as abusive/neglectful parents, a child's anger towards parents, and love between young couple. The forms of relationships in this tale can be adapted to real life context. In the news to this day we still hear stories about abused/neglected children, family conflicts, and young couples doing foolish things.

Apparently the princess's actions are somewhat peculiar, or that just shows that she's a girl with pride. When the king offers the princess disguised as a doctor whatever she likes, she doesn't reveal her identity and ask for the prince's hand in marriage straightaway, rather only asks for the prince's shield bearing the family coat-of-arms, his standard, and his yellow vest that was rent and bloodied. Why not? Why doesn't she make it easy? Does she already have something in mind as to  giving the prince a lesson when they meet again? Or, is she just an oldschool maiden that feels hesitate to propose to a man, as it's not the custom in that time and place? Then, the princess disowns her father. This attitude isn't very proper but understandable. The princess might feel that she is thrown away, while the father supposedly has authority to keep her close and defends her, but he prefers the new wife over his own daughter. And he's the one who tells the queen to send the girl away, regardless of the place being comfortable and no mistreatment allowed. No wonder the princess grows to resent his father as well.

It doesn't matter whether Italo Calvino as the writer of this fairy tale believes in witches and magic books. According to Wikipedia page on him, Calvino compiled the Italian folktales--in which "The Canary Prince" is included--on the basis of question "is there an Italian equivalent of the Brothers Grimm?"

Label "The Heath Guide to Literature" mulanya dimulai di blog satunya, tapi karena sudah malas meneruskan di sana, jadi di sini.

 

Saduran pengantar untuk bab pertama: [The Heath Guide to Literature] Ikhtisar 1. Dunia Fiksi.

The Story of Jam

This story was written in collaboration with a Bottled friend, Sam Pham, 2020. This is published here as it is, as we abandoned this. No grammar editing etc. 

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Dark clouds fill the sky. A group of people stand next to a coffin. Natalie cries as the coffin lowers into the hole. A group of people fill up the hole and cover the coffin with dirt. That day, Natalie's father was buried. 

Natalie spends the rest of that day sitting alone in her room. Later she begins to mutter to herself. Her mind is blank. Her little brother peeks into her room and gets scared. 

"Mother! Mother! Natalie is going crazy!" He searches after their mothers. But he finds nobody. Any other members of the house is nowhere to be found. Trembling, he goes back to peek into Natalie's room.

Natalie turns her head and stares at her brother. Her brother falls back and runs. 

Ten years pass by. Natalie's brother, Jam, summons a dog. The dog sniffs around. The dog barks. Jam does hand signs and captures the ghost. He traps it in a bottle. 

Then he draws the ghost in the bottle on a canvas with oil paints. He sells the painting to a local art gallery. That's how he makes a living. But it's not a stable job because he doesn't see ghosts frequently. So he needs to find another source of income. He prefers if it fits his ability in supernatural things.

As he walks around the art gallery, he notices someone admiring his painting. Jam walks up to the stranger. The stranger looks at Jam. The stranger says, "Believe it or not, but ghost exist. I wish I could contact the artist because he can apparently see ghosts as well."

Jam hesitated for a second. Jam replied, "Why would you want to contact him for?" 

The stranger says, "Because I would like to hire him to catch more ghosts for me."

Jam says, "I'm the artist, Jam." 

The stranger shakes Jam's hand and says, "I'm Sebastian, your new boss." 

Jam asks more questions. "What would you want to do with the ghosts after you catch them?"

Sebastian says thoughtfully, "My dream is to make a ghosts zoo but normal people can't see ghosts. So it's a useless dream."

"And then?" Jam feels impatient.

"But I don't give up. I have found a formula so normal people can see ghosts. They drink the potion, enter the zoo, and can see the ghost behind bars for about 1 hour. Actually, I have developed the idea so it might be a safari park, where we build a ghost world and the visitors go in by riding a van and they can feed the ghosts as well."

"Awesome …" Jam is speechless for a while. "Well, let's do it then! When are we going to start?"

"I like your enthusiasm, young man. But there's one problem."

"What is that?" Again, Jam feels impatient.

"The problem is that ghosts can possess people. Thus, people may not want to go to this safari park," said Sebastian. 

"How come I didn't get possessed then?" asked Jam. 

"Your soul is stronger than most people," explained Sebastian. "This is why you can see them. Those who need the potion have weaker souls. And if the ghost takes over the host, it will devour the person's soul and become more powerful." 

Jam takes a deep breath. 

"What will we do then?" asked Jam. 

"That's something we need to think about … along the way. For now, let's just catch the ghosts!"

.

Jam met up with Sebastian at a warehouse. 

"First, I need to teach you a few things." said Sebastian. "There are many kind of ghosts. And each one have levels of how strong they are." 

Sebastian pulled out a white board and wrote as he talked. 

"I'm sure you heard of ghost girls. They are usually the ones that pop up in elevators and in the middle of the night when you least expect it. Then there are ex ghosts. These are the annoying ones that hold a grudge on you just because you said Jill was hot. I can keep categorizing them, but there's no reason to. The point is to find out why they are still a ghost. Why won't they move on."

"I see. I never know that there is such categorization. When I see a ghost I just throw my bottle and gotta catch 'em all."

"Yes."

"And how can we find out why they are still a ghost?"

"That's something we need to think about … along the way."

"Okay."

"You have to get to know them. Talk to them. listen to their story and find out what is missing". 

"So I have to be friends with them?" 

"Kind of." 

"Of my gosh. What if someone can't see the ghost and sees me talking to myself?!" 

"Don't worry about that. Everyone talks to themselves." 

Jam hesitates but he doesn't say anything. He is impatient to start. But there seems to be a lot of other things that Sebastian needs to explain.

Jam worries he made the wrong choice of joining Sebastian. Was it too late for him to leave now? Jam decided to try to figure out the consequences by asking questions. Jam asked, "Has another else worked for you?" 

"No. That's why I hire you."

Now Jam really regrets his decision to join Sebastian. He thinks of ways to escape. But rather he pulls out a bottle from his bag, does hands signs, and, unexpectedly, Sebastian is sucked into the bottle.

"Whoa, it must be a very powerful ghost that I didn't know it in the first time."

"You'll regret it, Jam. You need me. There's a great evil coming." 

Jam regrets what he did. 

"What do you mean?" asked Jam. 

"There's something that's eating all the ghosts. That's why I wanted you to find out their problem and solve it so they can be free." 

"Can I believe you?" 

"Of course you can."

"No. I don't believe you."

Jam puts the bottle into his bag and goes home. At home, he paints the ghost--Sebastian--inside the bottle. He is unsure that this painting would be sold well. Sebastian is not an artistic kind of ghost. "Maybe I should just let him lead me to find the artistic kinds of ghosts then my paintings would be more artistic thus sold well and that means more money," thinks Jam.

"Hey, I will release you," says Jam to Sebastian, "in one condition."

"What condition is that?" 

"That you must show me where the ghosts hide." 

"So does that mean you'll work for me?" 

"No, you'll work for me." 

Sebastian stared at Jam. 

"Fine, it is a deal." 

.

Then they begin to hunt the ghosts. They start from a forest which Sebastian says is full of ghosts.

"Help me," cries a woman's voice. 

Jam looks around but cannot find the woman. 

"Help me," cries the woman again. 

"Where are you?" Jam asks. 

"Behind you!" yells the woman with a sinister voice. 

Jam screams hysterically but he stops as he recognizes the face. "Natalie?"

"GAAAHHH!!!" But Natalie doesn't seem to recognize him. Her face is rotten, full of maggots. 

Jam pulls out a bottle from his bag. The bottle sucks the Natalie's ghost. Afterwards, Jam looks into the bottle and he only sees a dark fog. "Enough for today," he thinks. He is curious whether the ghost inside the bottle has something to do about Natalie.

"Can't be Natalie… There's no way. She's not supposed to be here anymore."

Jam paces frantically around the room. 

"There's no way… Natalie is still alive. There's no way. She is too powerful to die." 

Jam observes the ghost in the bottle again. 

He sees Natalie's face and then it disappears. He thinks that he should ask Sebastian.

But he was hesitant because Sebastian may use it against him if he knew how his weakness. He realized he had to investigate secretly. 

He goes to his old house, to see Natalie.

.

Natalie has become a hermit since their father's death. She speaks to no one but herself, mumbling quietly.

Jam wonders why he saw a ghost that looks like Natalie when she was still alive. Jam taps Natalie and asks, "Are you okay? It's been awhile." Natalie turns and looks at Jam. Jam could feel strong, dark aura coming from her. 

"I saw a ghost resembling your face in a forest," says Jam. "Maybe you know something."

Natalie doesn't say anything. Jam waits.

"All right, then," Jam steps back and sits still in a chair, staring at Natalie. He plans to spend some time there, in case Natalie would speak.

The room fills with black, purple fog. Jam nervously looks around. Jam panics and wakes up in his bed. He pats the sides of his bed searching for where he is at. He sits up and looks around. He sweats and breathes heavily. He wonders if it was just a dream. 

He gets up and changes his clothes. He should go seeing Natalie, at any cost. He doesn't forget to bring a bottle with Sebastian inside. Maybe Natalie would react if she sees Sebastian. He runs to his old house.

He makes it to his old house, but the house is gone. All he sees is an empty field of grass. He looks around. He was certain this was the spot. However, he could not find the house. 

He keeps walking around until he stumbles and falls into a hole. It's very long and dark. He can't see anything while falling. Suddenly he pops out of the end of the hole to another similar field of grass and sees his house.

Did Natalie do this? Was she so powerful that she can create dimensions? Jam hated this. He didn't want to admit it, but he was afraid of his sister. 

But he must go to find clarity. He walks into the house and looks for Natalie.

Jam travels through flashbacks of memories. It was too much for his head. Jam cries, "Please stop, Natalie." 

It doesn't stop. Jam grasps his hairs and screams out loud. His knees fall onto the grass and he rolls over. He keeps rolling until he falls again into the hole where he came. Now it's all darkness.

He stops falling. He sees Natalie floating down. 

Natalie says to Jam, "When you're ready for everything to end, come back and kill me. Until then, become strong enough to rule the world." 

Jam wakes up again from his bed. He feels confused. What did Natalie mean? 

He gets out of his bed then reaches for the bottle with Sebastian inside. He unplugs the bottle and lets the ghost out. He means to ask him about Natalie. He hopes to find an answer from Sebastian.

Sebastian clears his throat and tells Jam, "I did not know she was your sister. A couple of years ago, everything was peaceful in the ghost realm. The human realm and the ghost realm used to be separate. But one day, a girl somehow crossed over to the ghost realm. She was scared and crying. We would see her regularly. And we even became friends with her. But then we noticed ghosts started to go missing. Everyone blamed Natalie. Since then, no one saw her. Up until now at least. And she seemed to grow a lot more powerful. This is why I need your help actually. I need you to gather more ghost before Natalie keeps consuming their power. So I ask one last time. Will you help me, Jam?"

Jam thinks for a while and nods. He decides to go back to the forests which Sebastian says is full of ghosts. He brings a lot of bottles with him and also camping gears. He determines that he won't go back home until he saves all the ghosts, temporarily. And then, Sebastian says, he must fight Natalie and kill her.

"No way I would kill my sister!' shouts Jam.

"There's no other way …."

"There must be another way!" Jam insists. "I can't believe you!"

"You must believe me!"

Jam grunts and thinks to himself, "I should look for second advise. But to whom?"

"There's no second advise. There's no one else to whom you could talk about this matter," Sebastian can read Jam's mind.

Jam gasps. "You're dangerous."

"I am not. I am trying to save you and all the innocent ghosts."

"I can't believe you!"

Sebastian sighs. "Then what are you going to do?"

"I'll find another way. Another way to save not just all the ghosts, but my sister too." 

"There's no other way. You have to believe me. I tried."

"What do you mean you've tried?" 

"Forget what I said. Let's just go separate ways." 

Sebastian floats away. Jam stares. 

.

Jam starts to catch as many ghosts as he can.

Even so, Jam does not know what to do with them. Should be try to talk to them and convince them to team up on Natalie? He felt he should not do that since they will try to kill her. He had to think of a solution for everyone. 

He thinks so hard that he feels like forgetting all this matter. He abandons the bottles filled with ghosts and sleeps as much as possible because he is so stressed. He needs an outlet to pour down his negative energy. Since nothing serious has happened, and Sebastian never disturbs him any more, he finds at ease to come back to his old hobby: painting ghosts in the bottles. One ghost after another, he produces artworks and becomes a prolific painter. Sometimes he takes a break, and brings his paintings to the art gallery and sells them. Some paintings sell pretty well that he begins to gain some fortune. He moves to a better apartment, gets a girlfriend, and further his study in Fine Art. He is doing very good. Both Natalie and Sebastian are forgotten. Once in a while, he still goes to the forest to catch ghosts when he needs to find inspiration (and also to pay bills), and he doesn't find any obstacle there.

But Jam suddenly realizes that he is getting stronger. He notices that he can go through walls and float. But how he asks himself. What gave him this power? And how should he use it? 

He becomes a Superman. He also can fly and bend any metal object. He is getting afraid of his own power. 

He started to fly around town when suddenly he started to decline slowly. His flying powers fade. Does this mean his powers are not permanent? If so, how did he even obtain them?

He is so confused.

He decides to draw since drawing helps him think. He reaches for a bottle of ghost he captured earlier. He draws the ghost. He finishes painting the ghost. His body begins to levitate. 

....

Diary of Childhood Memories and Coming of Age

The best gift I've ever given or received

It's all the good things that God and my parents have been giving to me. I can't count it. The more I grow up, the more I am able to appreciate their kindness, that I may not be able to return them back, ever, especially to God.

To God, I can only wish. One of the wishes is to bless my parents for all their goodness to me, and also may all my good deeds become a ceaseless charity for them. And I wish that they won't be punished in the afterlife for my irresponsible deeds, naudzubillahimindzalik.

And I also should thank for my siblings, relatives, friends, even strangers that have given me all the good things.

This is going to be like an acknowledgement page in a book ....

Well, honestly, I can't remember any single of thing that I must consider as "the best gift".

I wish I am not attached to any material thing, at least spiritually, for as long as I am able to breath, I am physically dependent on various kinds of material things.

The most memorable thing I ever got in the mail

Bobo, your friend on playing and learning.

This reminds me to my hobby back then when I was a kid. I used to like snail-mailing. I got the address from Bobo, a kid magazine, especially the page where they featured drawings and poems sent by the readers. I would send my letters to persons whose works interested me. I got responses. With some of them I could maintain pretty long correspondences, but sadly not long enough. By the time I entered middle school, I don't remember that I still had any pen pal left. There was one, but ... eventually it ended not after long.

Sad. But now I get plenty of chat pals online. Hurray! Most of them are males. Lol.

Well, the most memorable thing I ever got in the mail was a package of books from the UK Embassy. It was in the middle school when I started to think of being a writer. I was writing a story about a family from the US moving to the UK etc. I realized that I should do a research about the setting. How was I going to start? I sent a letter to the UK Embassy asking for any information about the country. I didn't expect that some time later they would reply me by sending a lot of thin, big books in different topics about the places within UK areas. That's really wow. Too bad, I didn't send any reply. At least I could just say "thank you very much!" But I didn't.

And I also didn't continue to write the story. I think the notebook where I wrote that is still somewhere inside one of the boxes in my old room.

Thank you, UK Embassy, and I am deeply sorry. I was just a young, naive teenager back then. Hope for your understanding.



Nicknames I have ever gotten or given

I have a nickname that my family and neighborhood friends call me. That's not my first name. The name is derived from the last three letters of my last name.

Most of my schoolfriends call me by my first name.

When I still lived in the old neighborhood, I had two close friends. We made up new names for the three of us: Lala, Lili, and Lulu. I don't remember exactly why we created these fake names. I got Lili because I was in the middle by height. The tallest of us got Lala.

In middle school, there was a friend who started to call me Dayeuh. It's a pun of my first name. At first, I didn't like it. But in high school, when you feel like you should have a "cool" name, I introduced this nickname to my friends. I began to like it. Some of my classmates back then still call me by this name until now. Often, it's just "Day".

In university years, when I tried to write regularly by blogging--among others--I used this name as the title. That's how I came up with A DAYEUH IN A LIFE for this blog. Blog was meant to be some kind of a diary, which you might write daily. So, "a day in a life" sounded right as the title of a blog. And also it's a song of The Beatles, which seemingly would make me a bit culturally literate (uh, what?).

What I have learned in my teens

In middle school, I learned that I was ugly and liked only by a wrong boy. I learned that I really liked to write, a lot, and also to read. I learned that I liked to be invisible, sitting in the bottom corner of my class. 

In high school, I learned to be a different person. But my high school years were shorter than average, because I was in a "special gifted" class. I learned that I was the dumbest in the class and couldn't compete. I learned that my determination to change only lasted for the first few months, or a little bit more, and the rest was I just didn't give a damn. I learned that I couldn't stay in any extracurricular club more than a few months. I learned that I still wanted to be an author, and also to read books--both the dusty, oldies in the school library and the best-seller, brand new released teenlits.

In my late adolescence, ie the first years in university, I learned to practice regularly on writing, and to keep reading as many books as possible and to always review them afterwards. I learned to join organizations and managed to stay for some time. I learned to speak in front of many people. I learned to live far from my parents and siblings. I learned that eventually I have limitation.

To sum it up, in my teens, I learned about my passion, my nature, and also my position in society.

Personal achievements that make me proud

I am not a high-achiever. But I do have some achievements. I have trophies. I have good academic scores (not always, though). I have been reading, writing, translating, and clipping a lot. Almost none of my works is commercial, hence I wish I can be proud of my sincerity. But the proudness itself may harm the sincerity. So I should not be proud of everything. Instead, I may have achieved nothing but the gifts from the Almighty God. I just follow the flow, my passion. If the result is good, I am grateful. But if it is not, well, that means I should learn more or do something else that works well. What can I be proud of whilst I have nothing? Some day all I "have" in the meantime will be broken, dead, over, and such, or disappear, deteriorate, etc. Nothing will last forever. Only my spirit remains, like in that song of Dream Theater.

If I should be proud, then it should be for other people's achievements. I am proud if people are doing well, and not the opposite. If people are doing bad, especially to me, that will irritate me, for sure.

These are prompts from 500 Prompts for Narrative and Personal Writing. Tip: do one prompt each day to practice writing in English FOR 15 MINUTES ONLY.

Diary of Childhood Memories (October 14-18, 2019)

Monday, October 14, 2019

Feeling embarrassed by things I used to like

What did I use to like?

I don't like the feeling of embarrassment itself. I like to just forget about that.

Well, now I remember that I liked writing diary, since my cousin gave me one as my 9th birthday present, I mean, that was my first diary. And wrote it one page each day. I didn't know that it could be addictive.

But then my friends found out that I had diaries. They tried to read them when they came to my house. I was so embarrassed that I threw my diaries to the roof. I don't remember how I saved them afterwards, or I just let them disappear for ever. What I know for sure is that I don't have them anymore and it's a shame: I lose some of my history.

That didn't make me quit writing diary, though. It's sort of a basic need for me. Just as I eat then I need to defecate; I gather experiences from anywhere then I need to write them down though not all.

I also felt embarrassed for all the bad emotions and negative thoughts I've ever had. Though I can't help those, like to have such things is indeed my default.

Tuesday, October 15, 2019

Wishing to return to moments from my past

Yes, I do. I did some things so bad that I won't tell about them here. I wasn't even big enough. I think those were just impulsive actions any kid might do. Nevertheless, those are sins and I was not supposed to do them.

Besides that, there were decisions. Concerning this, even if I could go back to the past, I don't think I would change much. I have a feeling that things were just going to be the same eventually because I would be just what I am. I don't like to think much of this.

Anyway, going back to the past is impossible. No need to even think about that, just a waste of time. I don't want to live life with regrets. I might do a lot of mistakes, I always do. But, mistakes are there for us to learn, aren't they? And we have a right to choose what mistakes we would learn.

Now, I want to just live the present, make the best of my current time.

Wednesday, October 16, 2019

A toy I wanted as a child but never got

There was, but I got that by doing something I won't like to tell anyone. I wanted it more, but I knew that was actually wrong, so I didn't do it any more. And I don't remember why I didn't just tell my parents that I wanted that sort of toy. Maybe I was reluctant. Maybe I already had too many toys, so I didn't deserve to ask more. That's something I don't like to talk about more.

Speaking of toy, I had various kinds of toy: dolls, wooden blocks, musical instruments, etc. Maybe I just knew that I didn't lack of anything that I shouldn't ask my parents for more. Thus, when I wanted something more, so badly, I would deal with my desire on my own way.

I didn't have all kinds of toys, though. When I visited my cousins' houses, I saw collection of toys that I didn't have and I didn't really want them anyway.

My parents didn't buy me toys such as electronic games: Game Watch, Nintendo, and so on. If I wanted to play Nintendo games, like Mario Bros, Donkey Kong, Tetris, I must wait until vacation when it was time for me to sleep over in my cousin's house for few days. I think I had a Game Watch, and maybe a Tamagotchi, but seemingly I got them later after my friends and cousins had them first. And it turned out that I didn't really like such games--until now.

Thursday, October 17, 2019

Objects that tell the story of my life

There are family photo albums and my diaries.

It's pretty sad when I started this "pardon my english"-in-15-minutes daily journal and I needed to look at the albums, and saw how my parents--especially my father--seemed to love me so much. I am the eldest child. And there was only me for the first three and a half years this family started. Recalling those photos shed tears in my eyes.

Fast forward, I read my oldest diary and saw how things had been changing. I grew to be so bitter and full of negative thoughts.

And now, I don't know any more as to how I should be.

The old photos must be inciting some determination inside to give back the love. But, the diaries make me understand how I have become this way. And how can I change things that have been happening just the same for my whole life? It's kind of an inevitable fate.

I know that people can change, even though it takes decades.

Friday, October 18, 2019

My best sleepover memories

Before middle school years, I used to sleep over for few days during vacation at my cousin's house in Cimahi. She lived in a military neighborhood, whom her parents worked for. She is just about a month older than me. Sometimes there was another older cousin from other city joined us.

There were some bad experiences I had with them. But mostly I enjoyed the moment. My cousin had more things than me: games, books, magazines, comic books, cassettes, money, cats, etc. So I got a lot of references and treats from her: Nintendo games, Harry Potter, Lupus, Sheila on 7, Hello Kitty and Dear Daniel dolls from McDonalds, my first diary, Gareng and Petruk comic books, etc. Well, her mother was quite generous.

Dawn in the morning, we would walk to Lapangan Kodam near her neighborhood. I loved the moments.

Too bad, since middle school, we didn't get along well any more--until now. I don't know why. It seemed that it was always me who must call her first; it was always me who went to her house. It was hardly ever the other way around. Eventually I gave up.



These are prompts from 500 Prompts for Narrative and Personal Writing. Tip: do one prompt each day to practice writing in English FOR 15 MINUTES ONLY.

Diary of Childhood Memories (October 7- 11, 2019)

Monday, October 7, 2019

My most precious childhood possession 

My little sister wearing the sunglasses.

I can't remember having a possession that was so precious at that time. I remember I had a lot of little stuffs. I remember coming to a friend's house next door with a red rucksack full of tiny things which I meant to bring to our kindergarten. But I ended up going back home, emptying my bag, and then I only brought things that were necessary (I don't really remember the rest nor what they were).

A thing from the past which popped in my head recently was a little sunglasses with green frame and Batman logo shape. Gosh, I wish I knew where the sunglasses is! I think I've never seen such sunglasses belong to any other people I know.

Another thing was Kesatria Baja Hitam cassette. I don't remember myself as a big fan of Kesatria Baja Hitam or Kamen Rider RX, so I don't know why my parents bought it. Probably because it was just a hype for a kid my age. One memory I can remember about that cassette is that I didn't listen to much of it, even I might only play it for once. The cassettes didn't just contain music, but also dialogues from the series. I was scared to hear the random male voice.

I've just realized as an adult how cool the opening was!

Here comes another thing in mind: a Sailor Mars barbie doll from Japan. My uncle spent some time in Japan back then--seemingly for study. When he came back to Indonesia, he bought me and my cousin some Sailor Moon merchandises. One of them was the Sailor Mars barbie doll. I didn't know that it could speak. When I held the doll, suddenly came a voice from it. I was surprised and threw the doll. Since then, it never spoke any more. I guess I broke something inside when I threw it. But, the doll remained to be one of my imaginary friends until some years later. Some of her hair was gone during the years. Now I don't know where it is.

Tuesday, October 8, 2019

My favorite childhood shows and characters

When I was a kid, I watched a lot of cartoon shows on TV--especially Japanese cartoons. Not only on Sunday mornings, but also on weekdays afternoons: Doraemon, Sailor Moon, Minky Momo, Mojacko, Akko-chan, Ninja Boy etc. My favorite character of all those Japanese cartoons was Doraemon to the point that I collected a lot of its comic books and some merchandises as well, and also tried to be able to drawing the characters from the series--with awful results.

I wished to have a cat robot with useful tools in its pocket like Doraemon, who would both give me fun and solve my problems. It also inspired me, while I was in the first grade of middle school, to be an inventor--you know, that kind of eccentric scientist in the Back to the Future trilogy who makes fantastic things. I drew some awesome tools that I wanted to create had I become one, and forgot it once I learn upt that I am bad at Physics.

Diego Gonzales Boneta from Alegrijes y Rebujos 
Picture is taken from Pinterest.

I also liked watching Mexican telenovelas--for kids. Since Amigos X Siempre (SCTV), I kept up with almost each of its successors. My favorites were Alegrijes y Rebujos (RCTI) and ¡Vivan Los Niños! (SCTV) because I found some cute characters there which inspired me to make my own story--kind of imagining Aliando and Prilly Latuconsina playing your characters, just as today's teenage girls who aspire-to-be-authors-on-W*ttp*d do. (Yeah, I was that kind of girl back then, who's not? It's just a normal teenage girls' thing!)

My treasure: a ¡Vivan Los Niños! postcard--bonus from Tabloid Bintang.
My favorite character was Santiago, the boy with glasses on the left side.

Wednesday, October 9, 2019

Things I created when I was a child

I remember that as a child I had already loved to make up characters, stories, writings, even a song. I showed some of them to my cousins and my friends.

I was inspired to create by looking around me. For example, after reading a lot of Fujiko F. Fujio comic books, in my mind I developed characters that were similar to those Japanese mangaka had created. Another example, when I saw a friend wrote stories in a notebook, I followed her way by making my own collection.

Of all the things that I had tried to create, mostly were about characters and stories. That's why growing up I thought that I was to be an author. 

Too bad that I lost my first writings: my first diary which is a gift from my cousin, my collection of essays in a notebook, and my collection of stories in another notebook. Those were from primary school years; not much left, only some latter diaries. I started to become aware of keeping my scribbles since middle school. 

Some people told me that they just burnt what they had created: stories, sketches. But I don't know why I feel such importance to keep such things, as if they're the only legacy I could give for my kins.

Thursday, October 10, 2019

Places I remember fondly from childhood

When I was a kid, my father loved to take our family to go on vacations--from company trips to visiting our extended-families in other regions. The places were various: beaches, swimming pools, temples, tourist parks, zoos, malls, etc.

He was really generous. He didn't only bring his nuclear family (: me, my siblings, and our helpers), but also his siblings, nephews, nieces, and so on. Sometimes it took more than a Kijang-sized car to bring the whole family. 

Pantai Baron as I remember it.
Picture is taken from Garasi Jogja.

There were some fun experiences that I still remember, like when my father tried to help my cousin out of a swimming pool (which I forget the name of the place) but then he slipped into the water, and also when my other cousin held me like a plane over the transition between fresh water and salt water in Pantai Baron.

I assume that my father just brought us to any place that was hype in those days, like today people would say some places are Instagramable, though we didn't go there just to put some new pictures on a social media (which even did not exist yet). 

I think such experiences had developed my sense of adventure. I dreamed of being a tradventuller--traveller-adventurer (yeah, I know that's weird), just like Dora the Explorer (even though that time Dora wasn't born yet, I guess) with a talking animal as a sidekick.

Friday, October 11, 2019

My favorite picture books when I was little

This book above is not my favorite picture book. Actually I don't remember which. I might have some other picture books before this one, which I don't remember well. This is the only picture book that is still intact. When the question "What were your favorite picture books when you were little?" came up, this one just popped in my mind. This is the latest picture book I had before I developed interest in comic books like Doraemon.

Picture is taken from Tokopedia.

As I write this, I remember that I did like reading 31 Cerita Bada Isya pretty much and I have several of its books. The series are also a picture book kind, right? (Just two days ago I googled to find out what exactly a picture book is, and how it is different from illustrated book.)

I don't think I was fond of picture books very much. Once I got to know comic books, I just read that kind of book on and on. And I also loved reading books--thin or thick--without much illustrations. And once I read more and more walls of texts, I left comic books behind. Until now. Sometimes I read books with pictures and sometimes I find that the pictures are distracting. (I don't know which I should concentrate on first: the text or the picture?)



These are prompts from 500 Prompts for Narrative and Personal Writing. Tip: do one prompt each day to practice writing in English FOR 15 MINUTES ONLY.

My Humble Opinion on Solving Deforestation

I think we should learn to trace each product we consume. Had the product derived from unmindfully deforestation practice, we should stop consuming the product and find for its subtitute. If a lot of people do this altogether, that would lessen demands to the product and stop the production. The business owners would think of other ways to fulfill society's demand on environmentally-friendly products. That's just how business works in terms of flexibility. We as consumers are the ones who must decide for ourselves and rule the market. It is one's responsibility to educate oneself to being smart. I would say that we should not necessarily blame the government and the capitalists. We should just start from ourselves because it's much greater responsibility to change our own attitude than others' way of thinking. We should educate ourself to be a mindful consumer.

The least I can do to put this statement into practice is by living minimalist style. I am learning to be grateful for what I already have by thinking of what advantages I can take of them both for my own self and other people.

If I feel a need of something, I am training my mind to think first if I can find the substitute at home rather than buying new. If I need it new, I will look for the free way. If I can't get it free, then it's okay to spend some money. But if I don't have any money, I think again that maybe I just don't really need the stuff and find other things to occupy.

It actually doesn't always come easy and worries are always there.

Anyway, that's the challenge. I have read that some people manage to live without money due to their concerns of environmental, societal, etc-al problems. Thus they choose to live "poor" and they are happy with it because they know what they do will contribute to greater benefits. And by not making money doesn't mean that they are just being lazy around. Instead, they do things for the sake of giving without hoping for any profit nor reward, or, in other words, they just practice "the gift economy". That's what we lack of in this world where most people think that everything must be about money and such mentality lets evils happen, I guess.

Deforestation itself shoos indigenous people away from the forest which is their home, where they can gather food without paying a single dime. They just need to take care of the forest. Yet, when they get "civilized" by the government and the coal/palm/any industries, the forest is gone, food and other stuffs are no longer free to get, and that's just terrible. In ancient age, people would kill each other for food and that happens until now yet slowly. What growth that we as humans actually have reached?

Rebecca, Eggs, and The Faceless, Old Man (4)

There they were. The young-old man was about to be hung. But he didn’t have his face anymore. The friend already took his face back. To get someone else’s face, the young-old man had sacrificed his own face for good. “Do you think we should travel a little backward, when he, uh, you still have face?” asked Rebecca. The old man rolled his eyes. “Fine.” And zap! They were gone.

Rebecca and the old man saw a teenage version of the old man with his friend. A girl walked up to them. The three of them talked with each other. After a few minutes, the teenage old man walked away with the girl. The other boy stares as they leave. Rebecca realized the friend felt jealous. He was the third wheel.

“Wait. So, you actually can attract a girl. You’re not that bad for an average face. Then, why do you still have to steal faces when you can already attract a girl with that face?” said Rebecca to the old man.

“I guess I am not satisfied with just that one girl. Didn’t you see that the girl has average face, too? I want to level up so later I need to seek for prettier girl.”

“And when you find one, you become unsatisfied as well and then you look for more prettier girl and you never stop. But, pretty girls want face that meets their standard,” guessed Rebecca.

“Could be.”

“Oh, gosh,” Rebecca realized something. “Where did your teenage version go? We lose him!”

The two of them searched around. The old man looked under the table. Rebecca look inside the trash can. The old man turned to Rebecca.

“Really?” asked the old man. “You think I would hide in a trash can?”

“Well,” replied Rebecca. “You treat women like trash. So I assumed you would look in one to find one.”

“Why are you mad?”

“I'm not. I just don't agree with you. You just want a pretty face. There's more to a girl. She could be smart. She could be funny. But why can't be ugly or average looking?”

“That's just how girls treated me. So why can't I do the same?”

“Because a real girl won't do that.”

The old man and Rebecca continued searching in silence. The old man felt guilty.

“You know what,” said the old man. “It doesn’t matter anymore to find my real face. I deserve this. I’ll be living without face for the rest of my life and I promise I won’t steal any face again.”

“I keep your promise, but being faceless will scare the hell out of people. I am scared myself but I guess I get used to it by now.”

“So I guess people will get used to it, too.”

“Hell, no.”

“Well.”

“I really want to see you with your own face.”

“But I don’t like my own face, then and now, ever, even though I haven’t seen it for very long time. I still don’t like it. Shame on my parents who gave birth to me with a face like that.”

“Don’t you say that. You must be grateful with whatever you have.”

“It’s so painful. That old face will just remind me about all my sins, and sorrows, and regrets, all those wicked things that happen during my lifetime.”

Rebecca got silent. She was too young to understand all of the old man said. But she got an idea. “Hey, what if we get you a new face? A face that no one ever had before. I know someone who loves to draw a lot!”

“Uh oh, not that boy again.”

“Yes!”

Back at present time, Eggs laid on his bed scribbling notes in his notepad.

“There has to be a way to defeat him,” said Eggs. “What's his weakness? Hmm. Now that I think about it, he is obsessed with how he looks. Maybe I could torture him into releasing Rebecca and Mr. Trip. Actually, he could keep Mr. Trip. Life is better without him. But to get Rebecca back, I could call him ugly. Or maybe hire a group of girls to laugh at him and walk away. Hmmm…”

Zap! Suddenly Rebecca and the old, faceless man appeared in front of Eggs.

“I heard all what you’ve just said,” said the old man to Eggs.

“Uh-oh,” said Eggs. “Never mind that. Eh, but, which one do you prefer?”

“Eggs, you have to give the old man a new face!” said Rebecca.

“That’s much better!” Eggs cheered.

“No! He will give me the ugliest face ever,” the old man scorned.

“Well, we can let someone else decides for us. Someone who doesn’t know you,” said Rebecca to the old man. Somehow, Theresa came into her mind. Rebecca did miss her mother. But, did her mother know the old man? “I guess that will be fair enough?”

Both the old, faceless man and Eggs thought for a while.

“Well, let’s get things done!”

“Yeah!”

“I know the answer!” said Eggs.

“What face should I take?” asked the old man.

“My face”

Rebecca and the old man were both shocked.

“Why?!” asked the old man.

“I need a successor,” replied Eggs.

“In what? Aren't you younger than me? If anything, you should be my successor.”

“I’m going away to train in a secret location and I need someone to do my homework for me while I'm gone.”

“Fine, but I get to sleep in your room for free.”

Rebecca butts in.

“Wait,” cried Rebecca. “This is stupid. What happens when you return?”

“I don't know,” said Eggs. “We'll worry about that later.”

Poof. The old man took Eggs’ face. 

To be continued ...?

This is the second story I wrote with Sam Pham, someone I met on Bottled. He initiated the first paragraph, as before.

Well, my bad, I don't know how to continue this and he doesn't have a clue as well. We've been working on this for too long, and now he's just got both a new job and a new, sexy Brazilian girlfriend(!?). So, I guess we will just leave it as it is, or ... do you have any idea as to help us end this story?

Rebecca, Eggs, and The Faceless, Old Man (3)

Meanwhile in another world, Rebecca met Mr. Trip. And the old man with face. “You really have face!” Rebecca was amazed. He looked exactly like the old Alain Delon. “So, the words are true. No wonder a lot of ladies went crazy about you and the witch took your face.”

Rebecca then realized that the old man could have stolen Alain Delon’s face. She realized that the old man is old. He could have been alive since dinosaurs roamed the land. She wondered if there was a reason for the old man wanting to steal people's faces. So she asked the old man and found out the truth. The old man was very much in love with the witch. They were going to run away and get married. However, the witch's mother cast a spell on the old man so that he could never see or kiss her daughter again. She told him that she put his face on a random person and that the only way to get it back was to steal it back. It could be a man or woman. The old man had been searching for his face again because he believed that the witch that he loves will only love him if he had his handsome face again.

But he had stolen many faces that he forgot how his original face looked like. He didn’t remember exactly how the shapes of his eyes, nose, lips, et cetera. All he could remember was just he had always been actually an average person. “There’s nothing special about me. Neither my face, nor my personality. You can see me once, and you won’t remember anything about me when you see me again by the next chance. And when I found someone that I love, I thought that I must stand out so she would not forgive me, so I would always be in her mind and her heart. And, indeed, that worked. She loved me for my face because I stole the face of the most handsome man in the world at that time,” the old man explained with a grim, somber voice. “I was thinking to steal Mr. Trip’s face initially, but it turned out that his face didn’t fit me right.”

“What the-- Wait, does it mean that I am handsome?” Mr. Trip stroked his face and searched for something he could reflect.

“Please don’t think that way,” said Rebecca to the old man. “I believe that each individual has something unique and special. You just haven’t found it yet.”

The old man laughed sarcastically. “Kid, you haven’t lived long enough. The world doesn’t work that way.”

“Or, maybe someday you would find someone that would love you for the way you are, so you don’t have to steal faces any more. You just have to wait, and keep looking for her?” Rebecca persisted.

“Or you just need to lower your standard,” added Mr. Trip, who just found a mudhole and began to think that he was truly handsome, “and find an average-looking lady.”

“Sometimes you just need to have faith,” Rebecca mumbled.

Eggs showed up. Eggs said, “You're going down faceless man. I'm about to send everyone's faces back to them.” Eggs poured a solution from a beaker into his mouth. His belly got big and round, and his hair fell off. He jumped to the old man and bounced the old man back using his belly.

“Not the belly bounce,” cried the old man.

“I'm invincible with my belly,” explained Eggs. “With my belly size, I created the ultimate attack and defense. You can't get close enough to me to steal my face while I can attack you.”

“You're a smart kid. But that's all you are still. A kid. You're a few hundred years too young to be facing me.”

“Really? There's no way you can beat me.”

The old man took his cane out. He swept Eggs’ legs. Eggs fell down. Eggs wobbled on the floor.

“Looks like you can't get back up,” said the old man.

The old man walked to Eggs face and said, “Hmm, it's funny. If I steal your face, you'll look like an egg.”

“Stop,” cried Rebecca. “That isn't your face. I'll help you find your face if you let him go.”

Tears fell down Rebecca's face. The old man started at Rebecca and stepped away from Eggs.

“Sorry,” apologized the old man. “Let's go then, Rebecca.”

Rebecca and the old man time-travelled to the age when the old man was born. Everyone was walking or riding a horse. People lived in huts. “What are we going to do here?” asked Rebecca. “We’re looking for the young-me,” said the old man.

“Okay, how does he look like?”

“Well, remember, I forget, because my face is so average and yadda yadda yadda.”

“Ugh, okay. Well, maybe we can find someone who can recognize your face. Maybe your family.”

“They’re also average.”

“You can’t forget your family’s faces!”

“They look just like me.”

“Maybe your handsome friend.”

“It’s the first face I stole.”

“Let’s go find him!”

Rebecca and the old man searched around. They asked the townspeople and bar keepers if any of them saw a really handsome guy. Everyone said no. Then Rebecca and the old man saw a poster for a witch hanging at noon.

“What's a witch hanging?” asked Rebecca.

“Ummm,” replied the old man nervously. “It is something that we should avoid.”

“How come? It sounds like a place where we can hang out with other witches.”

“Not quite. It's where they hang witches and burn them to death. Witches and wizards were not really accepted here in the past.”

“Let's go back to the future. I don't like this. My whole life I thought witches and wizards were normal.”

The old man grabbed a newspaper and looked at the date. The old man said, “I don't think we should leave. Actually, if I remember correctly, I'm the one being hung by my friend. That's when I decided to steal his face and trick everyone into thinking he was the wizard.”

Rebecca said, “Even friendships were weird in the past.”

The old man and Rebecca decided to go to the hanging. 

To be continued ....

This is the second story I wrote with Sam Pham, someone I met on Bottled. He initiated the first paragraph, as before.

Rebecca, Eggs, and The Faceless, Old Man (2)

For a moment, Rebecca did just nothing. She waited until it was almost dark, but nothing happened anymore. She stretched her arms and shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I guess I’ll just go home now.” She took her belongings and left the room.

On the way home, Rebecca saw Mr. Trip lying on the sidewalk on his stomach. Rebecca rushed over to Mr. Trip. She turned his body over and quickly backed away. Mr. Trip lost his face. Rebecca ran straight home. When she made it home, she slammed the front door and locked it. Rebecca's mom, Theresa, walked to Rebecca.

“What's the matter, baby? Hurry and change. We have a guest,” said Theresa.

“Who?” asked Rebecca.

“Your teacher, Mr. Trip, of course.” answered Theresa.

Rebecca's face froze.

“I am sorry, Mom. I don’t feel well. I guess I need to take a rest. Say my greetings to Mr. Trip. Uhuk, uhuk,” Rebecca made false cough and got silent.

“Are you fine, baby? Should we bring you to the doctor?” Theresa sounded worried.

“I am okay, Mom. I just need some sleep.”

“All right. Sleep well, then.”

She heard her mother’s footsteps backing away. But her heart kept pounding hard. Her back felt cold.

Rebecca tossed and turned in her bed. Someone opened her door. She saw her mom. Her mom tucked her in tight. She pats Rebecca on her head.

“Thanks, mom.” said Rebecca.

“Who said I'm your mom?” said Theresa's mouth with an old man's voice.

Rebecca woke up in sweat.

She fell back into sleep even though nightmares kept haunting her afterward. The next morning, she convinced herself that all was just a dream. Everything was going to be fine. She went to the witch academy. Everything went as usual, just as she thought, so far, except for she didn’t see Eggs. Maybe he was sick, Rebecca thought. By the end of the day, while other students were making their ways out of the class and Rebecca was still putting her books and stationary into her bag, someone approached her. She looked up and she saw that Mr. Trip was smiling at her. “Good to see you, Rebecca. You look very well today. Yesterday I went to your house and ….” Rebecca jumped out of out her seat and ran. “Rebecca, we need to talk!” She heard Mr. Trip called out but she kept running away.

Now that she thought about it, she kind of wanted to know what Mr. Trip had to say, if she could even call him that. She stood still and looked back. She saw Mr. Trip advancing towards her. She couldn't do it. She ran away again.

“Stupid Eggs never taught me how to use my broom,” cried Rebecca. Mr. Trip was gaining in her. She was running out of time.

Out of nowhere came Eggs flying with broom. He caught Rebecca by her arm. “Oh, gosh, you’re heavy,” and he almost fell. But Rebecca managed to pull herself and sat behind Eggs.

“Eggs,” said Rebecca. “I thought you only knew how to fly a vacuum cleaner.”

“Uh oh,” cried Eggs. “Why did you have to remind me.”

The two of them flew into the wall. Eggs pulled out a bottle. He threw it at the ground. Smoke filled the air. Eggs grabbed Rebecca's hand and rushed out.

Rebecca sat down on Eggs bed. Eggs bring her a glass of orange juice. Rebecca played with her hair while Eggs searched through his books.

“I found a book on the faceless man,” said Eggs.

“Good, but why do you want to stop him?” asked Rebecca.

“I don't care about stopping him,” answered Eggs. “I just want to give Mr. Trip his face back so I can give him a black eye.”

“Oh my gosh,” said Rebecca.

“Found it,” said Eggs.

Eggs sat down next to Rebecca and opened the book. Rebecca's face turned red.

“Have you got fever or something?” Eggs noticed. “I gave you a glass of orange, not bitroot nor tomato.”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” said Rebecca. She rushed.

In the bathroom she washed her face to cool down. When she looked at the mirror, she only saw eyes. Some parts of her face were gone. She couldn’t even scream because her mouth wasn’t there. She must hurry before she lose her eyes and can't make her way back to Eggs’ room. But she stumbled and then it’s too late. She couldn’t see anything any more.

Rebecca knocked on the wall. Eggs heard the sound and asked, “Are you okay?” He waited for a reply, but heard nothing. Rebecca wanted to cry but she did not have eyes to cry tears. She was stuck in a sticky situation. She didn't know what to do. She didn't want to move because there could be sharp objects lying around.

Eggs began to wonder why Rebecca took so long in the bathroom. He knocked the bathroom door several times. “Are you having diarrhea or something?” but he didn't hear any answer. He got bad premonition.

“Should I open the door?” asked Eggs. “Nah. She is probably pooping. Wait, but I don't smell anything. She is probably changing clothes. Wait, she doesn't have an extra pair of clothes.”

The sound of glass breaking came from the bathroom. The bathroom door opened. Rebecca popped her head out.

“Sorry, I tried opening the window and accidently broke it,” explained Rebecca.

“Here, let me clean it up,” said Eggs.

“That's okay. My mess, my responsibility.”

Rebecca closed the door. An unconscious Rebecca with no face lied on the bathroom floor. The other Rebecca smiles. 

To be continued ....

This is the story I wrote with Sam Pham, someone I met on Bottled. He initiated the first paragraph, as before.

Rebecca, Eggs, and The Faceless, Old Man (1)

Rebecca searched her room. She checked under the bed. She looked inside her closet. She was panicking. She cried, “Where's my broom? I'm going to be late to witch academy.” Rebecca grabbed her spellbook and rushed out of her house.

When she opened the front door, she wished that she wouldn’t meet the old man with no face along her way to the academy. She used to hush the old man away with her broom. She knew that it was not polite. But the man’s no-face scared the hell out of her. She didn’t even know whether the old man was still alive or it was just the zombie of him. Life was full of scary things.

The story behind the man with no face was that he once loved a witch. They spent everyday together and were very much in love. However, the man was caught kissing another lady. And so, the witch decided to take away the man's face so he could never look at or kiss another lady.

There was only one road Rebecca could take now and she saw the old-man-with-no-face was standing down the road. She sighed. As she walked, the man approached her and reached out his hand. She was about to raise her broom to shoo him away but suddenly came a blue spark from the man’s hand. She was so frightened.

The man said, “I can make you a better witch. Just shake my hand, and you'll be stronger than ever.” Rebecca ran past the man. Her mom always told her to never talk to strangers. Rebecca made it to her classroom. She walked in the classroom and the bell rang. Rebecca yelled, “I made it on time!” Mr. Trip looked at Rebecca. The students got up and exited the classroom. Mr. Trip said, “Class just ended. You have detention after class. You too, Eggs.” Eggs replied, “Another boring day.”

“Hi, see you again, Eggs,” said Rebecca, smiling politely.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eggs replied, passing her swiftly. His voice had never sounded so cold. She didn’t understand what she’d done to him, but she would by the time they got in the detention room. She knew she must keep very still while she waited. As soon as she walked into the room, she took a deep breath and said to Eggs, “I saw the old, faceless man. And he talked to me to shake his hand.”

“Wait, you actually saw his face?” asked Eggs.

Rebecca nodded her head.

“Well, if he doesn't have a face, how could you see it?” asked Eggs. “And how could he talk without a mouth?!”

Eggs moved to another desk far from Rebecca. Rebecca sat there with a blank look on her face. She didn't know how the man talked to her. Rebecca waved her pointer finger around at Eggs.

Eggs looks at Rebecca and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” replied Rebecca after realizing her magic was too weak.

Rebecca had spent many years in the witch academy but she didn’t seem to learn anything. She wasn’t even able to fly her broom. Had she known how, she wouldn’t be late this morning because flying was always faster than running. Outside the academy, her broom was useful only for cleaning her bedroom and hush the faceless old man.

“Hey, Eggs,” Rebecca broke the silence.

“What?” Eggs seemed bothered.

“Can you teach me how to ride a broom after this?”

“Nope. I only ride vacuum cleaner,” Eggs snapped.

“Please,” cried Rebecca. “Pretty please?”

Rebecca made a puppy dog face. Guilt filled Eggs’ face.

“Fine,” answered Eggs. “I'll help you.”

Eggs scribbled on a sheet of paper and gave it to Rebecca.

“Meet me in the courtyard after detention,” read Rebecca.

“Don't read it out loud,” cried Eggs.

“It's not a love note or anything,” replied Rebecca. “And you don’t even need to write it on the paper. There are just the two of us in this room. Why don’t you just say it.”

They didn’t realize that Mr. Trip was standing at the door the entire time and listening to their conversation. He cleared his throat and they both turned their head, taken aback. “Really, Rebecca, you don’t know how to ride a broom?” said Mr. Trip. Rebecca grinned to him. “I knew that there’s something wrong with this education system,” he sighed while mumbling to himself before coming to them. “Well, let’s go to the courtyard. Eggs, you teach Rebecca until she can do sprint-flying around the courtyard for 12 minutes and I’ll be watching over you two.”

But then something strange happened in the detention room. An explosion came from out of nowhere. Smoke filled the room. No one knew what was going on until Eggs said, “Sorry, my beakers spilled into each other and caused a chemical reaction. Mr. Trip, clean up in aisle four.” Mr. Trip got angry and shot a green lightning bolt at Eggs. Eggs flew back. “Teachers give orders. Not you,” said Mr. Trip.

Rebecca stared at them without blinking. When did Eggs do something with his beakers? As far as she was concerned, they got into the detention room together and sat straightaway. She didn’t see Eggs hold any breaker. And she even had no idea that there were breakers in the detention room. She felt sorry for herself that she always missed things. And Eggs must be very good at magic that he could do something without her realizing it.

Rebecca turned her look to the window and she screamed. The old man with-no-face was there! Mr. Trip shot a lightning bolt from his hand towards the old man. The old man dodged and teleported in front of Mr. Trip. The old man swept Mr. Trips foot and Mr. Trip fell down. He held onto Mr. Trip and teleported both of them away. Rebecca screamed. She didn't know what to do. She looked for Eggs, but he was gone too. 

To be continued ....

This is the second story I wrote with Sam Pham, someone I met on Bottled. He initiated the first paragraph, as before.