Ernest Beauregard

Ernest Beauregard was always taught not to stick sharp things into one's ears, lest they burst the ear-drums and become deaf. So, when he was twenty-five years old and was posted to Singapore by the auditing firm he worked for, and when his colleagues showed him around a pasar malam where he picked up a packet of three curious little metal scoops (found next to the nail cutters), he wasn't quite prepared to find out that they were ear-picks or ear-diggers used to clean one's ear wax.

Ernest was shocked and asked with concern if his colleagues and their people knew that they were not supposed to stick sharp things into one's ears. He was disappointed to find out that despite having gone through a well-developed health education syllabus that taught them the same textbook-answer of not sticking sharp things into one's ears, many sensible Singaporean adults were rebelliously skilful with the manipulation of the metal/bamboo/plastic ear-diggers. His colleagues tried to explain to him how the education was only purposeful in teaching the kids discretion such that they knew to they had to properly train themselves and master the ear-picks before use.

To Ernest, it was like finding out that half the population regularly hot-wire cars or break into houses for a living.

Ernest bought a packet of the ear-picks and showed it to his family over Skype to highlight how the absurd Asians were jeopardising their sense of hearing. All of the Beauregards, except Ernest's mother, laughed heartily at Ernest's rigid overreaction.

During his stay in Singapore, Ernest later went on to fall in love with a Singaporean girl.

Once, after they made love, the girl found the packet of ear-picks in the condom-drawer and volunteered to help Ernest clean his ears. He rejected the offer immediately, to which the girl coolly stuck the earpicks into her ears and called him a coward. She also taunted him with a emotionally blackmail of "if you trusted me, you won't be so afraid", to which he countered with a "if you loved me you wouldn't jeopardise my sense of hearing". His resistance crumbled when she threatened never to lick his ears again unless he let her pick it.

She made him lay down on his side and rested his head on her lap. She cleaned his left ear first because Ernest was right-handed and felt that the left ear was less important. Despite feeling intimidated that she might deafen him, and by the power she had over him, willing that little metal spade, he found himself aroused by the intimacy of the act. It could be due to some masochistic tendencies or a new found genuine appreciation he had for the cleanliness with every scoop of ear wax. As she insisted that looking at the removed wax was an important process of enjoying ear-digging, everytime she removed something, she would show the ear wax to him, and they would make a fuss about how gross his ears were. Although he did not admit it, he enjoyed the ear-digging immensely. He thought that it was almost cathartic.

After they broke up, Ernest tried to clean his ears himself, but he caused himself to bleed. To test if he was still able to hear with his injured ear, he called himself on his mobile phone and held against his injured ear. Fortunately, he did not damage his hearing, but he never dared to dig his ears ever again.

On the day he was packing up to go home, he saw the little plastic packet containing the two ear-picks that were left. Ernest thought it was a waste to toss them away, and that he should at least try to use the tiny scoops to scoop something else. He stood in front of his toilet mirror and stuck a metal scoop into his nose to scoop out snot. It didn't feel as good as ear cleaning - it was just a little ticklish and fairly ineffective. He concluded that nostrils were generally too big for the scoops to fit comfortably. He also concluded that fingers and fingernails were impressively well-adapted for nose-cleaning as they were well-shaped and better fit to scrape against the walls of the nostrils.

Ernest threw away the soiled ear-pick and picked up the last ear-pick and wondered what he could try to scoop next. He looked at himself in the mirror and thought that the metal pick would taste bad in his mouth so he tried to clean his eye instead. He started with his left eye. He pulled his lower eyelid downwards with his left hand and manuveured the pick to retrieve some eye wax - or so he thought, as it was actually just some whitish flesh that probably connected his eye. When he picked on it, the hurt surprised him, and Ernest panicked and unfortunately slipped and somehow jammed the earpick further into his eye socket. Thus, Ernest Beauregard blinded himself in one eye.

Years later, Ernest wished he tried to use the ear-pick to clean his belly button instead. He wondered if he could find a ear-pick from Chinatown to do just that.

(sneak.)

By the way: Sand-Biscuits

Won't you buy a biscuit? Please?

Untitled

Last Monday night, when I was watching tv as usual, I closed my eyes and almost fell asleep... then your mother came to me. I think we were brought back to the time when we were in the labour room. It was like how I remembered it. It was too cold, and the atmosphere was tense. When I saw her on Monday night, she was in labour again. Giving birth to you. She was halfway screaming from the labour pains when she suddenly stopped, and put on a serious expression and told me to tell you something - a secret. After that she smiled and I jolted awake.

Now, this had been a secret that has been kept from you. And I am not sure if I had indeed truly met your late mother that night, or that it wasn't just a figment of my imagination... but I don't want to disrespect her wishes, you know... She's my dearest sister, and I didn't do much for her when she was alive... So, that's why I called you here today.

Do you want me to tell you a secret about you?

And it might be a secret that you might do better if you did not know about. But you know, who is to know what is going to happen after you find out, right? So, think about it, and let me know...

No, no, you don't have to decide so immediately.

Are you sure?

Very well, then. If you're so sure of yourself, here I go.

First of all, I hope you won't take it personally. Because it was before you were born, that your mother wanted to remove you... as in, abort you... from her womb. I mean, you weren't even a person yet. I think they really didn't plan for your arrival. And abortion was a pretty common solution... for our generation of people who were not used to using birth control...

Well of course, you should already know about your father's habits right? Him and the women from around... That ass hole really got more bold over the years, didn't he? Not even the decency to be discrete...

Anyway, well, here goes... Your mother told me explicitly, that night, to tell you that your father was seeing another woman, while she was pregnant with you.

She found out about it from the girl's parents, who came to tell her about it, as apparently, and they didn't know who to go to.

Your mother didn't tell me all the details. She just came to me and told me what happened - that the woman's parents came to her. That your father didn’t know that she knew. She did mention that the other woman was under-aged, though. And that she felt sorry for the girl. She told me everything rather matter-of-factly... We didn't discuss on how she felt... only what she should do... and she asked me to accompany her to the doctor's to have you removed.

At the doctors, they doctor told her that she was already too big to be operated on. It would have been too dangerous. After some persuasion, she finally decided to give birth to you. And since she didn't want to have your father present in the labour room, she didn't tell him when she was going in labour. Instead, I was with her.

So... now, how do you feel?

Mr Bu

Then one night, he gasped loudly, stood up, spun around and exclaimed "When the moon hits three-quarters for the five hundred and twenty third time, I shall be released!"

All the nurses were a shock, of course; after all, this elderly Mr Bu Min Jie had been in a catatonic state for about 40 years now. Watching Mr Bu dance around the ward, even those nurses who had been caring of Mr Bu felt like celebrating with him.

He was admitted to the hospital after being found unconscious in the middle of the road. When he woke up in the hospital, almost one year later, he was catatonic. They thought it might have been a traffic accident which caused him to suffer from some bad trauma to his head. Brain-specialists took turns to target their enthusiasm at him. It seemed like they scanned his brains almost every time the machine was available, but they discovered nothing.

He didn't have any identification, nor anybody missing him enough to identify him, so, they named him Mr B (after his ward). Over the years, the nurses, with the combination of their own inside jokes, extended his name to Mr Bu Min Jie.

Little did anybody know the truth was that he actually belonged to a world, that existed halfway between the ground to the sky, that could not be seen by the psychically-indisposed. He was cursed by a spell-binder, who cut a magic manhole in the ground of that world, from which Mr Bu was kicked out from, with a left foot, into this world. Mr Bu had tried to rob the spell-binder's wife. His real name was Dan (which meant "egg").

(sneak.)

Lavender Remedy

Atera visited her auntie while having a cold and a blocked nose. Her auntie had heard from a friend of a friend that lavender was a good remedy for stuffy nose and made Atera some lavender tea.

It didn't work that well, but it was quite nice enough to drink for Atera to finish drinking her share - bottom-of-the-cup's up. In the process, Atera was unaware that some lavender seeds got stuck in her nose, and she went to sleep.

Overnight, they would grow into lavender bushes - one from each nostril - and she would wake up, sit up, and find two lavender bushes hanging from her face.

Traffic Allergic to Rain

Recent studies suggests that the Singaporean traffic is allergic to rain.

The spokesperson from the relevant Department of Statistics described the phenomenon, saying, "It's almost like the Singaporean traffic is secretly solar powered, and when it rains, the express-ways will always be traffic-jammed up. Something - traffic accidents or fallen trees (peace be with all involved parties) - will inevitably cause traffic jams."

The public was advised to start their rainy days ahead of their usual times, especially to head out of their homes earlier than on non-rainy days. For people who tend to wake up late on rainy days, well, please refrain from doing that, as it is probably "bad for health". Also, the authorities remind people to wear suitable-rainy-day-clothes and drive steadily. It would be ideal, if the public could also try to keep out of my way, thanks.

Waterloo Street

Her mind had been filled with replays of conversations she wanted to forget; yet, the harder she tried the louder they got.

She stood, in front of the temple's red gates, and cried, she fell on her knees.

The ground that was made of red bricks was dry and cool in an inexpressible and surprising way that was a relief to her.

She looked to the sky for a star to wish upon, but there was only the moon shining through the clouds.

The moonlight was gentle.
It felt almost sympathetic.
Or it could just be her imagination.
Or it could just be what she's looking for - pity.
Or something like that.

She noticed how the block of flats looked very different from how they did in the day. In the day, they bustled with activities and sold things that people bought for Chinese New Year. In the night, they looked mysterious, dependable, and good to jump off from.

In fact, everything looked different from how they did in the day. Like that old woman in the corner - snoozing by the now-folded-"new-moon-brand"-beach-umbrella that sheltered her flower and incense stall in the day?

Was she keeping watch for the temple?
Or just keeping watch for the stall.
Does she spend the night here?
Every night?
Or it just tonight?

Ah.
The wind.

The soft comforting wind - it consoles everything.

Well, if I have to go, I should at least give my thanks and say goodbye.

She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands and held her palms together to her forehead. Without knowing why, she also said a prayer for the old woman in the corner.

Then with the next breath, all the other voices in her head quietened. All she heard was a voice that made her realise that there were a lot of people who really had it worse - like the old woman and the other people sleeping around along this street, whose bones and hearts were born just as brittle as anyone else's.

And she was aware of her heartbeat.