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Today I was upset.

It wasn't the reason why I pulled the hood of my coat over my head, stuck my freezing hands into my warm pockets and trudged through knee-deep snow towards a path I had come to know so well.

It wasn't what I felt as I let my feet free to wander the pah that bore so many of their prints, and allowed my mind to ponder on the little easter eggs of life.

It wasn't because I was walking alone on a cold Christmas morning, or the thought that if I had ventured off the well-worn path and vanished, no one would ever guess why, where, or how.

Yet what was I doing, plunging my feet and legs through snow thick enough to engulf my calves at every step? What was I thinking, hands deep in pockets, head lowered against that cold, yet still marching mechanically forward?

***********************************

A friend of mine, a devout Buddhist, once tried to explain "Karma" to me, that relationships formed with people, that things you did - good or bad, was a result of karma from your past life, all of which, after influencing on your relationships with people and consequences of actions in this life, will be brought forward to your next. It's a never-ending cycle.

***********************************

What usually took 20 minutes of jogging to reach took me 40 today. Except for a red-faced old lady who ernestly refused and profusely thanked my offer to help with her humongous bag, I didn't meet anyone else on that path.

Cold does isolate all.

The route belonged to me, and as my mind wandered my feet kept walking.


************************************

From 8th September,1941 to 18th January,1943 , S Petersburg (then known as Leningrad) ravaged by war, was a prisoner in Her own home as the Nazis held the city under siege for a gruelling 900 days -- The Siege of Leningrad.

Through the freezing Russian winters, cut electricity and water supply, pitiful rations of 250grams of bread a day, and rampaging diseases of those 900 days, up to 1500000 civilians and soldiers lost their lives.

Bodies were collected from the streets all over St Petersburg and carted over to the Piskarevskoye Cemetary for mass burials.

The cemetary grounds, home to more than a million souls sacrificed to war, is guarded at the entrance of two small buildings, two timeless sentries holding the memories of those loved and lost.

"Here lay Leningraders

Here are citydwellers - men, women, and children
And next to them, Red Army soldiers.
They defended you, Leningrad,
The cradle of the Revolution
With all their lives.
We cannot list their noble names here,
There are so many of them under the eternal protection of granite.
But know this, those who regard these stones:
No one is forgotten, nothing is forgotten. "

Здесь лежат ленинградцы.

Здесь горожане — мужчины, женщины, дети.
Рядом с ними солдаты-красноармейцы.
Всею жизнью своею
Они защищали тебя, Ленинград,
Колыбель революции.
Их имён благородных мы здесь перечислить не сможем,
Так их много под вечной охраной гранита.
Но знай, внимающий этим камням:
Никто не забыт и ничто не забыто.

*********************************

My feet had taken me to the Piskarevskoye Memorial Grounds. I stared at the two lone sentries from across the road. Inside the building on the right side is a small museum. Among photos still reeking of war and death, there are inspiratory images that whispered of hope and courage amidst the ringing screams of anguish.

There was also an old, mould-covered specimen of a piece of bread - all 250 grams of it - a day's meal.

********************************

The grunt of a heavy truck blocking my view snapped me out of my reverie.

What was I doing in front of the Memorial Grounds on a Christmas morning, in between classes?

My phone was ringing. Friends were calling me to go back for the next lecture.

*******************************

The bus I boarded was crowded. There was a guy my age in full black leather cowboy gear - hat, jacket, boots , the works.

A few old ladies sat together chattering. A man reeking of cigarettes and vodka coughed nonstop. A heavily made-up woman yelled at someone irritably over the phone.

I looked out the window at the peaceful, snow-covered cemetary.

"Merry Christmas", I whispered.

The Orthodox Russians didn't even celebrate Christmas on the 25th of December.

******************************

On the bus I remembered what my friend told me about karma.

I wonder now, whether the remains of my past life lay, among others, somewhere beneath the blanket of earth and snow, forgotten but never forsaken, behind a single tombstone bearing a number. "1941, 1942, 1943"

Perhaps this is why I have come, of all places, to study in this city. This beautiful, sad city that stirs so much emotion in me.

Cow and Chicken

Mama had a Chicken,

Mama had a Cow.

Dad was proud,

He didn't care how.

To my Kid Bro,

Remember when you were younger, we would wake up early on Sunday mornings and find the house empty because dad and mum have gone to the market?

We would sit in the living room in our pyjamas, hugging our knees and a box of Coco Crunch each, and watch Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network like there's no tomorrow, and mum would come home and yell at us to go have some proper breakfast?


I know those innocent, carefree days seem so long ago to you now. Fast forward barely 2 years from those Johnny Bravo Sunday mornings, you were almost as tall as I was. Yet still such a child. You broke our hearts one day when you asked us why people you loved, people whom you thought cared for you, could change for the worse so quickly so fast.


You were only a child then, kid. How were we supposed to tell you that it wasn't others that had changed, but you? How were you supposed to accept the cruel fact that the world has been, ALWAYS been, unfair, mean, and sometimes just plain evil? That nothing has changed, only that you were growing up, out of that little protective bubble we tried to put around you in vain?


Today I missed you terribly. I wondered whether you could be that young man of the house, strong and brave, facing the unfairness life sometimes hurls at you out of pure spite.


There is a huge part of my heart with your name on it. It breaks everytime I watch you face life's tribulations, taking it's unfairness. Yet the cracks heal, the splinters collect and merge into a whole again because I see you transform into a man, and I am proud of you.


One day very soon, we will eat Coco Crunch and Honey Stars first thing in the morning in our pyjamas watching Cartoon Network together again. One can never outgrow Dexter and his crazy experiments.

Signed with love,

Sis

Watch Out for 'em Bumblebees !

When Maksim made famous Flight of the Bumblebee by Rimskiy-Korsakoff, talent swarmed to hum to its frenzied melody.


Maksim - Piano


10-year-old Enzo from Phillipines, piano


10-year-old 蕭羽婕 Sophia, piano


9-year-old Lawrence, piano


Greg Pattillo, Flute


Averil Taylor, Trumpet


Alexander Dmitriev, Accordion



And the most impressive of them all ..... pure human vocals.

Cold is simply the lack of heat My Foot

Here's the real truth about Cold.

Cold is an evil, sinister monster that doesn't let go once He grabs hold of you. He envelopes you, seeps through the very seams of your clothes and molests your goosebumps, making thousands more illegitimate goosebump-kids.

Cold numbs your scalp, tears and pulls till your ears feel like they are going to rip from your scalp, and sends shooting needles relentlessly flying at your body. His icy fingers slither into your nose and mouth and throttle you from inside your throat. He slides easily into your belly, permeates into your bones, and as you feel your marrows freeze you realise that no amount of shivering is going to help you get rid of Him.

Then to make matters worse, He calls in his famous protégé, Wind.

While Cold is conniving and sly, Wind is the hitman with all the muscles. He doesn't sneak around -- he imposes. He pushes you to the icy ground as you struggle to get through his army of ice-bearing gales. He gleefully slaps you over and over and over again, and no amount of clothings can protect you from his ice-laden assaults.

Winter is back, my friend. Her infamous envoy is here to make sure of that.

Dark Side of the Mind

My mind harbours

thoughts so dark and vile

That if you ever heard them -

the hissing whispers reverberating in the vaults of my skull

Ever saw them -

the scenarios I draw up in my mind

or that sly smile creeping onto my face

as I picture them true.

You would realise

Just how little

you know of me.

Just how little

I think of you.