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Under the wave by Louren Groff

The child watched the woman fold into herself and begin to weep. She crouched, pulling the child to her, and whispered that the child mustn’t ever do it again. Never. Never. Never risk your life for anything. It is too precious. The woman would die if the child died. The woman would lie down with a broken heart.

Under the Wave


Can we go back?

“Can we go back ? “ I asked myself time to time, “…to a time when nothing bad has happened to you ? And then we part our way? And so I leave you intact and healthy, but alone, but ajar of chance where you can choose a new life? an alternative life? an alternative partner, who would have made you safer? Can we work that way? Can life work that way? Would you be better that way?” Sorry madam, my dame, I have been getting more and more superstitious recently because of you, in a sense that I have been trying to figure out whether I can do something very trivial, very silly, very unrelated, that may prevent us, as a family, from precariousness.

“But…at which point can we go back?” then replied I to myself, “…at which point can I be sure you are 100% ridden of peril?” I have been turning the pages of our 11 years of marriage back to find that landing point. But it is tricky, madam. I cannot find that point. I simply can’t. Unfortunate things has been happening to you mysteriously since half a year after our wedding ceremony. So mysterious that no one can ever explain. That’s getting me more and more superstitious. Every time when those things happened, some one whom I supposed to be experts gave very similar replies, sorry, it shouldn’t have happened to your family. It shouldn’t have happened to her. There should be only X (a figure that was supposed to mean very low) out of Y (a figure that was supposed to mean enormous) chance it happens to a person. There is no apparent genetic linkage to what happened. Sorry. So many times someone said sorry to us, said sorry to me. I hate people saying sorry to me. Life made me think that saying sorry means something really bad happened to me, and those experts won’t ever give me explanation why such bad thing happened. Sometimes they even could not explain what exactly had happened!  So, last time I was so angry when you said sorry to me. Why? Why it’s you who said it!  Those mysterious things happened to you again! You shouldn’t say it to me! If there is someone who has to say this hateful word it shouldn’t be you! You were the only one who suffers from it! And this time, you are going to suffer for your remaining life! And, from now on you cannot even count your life!  So why did the sufferer say sorry to me?! Why the sufferer had to be you?! Why it had to be you?!

It’s really hard to define happiness and sadness after our marriage. Every time I see sadness has gone and we will finally be happy ever after. Every time I see storm has subsided and we will finally have our serenity ever after, and I begin to let this tranquility to lull me into a calm and unworried being, those mysterious sadness will happen to you again, and catch me unprepared, ripping my happiness, and the scanty positive part of me, apart. It’s like someone, something forbids happiness to define our marriage. Someone, something may decide our marriage should be a scale that a certain weight of happiness should be balanced by equivalent weight of sadness. So every time a storm has passed us, our weight of happiness has been too much that will tip our balance —hence break our delicate bond between each other. Sadness has to be put in, no matter wherefrom it comes. No matter how mysterious.  Someone, something doesn’t even care to find an explanation, but just dump something into our scale, no matter how dumb, who cares how dumb, just to keep our marriage in balance. Thank fucking goodness for your fucking kindness, to let something really bad, inexplicably bad, be gettin’ in our way time to time, to cause us incurable pain, unbearable sadness, to cut our very selves asunder, just to keep our bondage in balance. Thank fucking goodness for your kindness. So, that someone, that something, that’s supposed to keep our love solely in his trust and not anyone anything else, step by step, has led me into superstition, to believe in forebears, to believe in omens, to believe in signs, to believe in totems, to believe in something I’m supposedly forbidden.  It has driven me senseless, nerveless and numbness. If adrenaline is the only glue to our bondage, I can’t take it. if worrisome to the point of weariness is the only emotion we deserve, to keep madame, my dame, from the mysterious sadness, I can take it. But please get some fucking experts to explain why to me, eye to eye, instead of digressing your X from Y, instead of covering your “I don’t know” with your BS glamourised, instead of making madame to say sorry to me for what she doesn’t know, while suffering the most. Gettin’ someone an errand to let me know, instead of gettin’ in our way, leaving us alone, helpless, soundless, not able to yelling for help from our friends as we know they simply don’t know what to say and what to do to make us better. Coz’ the answer is, as always when the mysterious sadness comes, a simple N-O no.

“But…at which point can we go back?” then asked I to myself, again, “…at which point can I be sure you are 100% ridden of peril?” I have been turning the pages of our 11 years of marriage back to find that landing point. But it is tricky, madam. I can find that point. And it’s so obvious. The starting point. The day we sworn in as husband and wife, vowing to love each other, bond with each other, support each other, disregarding happiness, sadness, loneliness, wealth, poverty, sickness, life, and finally, death. Till death do us apart. Else nothing gettin’ in our way is gonna gettin’ in our way.  That’s a vow. That’s a prayer. That’s a blessing. That’s a curse. To me, it’s more like a curse than a blessing, considering what we’ve been through since then, considering what you’ve been suffering since then. Turning the pages to that starting point, and the prequel, I saw your face at the time. I saw your body at the time. I saw your fine soul at the time. Beautiful, energetic, dare, wit, nimble, intact, unharmed by the marriage and wherewithal all those mysterious things that’s been gettin’ in our way. Then I was suddenly conscious, that I just can’t. I just cannot land at this point. I know that marriage and gettin’ together through whatever the fuck in our life, have been the happiest thing for us. That curse itself. That fucking curse. Is the best blessing to us ever we can get.  It makes no sense. But the curse we’ve been through, we must get through it. That defines us. That’s what we mean to each other. I am clear. I can’t understand. I can stand. Just prayer, and prayer, the next time we get back to our calmness and tranquillity and unpreparedness after the storm we’ve been through, like we used to, when the mysterious sadness comes again from the universe unbeknownst, the next time, I just prayer and prayer, it would be me to say sorry to you, to leave your life intact, ever after.


Black mirror is not that authentic

最新一輯大獲Facebook 的藝青好評。由於太多好評,同好多其他充滿好評的作品,如house of cards game of thrones West world altered carbon 一般,唔好搞我了。


那令我聯想到我跟兒子每朝看的卡通,regular show。才發覺black mirror 跟regular show犯下同一問題⋯⋯套路太單一,太悶,俗話是根本集集差不多。

Gimme shelter

It’s a movie that used to attract me when I still hooked on iTunes for movies. Then was the time I wanted to watch the movie so much but I just couldn’t, because it kept at its 138 hkd. Simply put, too expensive then. Then I bought a new and more powerful windows laptop for my family, and so I hooked on iTunes less frequently. Then I realised that I was not so hooked on movies than I thought, so I was watching less and less movies with time. Then I forgot totally I used to fancy that movie, that no review had been given as far as I was then concerned. A movie I didn’t even know what it was about. Maybe it was just the girl in cover whom I didn’t know so I was interested in the movie.

So it’s been a long time, until I got this movie dvd during dumpsters sale in hmv. Those sales of the chain that you can get three movies at about £10. Until I even watched Juno, a movie that so many people told me was a very good movie, on my flight back Hong Kong that shitty city. Until people even forget there used to b a Hollywood star named Branden Fraser who starred in the mummy. I finally watched it. Gimme shelter.

Not until I watched gimme shelter did I think Juno was a good movie. I even cried a little bit at the scene when Juno talked to her dad before she made her decision. Warm, funny, lollipop sweety, with a tint of indie. Hallmark of foxlight movies. Gimme shelter changed all that. Both movies talked about teen pregnancy. Same social issue. Gimme shelter helped me make sense of how stupid Juno is.

Or put it correctly. Juno is a romantic version of how a white nerdy high school girl fantasies how her pregnancy would turn to be: a little bit struggle personally, interpersonally, but all within the bubble of a loving and family, who stand by your every crazy idea. Then you meet another more wealthy family who love to pay the hell for your baby-would-be. So cool that you can even high five her like your hockey mate, pledging your heroic you in I’m in. And after all that, the boy who put you on the dole doesn’t go anywhere, hugging you on the bed and guitar your way out like never ever fucking happens. It’s kind of lovely though.

Gimme shelter, instead have you realised that hard fact of what would be like to be a teen pregnant girl, assuming that you are already so fucking lucky to meet someone at the cross road. Someone else not lucky enough can’t even make it to the crossroad, got caught mid on or mid off. Or on the back slip. No matter what. You won’t have none that Juno had, or you never gonna be teen pregnant. But it may be both versions are true. It may be the same old alternate fates for white and for black when ones got some mess to sort out.

Last night I had dinner with a couple who struggle whether they should have babies. I am the bulwark against the idea, preaching it’s the worst time for who the fuck is born in Hong Kong this shitty city. After dinner and all gone. My wife gave her unsurprising dry wit about what I’d said, “now is the worst time, alright. Then what is the best time? World War II? Think about them. They will b old. Who’s gonna take care of them?"

Right. Hate to say, but I am unsurprisingly a stupid in my wife, whose wit way above my imagination, whose vision beyond my horizon. Besides revealing my theory, as my other theories, nothing but solipsism excuses, she pinched one important point that was reflected in gimme shelter

Pregnancy is a hard and harsh challenge. There’s no fantasy, just grit, to get out of the thorns and briers path, fucking slowly. Gimme shelter. I love it.

Price tag

Children the world supports you.


I know second amendment. I know full well the mascot rifle argument is weak. I know full well second amendment means everyone in us can arm to protect yourself, to an extreme that it may imply equivalent arms to government, in your case implying a nuke bomb.

No one fucking care whether people can have nuke bombs or not. All we want is to support your March, for a real way of preventing the same news happening again and again.

The whole world supports you children