Strolling along streets lined with quaint European village houses, ever so faintly grazing the grounds of replicated Chinese temples, and promenading in admiration past the famous and exclusively exquisite Nimb Hotel, our trip inside Tivoli was put to a halt with the racket of loud honks - not of horns, nor of vehicles, but of a mother duck. My curiosity and fascination with animals drove me in the direction of the frantic noise, as I wandered off ahead of my parents. A pair of white ducks was distraught and rushing about, their ducklings close by. I did not realize what was happening until my parents, who had finally caught up to me, gestured towards the tiny man-made hole of a pond to my right. There, ever so slightly quacking in a bundle of fuzzy grey feathers, was a duckling, struggling to regroup with its family. Being surrounded by tall rocks and dirt slippery from the rain, it could not reach land. I desperately wished to help the poor duckling; however, I chose to watch the situation unfold, not wanting to disturb the natural way of life for animals. As my parents and I attentively watched Papa Duck and Mama Duck frantically search and call out to their lost youngling, other visitors of the park stopped their journey in Tivoli to observe the situation as well. We all knew better than to make physical contact with the duckling, as we did not want to injure it. So, all we could do was just stand there, helplessly, and watch this family of desperate ducks as they struggled to reunite with one another.
The exhilarated sound of daredevils screaming at the thrill of the Dæmonen (The Demon) only juxtaposes the greying colour of the sky. Enormous clouds loom overhead the Tivoli Gardens, an amusement park that stands at an extraordinary 170 years old. In the enchanting city of Copenhagen – home to The Little Mermaid, the brightly coloured houses of Nyhavn, and the boutiques of Strøget – my parents and I braved the gloomy weather and set foot into Tivoli. A storm was brewing in the distance, but we did not let that hinder us. Surrounded by the crisp scent of foreign nature and the pleasant petrichor of Danish soils, we walked into a fairytale world.
Strolling along streets lined with quaint European village houses, ever so faintly grazing the grounds of replicated Chinese temples, and promenading in admiration past the famous and exclusively exquisite Nimb Hotel, our trip inside Tivoli was put to a halt with the racket of loud honks - not of horns, nor of vehicles, but of a mother duck. My curiosity and fascination with animals drove me in the direction of the frantic noise, as I wandered off ahead of my parents. A pair of white ducks was distraught and rushing about, their ducklings close by. I did not realize what was happening until my parents, who had finally caught up to me, gestured towards the tiny man-made hole of a pond to my right. There, ever so slightly quacking in a bundle of fuzzy grey feathers, was a duckling, struggling to regroup with its family. Being surrounded by tall rocks and dirt slippery from the rain, it could not reach land. I desperately wished to help the poor duckling; however, I chose to watch the situation unfold, not wanting to disturb the natural way of life for animals. As my parents and I attentively watched Papa Duck and Mama Duck frantically search and call out to their lost youngling, other visitors of the park stopped their journey in Tivoli to observe the situation as well. We all knew better than to make physical contact with the duckling, as we did not want to injure it. So, all we could do was just stand there, helplessly, and watch this family of desperate ducks as they struggled to reunite with one another.
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Throughout my life, I have been to many fantastic restaurants, but there are three that really resonate in my mind as my favourites. The first is the only one of the three that is located in my city. Sadly, it is now closed. The second is a steakhouse, Café Lux, where I first experienced their sweet potato mash and steak that melts in your mouth. This one is located in the U.S. The last , and the main character of this story, is...I shall not reveal its name, but it is a small restaurant in Paris which my two childhood friends and I found via Trip Advisor on our international French course there. We spent a good half hour finding the location of the restaurant - taking the Métro, searching on foot using a map of Paris. It was our second last night in the beautiful and romantic city, and it was one of my friends' (let's call her "A") birthday, so the other friend (let's call her "B") and I decided to treat "A" to a nice dinner. Walking into very warm hues of reds and oranges, we sat down at a small table where nearby, the restaurant's dog lay sleeping on the stairs that led to nowhere. All three of us ordered very different foods: "B" - she tried escargot for the first time but didn't end up liking it that much. "A" and I tried the pasta that came with it thought - that was good! She also ordered a mille-feuille of caramelized apples and grilled chicken breast, with a side plate of scalloped potatoes. "A" - some kind of fish (I don't remember it that well because I don't have a photo of it). Me - a plate of scallops (they were huge!) on slices of zucchini in an herb-oil sauce. In the centre, a mound of herb and garlic mashed potato. The whole entrée was sprinkled with pistachio bits. For dessert, we shared 3 small cups of mousse - chocolate, coffee, and vanilla. The food's quality and taste were great - one of the most delicious meals I've ever had. But what was the most memorable was that my two friends and I shared our efforts in searching for the place online as well as on food, and it was a nice dinner with friends I have known for my whole life. We planned it out ourselves and this experience made us feel very grown up and independent. I will also never forget my mistake of ordering orange juice, which turned out to cost $6...needless to say that was the most expensive orange juice I have ever had.
I think it was August 31, 2013 when my first Eucharist Adoration session happened. A couple hundred of use were all gathered for a religious living camp/retreat inside a hall for this worship session. Community prayers were also a part of this. I remember it was around 8:00pm at nights - the sky was dark, all the backlights were switched off, the only lights shining on the Eucharist. My turn to walk up to my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ for a prayer. What I prayed for: courage and self-esteem. Heads bowed, eyes closed, hands over my head - one male, one female - two gentle voices. As I move back to my seat on the wooden bench, I try to hold my tears and emotions inside. The beautiful voice of my friend sings songs Above All, proclaiming Here I Am, Lord. I see another friend sitting on foam alphabet puzzle pieces several benches from me. I go sit with her; she is crying. Taking her into my arms, we cry together; together feeling the Power of God. Event that occurred on the same day: people celebrating Independence; Kyrgyzstan from the Soviet Union, Malaya from the UK, and Trinidad and Tobago from the UK
Connection:
In my purse, with me I carry in a small canvas pouch printed with elephants from Thailand a cherry red EOS lip balm and a tube of red lipstick; in a Coach wrist bag - a gift from my friend - a pair of extra contacts, eucalyptus oil and tiny pink pills to ease the stomach, a bottle of turquoise Advil Liqui-Gels, a once-mint-tin-turned-pill-container in Christmas green, a silver Clinique lip brush, and a Missha under eye brightener; a bottle of Missha handcream, an almost-empty bottle of Purell, my iPod with Sony earbuds, my long wallet, and my Samsung Galaxy S3 encased in turquoise plastic and material.
I carry with me health and self-esteem. One thing missing from my purse: my silver Parker ballpoint pen. A gift from the most important person in my life. A reminder to be the best person I can be. The Queen of Smiles. This is not something very interesting. Me, my life...I guess you could say that I'm a half-open book. People know many things about me, but only what I wish to share. Anyhoo, let's get to the point of the story here. Something you do not know about me...I guess it depends on who "you" is. I have a friend who knows...basically everything about me. Almost everything. He learns new information about me every once in a while, and vice versa. Do you know who this friend may be? But this isn't the point of my story. Get to the point! This may seem stupid and the class will probably be like "...what...?" but I have this weird fear...phobia?...of fish. I can eat them, but only if they're cooked a certain way. Like when you're eating a traditional Chinese course and the fish (head, tails, fins, scales, bones...eyeballs turned white and staring into your soul) comes up onto the table...yeah I'm scared of looking at fish...they seriously creep me out. Yep there's my weird fear of fish. Bet you didn't know that, huh?
RE-CREATION OF A STORY Back when I was in Kindergarten, I was different from other girls. I didn't like Barbies, Polly Pockets, or all those types of toys; I had a different fascination. Dogs. I've always dreamed of becoming a dog doctor and raising a dog. But more than anything, I wanted to be a dog. I would lick little fruity treats out of my cousin's hands, walk around on all fours - hands and knees - and I had the greatest bark...so great that all the other dogs were jealous. On Thanksgiving, it is family tradition to say what we are thankful for. Me? "I am thankful...for being a dog." - A.W. It was just another day at the Zoo. Well, maybe not just another day because we were going to sleep over at night. Just so you know and to put it into context, I was there for a summer camp. So yeah, fast forward to that night. We were playing man hunt in Africa - the whole lot of us that were sleeping over - and I got so into the game that I thought it was smart to hide in these bushes. Mind you, it was at night, so I couldn't really see a thing. Maybe except for those mosquitoes or other related bugs that kept flying around my face. The game was done, and I got out. My eyelids started to feel itchy...I don't know what compelled me to do it but I put specks of bug spray just above my eyes. We played another game, went to sleep, everything was great! Until the next morning when I woke up with my eyes basically swollen shut. I'm quite allergic to bug bites - some chemical thing my body doesn't like - so...every time I get bit, that area just swells. Both my eyelids had been bitten by some bug. I had to spend the rest of the day putting ice on both eyes, making walking around the zoo and doing things quite difficult. I looked like a...I don't even have a word? But I looked bad...maybe even slightly funny to others. Even better, had to attend my grandfather's big, surprise 80th birthday the following night looking like some kind of alien...
My bug bite disasters have been the closest thing I've got to getting hurt (knock on wood)...once I got bitten on my ankle and I couldn't even walk, it was so painful...but that's another story for...another time...? When she says the word "math" in an English course...you expect many groans in the room because...it's math.
There are four types of students. One: the business, two: the social sciences, three: the languages and the arts, and four: the maths and sciences. Me, you could call me a well-rounded student except for...I'm not a maths and science person at all. The only times I've ever gotten 70s on my tests and completely bombed my quizzes. Math. What's funny is that I used to understand it - 100% average first term, grade 6, ending the year with...like...a 96%; math award in grade 4 - yeah, I used to be pretty decent at math until they added letters into the numbers. It just went downhill after that. Barely above 60% on my grade 10 math exam, barely an 80 average in the course for grade 11...but come grade 12, my brain has been thanking the Heavens! NO MORE FUNCTIONS! I'm taking what some may call the "easy math course", but I call it the "different math course". Data management. The useful math (like really, when would you need to calculate the sine, cosine, and tangent of a triangle in your everyday life?). My brain just isn't hardwired for numbers and logic. But data is an exception...so far. For once in my life, I actually enjoy math. But if I really had a choice...I'd still go for the arts :) A rock. An ovular piece of granite; streaks of rose bring beauty to the ashen surface. The surface, smooth to the touch, yet also rough. Hinting at its inner wealth, the crystallized particles shimmer under the light. Sturdy and weighty, just another rock in the road. Unnoticed. Found nearly anywhere, it is ignored by all those passing. Just one of many more rocks, nothing special. locking the path, a burden to some, unintentionally hurting others from a dramatic kick. This granite rock, the outside seemingly dull, boring, and just like any other rock, bears great beauty within; great value. With the proper techniques, the shine from the inside will come through; its value immediately increased. One just has to be willing to work at the rock, patiently, to reveal the value within.
I come from the many layers of coziness that sleep on the bed in which I wake in the early morning. 7:00 AM, not too early. Following the same old repetitive schedule of minty toothpaste to scents of bitter orange blossom (a grand fragrance, by the way), back into the coziness I crawl. Just another 10 minutes, nothing much. Family - parents and dog - already chattering and barking away during the rising of the sun...sometimes I just wish they would be quiet...but I keep to myself and go on with the schedule. At times, tired and introverted, other times, full of life and extroverted. That is how I come to school and approach my friends at what we call the "Asian Corner" (because...well...we always hang out there). At this very moment, this second, heck this millisecond, I come from a writer's block. Mind and soul detached from the skull, my head is not there. Unable to formulate thoughts.
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Authori am just an ordinary teenage girl. my name and whereabouts are unimportant. this is my story. all written work is original unless credited. Archives
June 2014
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