Actually...

Eating is the second best thing I can do with my mouth.

:)

There Is Always Truth In Just.

Do some soul-searching. Misuss does not want to do soul-searching.

You seem to have a very cynical look in life, on most days. Why is that so, Misuss? One day you're like Sarah Silverman, the next you're like the happiest airhead in town. Ignorance is bliss, maybe. Atheism is not a bad thing. Being asexual isn't too.

Being optimistic does not hurt. Misuss is sad. Misuss is hurt. Misuss has nerves of steel. Misuss can control her emotions. But Misuss is hurt. Misuss has a Heart. A black Heart. But she feels hurt.

Soul-searching might bring her to a Halt. Halt. Halt. Stop and not Go. Halt. Misuss believes she is happy. Because Misuss Lies to herself that she's happy. Lies takes away the obvious. But Misuss is better that way. Misuss is happier with Lies. I know that when Misuss smiles, she is Hurt. Because Misuss constantly Lies.

Foolish Misuss, she has no One. None to Love. Because all are Dead. It is better that the living are Dead. They are better that way.

But behind all the Lies, there is always Truth in just.

The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 8.

It's probably wrong to believe there can be any limit to the horror which the human mind can experience. On the contrary, it seems that some exponential effects begins to obtain as deeper and deeper falls. As little as we may like to admit it, human experiences tends, in a good many ways, to support the idea that when the nightmare grows black enough, horror spawns horror, that one coincidental evil begets other, often more deliberate, evils, until finally blackness seems to cover everything. And the most terrifying question of all maybe just how much horror the human mind can stand and still maintain a wakeful, staring unrelenting sanity. At some point, it all starts to become funny. That maybe the point at which sanity begins to save itself or to buckle and break down; to be met with death sending a greeting call in your face when you least expect it.

-Stephen King; The Pet Semetary.

-

This was what happened to Kyle, Barbara & their late father, Mr Tommy.

"Daddy, where'd Mommy go?"
"MOMMY? Where's Mommy? Who knows- who cares? Right now, kids, we're playing a little game. It's a good one. You'll win a dollar."
"A-a-a whole dollar?", the beautiful girl, stammered.
"Yeah yeah. Whichever of you stays there in front of the window the longest, wins. A whole dollar." Kyle just stood there silent, not daring to breathe a word, in case he got hit by Mr Tommy again.
"Really? What if we both stay in our places forever and ever?"
"Then you both win a dollar."
"But where's Mommy?"

Mr Tommy looked like a purple grape, a look on his face like as if he was about to hurl.

"LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING, BARBARA, YOUR MOTHER IS THE KIND OF PERSON WHO SAYS SHE'S SUPPORTIVE BUT REALLY WHEN IT COMES DOWN TO IT, SHE WAS A DIRTY SLUT." Tears rolled down her tiny, blue eyes. Big brother, Kyle, 7, muffled his voice in anger. Daddy took a swig from the bottle of beer.
"I spent what could have been every good moment if my life with that ungrateful and truly unpleasant woman. Every good moment of my life and the one time I really, really, really needed her. When I really, really needed her. Where'd she go? WHERE'D SHE GO KIDS!? WHERE'S MOMMY!? Well, she left Daddy all alone is where. She left Daddy all in this mess with nothing but you kids and a bunch of windows with no shades!"

A strong presence was sensed from behind but he couldn't turn around. His blood froze and he almost screamed. "Let's go, Tommy. Not in front of the kids." He forced himself to turn around, to be met with a tall, masculine man with a gun fixed with a silencer and the look of thirst and cold blood vengeance.

"Please..." Mr Tommy started sobbing like a baby.
"I had to! I had to get the job done, I just never knew it was your family I was going to clean and you to take it all. I never meant to!"

The man took him by Tommy's collar and dragged him all the way to the rooftop. Barbara and Kyle couldn't do anything but just just stare in awe. He pulled Tommy up to his feet, watched him sob pathetically and shoved him heavily to the ground. "Oof!"


"Maybe I should have done this in front of your kids. YOU would have."
"Please, Alan!"
"I should have shown them what a sniveling little worm their father really is. An image for them to take through life with them. Like the images you've given me. While I lay in the hospital, healing from the wounds you inflicted on me... Wondering why I no longer had children, why I no longer had a family."
"Have mercy, for heaven's sake!"


"Mercy is only for the living. To me you're left for dead, my man. I tried to wrap around my brain around why my life had ended and the hands of someone like you. I tried to understand why you are the way you are."
"I can... I can... Please..."
"And I figured it out. I know why man sins. Do you know why man sins?"
"W-why?"
"Because he wants to."
I was told that he had a clear cut shot. Kyle snuck up there to see everything.

He hoisted the gun out of his front pocket and pointed it to his temple.
"Not the face! Please... My kids, do it for my kids!"
"Face it is, my man."

Right in the face. I never knew someone would be cold enough to do that. Son of the devil.

The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 7.

My husband, my halo over my head and the person who manages to keep me sane when the going gets tough with his touch. Being the realist that we both were, we made an agreement that no matter what happens to anyone of us, we'll mourn for each other and just move on.

Am I still in mourning or is this pure love? Not wanting to ever let go? His death brought out the best and worst in me. I admit that I can be clingy at times, especially when it comes to the matters of the heart. 3 years and counting. I'm still holding onto the very fragile memory of him. I do think about him from time to time and it brings tears to my eyes. Not being able to love another man. My heart yearns for another man like him.

The loss of my husband diminished my ability to feel real love and passion, like the very first time, expecting the earth to shake. Guess he was a charmer and boy, he shook my world.
-

After Oswald was done with his paperwork, I took a look of a profile of a little boy named Kyle. His daddy died. Gruesome death. Looking at the pictures made me skin crawl. This piece of paper, the very top pile, meaning the most important. I picked it up and scanned it through. 5pm, today, a meeting with Kyle and his little sister, Barbara.

I wonder what kind of horror they had to be put through. Poor things. Maybe... I'd adopt them. Kyle looks handsome, like Kirk Cobain! Barbara, blonde and what beautiful blue eyes! Father must have been a prick to leave them like this. I was thinking of taking them for the week, they need the help that they can get. Maybe to the park, buy them ice cream sundaes, some bread for the birdies. Yeah. I hope they will grant me to look after the kids for awhile. Poor kids.

The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 6.

No one really knew who I was before I moved to New York. Laying low, having minimal friends, keeping friends close and the enemies closer was my main objective. You see, I always wasn't like this. I had friends, I had a family and the perfect paycheck. But after Pablo died, it changed... everything.

It left me empty and bitter. "Why does God have to take away my partner! Let God have his own partner! He can have his own partner!! Why did he to take my partner away from me!!?" I lost my temper at my colleagues causing me to lose my job as a fashion editor in the magazine firm I worked for. I stopped communicating with my family and friends. I stopped answering phone calls and voice messages. I wanted to disappear somewhere peaceful and get back to square one and start over. I was sick of these people hounding me.

Pablo and I were a very happy couple. We owned a reasonable 4 room apartment but with lavish furnishings. He liked living in a luxurious home. Who wouldn't? He has such great taste when it came to picturing the perfect nesting ground. The timber Venetians complemented the rich shades of mahogany in the parquet flooring. Ample seating space at the plush deep set lounge seats. Oil paintings in heavy gilt frames lined the hallway.

I still remember that day so clearly. I was hoping to get out of my car without getting wet by the rain. Gun-metal grey sky. As I hesitantly got out of the car, I said, "What the heck!" and dashed out of my car, my sodden shoes squelched with each clumsy step I took. The rain was hitting my back like thousands of hard berries blown from air guns. Oh great, just great. Now I have to wash my shoes, once again! This costed me one whole month paycheck's worth! I looked up to my right to find Mr Pablo sleeping soundly on the couch with his work clothes still on.

I looked at him with affection for a minute or two. He looked so serene when sleeping, lying there... Motionless. Taking off his necktie, I brushed against his neck to realise it was dead cold. Motionless... He didn't breathe. I couldn't do anything but just watch, thinking if he was really dead. The ambulance arrived 10 minutes later. He was pronounced dead at 10:14pm.

The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 5.

"What brings you here so early to the den?"
"Oh, just the nagging thought of being alone at 4 in the morning and not being able to sleep is just sad. I'd rather be here in the office drinking coffee black and doing my endless stacks of paper work rather then facing the daunting task of cooking breakfast for the girlfriend," he wilted as he passed me my latte.

"I won't be the least bit surprised if your girlfriend was cheating on you, mate!"
"I don't know. I love being around her and all but I always hope my girlfriend isn't craving for sunny side ups when she wakes up. She always wants sunny side ups for breakfast. I always turn them into scrambled eggs instead!," he sniggered but with a hint of sadness in it.
"She pouts when I give her the scrambled eggs. I can't erase that expression in my head. It haunts me and makes me feel really guilty. Suckfest, real suckfest," he said shaking his head shamefully as if he had done something terribly wrong.

"Well, don't worry your little head about it," as I scruffled his hair, "Just practise making sunny side ups then, you'll get there." I took a sip from my latte when Oswald quipped, "Speaking of the devil, Jupiter, I got tickets for 2 to a play called 'What the Butler Saw'. It racked up some a couple of good reviews. Plus you need a little... bit of a male companion to accompany you. Or are you gay?! You haven't been in love for a very long time," he frowned slightly and look down at his paperwork embarrassingly.

A man like Oswald deserved a pretty girlfriend, at least an understanding one at that. Not some girlfriend who fusses over fucking scrambled eggs which I think is very absurd. "What I do with my love-life has absolutely nothing to do with you! Why don't you follow me to the play then? I don't have any male friends!," I grinned.

"The girlfriend wouldn't be too happy about this!"
"What she doesn't know wouldn't kill her right?" I playfully took his face in my hands and gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
"Now finish up those reports that needs to be on my desk by 12. It's a date then." I winked and walked away, feeling my face blushing ever so slightly. Not like his isn't blushing. He must look like a red lobster by now.

The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 4.

"Alright, I didn't know what you wanted for dinner, so I got you a packet of friend rice and some stir-fried kai lan with oyster sauce. The one just down the street?," studying me carefully. "Yeah, sure sure. Thanks, Jo." After being submerged in the water for God knows how long, the strain was starting to show in my face. The air was bad from cigarette smoke, my cigarette smoke.

I pulled out the chair in front of me, sat down and took a good hard look at her. "Do I come across to you as someone who would drown herself in the tub?" I took a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply. "This is a billion times better then sex." "You should really try smoking, Jo. Doesn't kill." "When you see someone in a tub full of water, filled up to the brim, what would you say about that?," said Jo. " I would say that the person was doing some soul-searching?" "No. You were supposed to say, I'd think that person would be trying to kill herself."

"I'm sorry I made you worried and pissed. I won't try to kill myself again," trying to sound convincingly remorseful. "Try?" "Yeah, I'll try. Tomorrow, dinner's on me."

After that, everything went back to how it originally was. Jody forgot about the freak incident, me attempting to drown myself. Truth is, everything was not okay. Jody has the perfect job, perfect paycheck, perfect boyfriend, perfect friends. I was just another new, screwed up social worker, trying to save adults, children and teenagers alike from themselves, on day at a time. But the sad truth was, I couldn't. It was a losing battle. Somethings were just beyond my control.

The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 3.

"Hey sister, go sister! Better get that dough sister!," my little sister sang happily as she skipped into the living room. I lived in a house of solitude, when my papa's around. No eating chicken nuggets, no screaming in the house, no this, no that. When he's off to work, the house comes to life, breaking into song and dance, greeting every song note and dance step as if if they were long lost lovers.

Aurora Jean is the talented younger sister of mine. At 4, papa bought her her very first keyboard. I, on the other hand, did not get a thing. I was feeling extremely sore from that, of course.

Being the eldest in the family has its pros and cons. Pro number 1. I get to watch movies that my parents watched on cable, especially the ones with making out scenes in them. My sister couldn't. Due to her age, at that time. "Haha! Too bad you can't watch it, brat. You know you're much too young. Maybe when you turn 12, you could. In the meantime, why don't you go play with your Barbie Dolls?," I mocked. "You just wait until I turn 12! I'll get to watch those movies with mama and papa! Who needs those dumb movies with yucky kissing in it? I just want to play! I just want to play..."

By the age of 12, she could play every piano song she heard by ear.

You could say in some points of my younger childhood days, I was overshadowed by Aurora's achievements. Con number 1. Competition. I was very competitive. Whatever Aurora did, I would match up to her. Or perform even better. This made Aurora very furious.

Knowing that I could actually keep up with her drove her to the point where she forced one of her school teachers to book her a space in her school auditorium so that she can hold her very own concert. Play. Play, play, and she played.

A concert at age 12. Me? 16. Okay, I thought I was already getting to old for the whole competition thing. We even fought to get our parent's affection. By then, I had better things to do in life. Like just running track. Such eager puppies we were. Eager puppies always aim to please.

Childish, I know.
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The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 2.

When I went to New York for a short holiday to get away from the busy and hectic lifestyle of being a editor-in-chief back home, I discovered a very nasty culture shock in the most unexpected situation.

I went to this bar, thinking I could strike lucky and meet a cute looking guy or even luckier, an Adonis. A tall, lanky but ravishing man came up to me and said, "Hey beautiful, do you do nails?' He put my drink down on the bar counter and walked off. I was seriously caught with my pants down for the first ime! I didn't know how I was supposed to react. So I just let out a stupid sounding snort and sat there for a good 5 minutes thinking what the hell just happened.

I didn't know what he meant until I ran into a group of half drunken girls and managed to pry out from them what the guy actually meant after having countless shots of tequila and lime. "He thinks you're a chinese or vietnamese, honey! You don't look like oneeeeee thoughh!," as this bitch's words were slurred. A term that most Americans use to stereotype Asians. Mostly the Chinese in particular, as most of their jobs were simply to do nails. Bloody men. Worst of all, I wasn't even near to Chinese at all. Hmm, maybe I do look like a Chinese, fuck!

Whoever that man was either used the slightest effort to try to get my number, that white men have no compassion whatsoever in commenting how nicely dressed a girl is or just needs glasses. Mean motherfucker needs lessons to good pick up lines and a pair of glasses.

I came to a conclusion that maybe America wasn't such a prejudiced country after all. Some men in the US just don't know how to flatter women. So, I made a quick decision on the spot. American men are totally bad-ass.

I wanted to move to America. And I did.
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The Reminiscences of a Fallen Angel; Part 1.

I struggled to breathe. With my long, slender fingers clenched tightly to the side of the tub, I wished I never came into this world. "At least fighting to catch my last dying breath isn't as difficult as having to go through with the bullshit I have to put up with everyday," I said aloud as the water sipped in slowly to the sides of my mouth.

There was something very tranquil about the water- flowing into the large tub which was about to kill me in seconds. Right there and then, I thought, "Without him, I can still breathe. Without him, I will still be that same woman with a secret love for bad-ass chicks. Without him, I'm single and sad." My body was already floating in the overflowing tub. I set free of all my hurt, anger, guilt and worst of all, my emotions of betrayal I was feeling, the moment I let go of the tub.

Reaching out for the faucet to turn the water off, I caught a glimpse of what looks like my room-mate. "What the fuck are you doing in my bathtub!? I was just gone for a few minutes to go grab some food and you're back to your suicidal tendencies! Get outta here."

Her name is Jody. Whenever I'm around her, I always keep this in mind. Never mess with a lawyer. Especially this drop dead gorgeous one.

A true blue brunette, smarter than the rest of the other girls, with a wicked sense of humour and a no-nonsense attitude, which explains all the shouting. (Mood wings, non?) For now, I'll be safe in my own little haven- with no one to stop me from killing myself a thousand times and reviving myself over and over again. Who knows how long I have been in there. When your body is almost fully submerged in water, you see nothing and hear only silence. 'Wrinkly fingers, motherfucking eyesore.'

All I could muster was, 'It's a goddamn Sunday for crying out loud. Cut me some slack, will ya?'

My name is Jupiter Genevieve Dyson. I've lived in Singapore for the past 24 years and am living in Manhattan, New York. I go back to Singapore whenever the homesick signal alarms. Being far away from good food, good beer, friends and family is just sheer torture. God bless whoever invented the World Wide Web. I'm a firm believer in persevering for the bad guy because the grass is greener on the other side... Or so they say.

You may imagine me as someone dark, fair, blond or redheaded. My name causes a bit of a commotion when people first heard of me when I was about to set foot for my new job at a magazine firm. Caucasian? Nah. I'm not a white, neither am I a black. Or Jewish for the record. No pun intended.

I am actually an Asian.

A Japanese mixed to be precise. I have my papa's eyes and kindness and my mama's smile and nose. My papa is an Indian while my mama is a Japanese. I somehow take pride in my name the one given to me by my papa. My mama wanted to name me 'Kazumi' meaning harmony and beauty. Papa protested that it was too plain of a name for me. In my papa's eyes, I meant the world to him.

Papa is one of those egoistic Indian men who couldn't stand to see their daughter with a Japanese name and not be poked fun at by some racist Chinese chink. It made me stand out from the rest. It never made me feel small. I got bullied a lot in school, but that's all in the past now.

Jupiter was the Roman King of Gods. Genevieve, a feminine french name for a girl. I guess his love for the French culture and his interest in Roman History sparked a name such as mine. No matter how absurd it sounds, it had a ring to it and I loved it. Guess I was going to be the next Kimora Lee Simmons.

Jupiter Genevieve Dyson.
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