A small dog with a BIG attitude.

Today, a part of me left this world.

My puppy, Floss, passed away. She was 9, ancient in little dog years. She was a Miniature Pinscher, black with brown detailing on her brows, chest and paws.

I remember the day we got her. She belonged to my older sister's friend and her family. They couldn't take care of her anymore. Floss wasn't getting along with their German Shepherd (who bullied her). It was time she got a new home.

My sisters and I never really had any pets. We live in a predominantly Muslim neighborhood in a terrace house. Coupled with our collective busy schedules, it was not conducive for having a dog. For some reason that I will never find out, my mother (the queen of the house) okay-ed the decision to take Floss in. I'm sure dad had some say in it too, right D?

The day we got her, she sauntered in through the front door like she owned the place. She seemed tentative, but she got the hang of our house pretty quickly. I remember everything that came with her-- the dog food, the cage, the pink pillow. I remember also that Mom had said she was to sleep downstairs in our kitchen. Me and my sister Hillary were reluctant. We tried to get Mom to agree to let Floss sleep upstairs by saying things like, "everyone else lets their dog sleep in their bed." Mom stood her ground.

That night, as I lay in my bed, I heard our new pet crying and whining downstairs in the dark kitchen. I looked over at Hillary and we both were thinking the same thing-- "Operation Get Floss Upstairs." We snuck out of our rooms (we're experts) and got the pitiful puppy into our room. We also got her pink pillow, thinking that Mom wouldn't be so upset if we made Floss sleep on the floor.

Floss slept through the night and so did I. The first thing I woke up to that morning was Floss kicking the parquet floor of my room. The second thing I saw was pee on the floor.

"Aww crap.." I thought to myself.

Surprisingly, I dragged myself out of bed and went to the bathroom to get toilet paper. I cleaned up her pee, sans complaints, whines or resentment. I lifted Floss up to my bed we just hung out. She seemed content. So did I. I remember the scent of my room after Floss spending the night. It smelled of dog. Not the bad kind. It was the smell of my puppy.

There are so many other memories I associate with Floss. Some involving my relatives, some involving my friends, many involving my sisters and my family. Our relatives always joked about cooking Floss. Not a very funny joke, I have to say. No, not funny at all. We called Floss a racist dog. She always barked at people with darker skin tones. It was amusing to watch. She was yappy for her size. God, was she yappy. Whenever the postman came by, we'd be bombarded with the screech of his motorcycle paired with Floss's shrill barks. Oh were those glorious, glorious sounds.

Not all the memories of Floss were great. I remember that she was a source of tension between my father and us sisters. He'd complain the we never got up early enough to let her out in the morning. Or that we didn't take enough baths for her. I guess he thought of her as his little baby, just like all of us did. Mom wasn't a fan of Floss. It was funny to watch her grow from being semi-warm towards the little four-legged pup to secretly feeding her under the table when we were eating.

Floss was my baby. Everyone said so. She was my baby. She'd always wait for me by our door after school, her stump of a tail wagging ever so vigorously. As soon as I'd get off the bus, she'd be there, standing, ears folded backwards, jumping happily in circles. Some days, I thought "Man, it must be nice to have someone so happy to see you all the time. Like a celebrity." She always did the same for both my sisters.

The night before I left for the States, I just lay on the couch with my pooch at my side. She knew, I think, that I was leaving. She seemed to quiet and calm, as if reassuring me, that everything was going to be alright. My oldest sister had told me earlier some time that small dogs don't live as long as big dogs and that Floss might die while I was abroad. I was pretty upset when she said that. The next morning, when I was about to get in the car, I looked back at my house, taking in the place where I grew up. I stooped down to give Floss a hug. She wouldn't come to me. She refused. I was choking up, and I felt as if my dog was rejecting me. Ooo burrnn.. I finally just caught her and gave her a giant hug. She didn't lick me. It was very unlike her.

Now when I look back, perhaps it was her way of saying, "this isn't goodbye. I'll see you again. stop being so dramatic." Haha, she did always have this haughty air about her. Little Miss Prissy. Here in the States, I remember being on the phone with mom. She told me that Floss missed me. Mom had been folding up some laundry when Floss came up to her pile and grabbed one of my underwear, safeguarding it. Mom told me also that Floss would go up to my room and sit there, waiting for me. Little did Floss know, that anecdote had made me cry when I heard it.

Earlier this semester, Dad texted me, saying that Floss had run away. I'd received the text in the (not so) wee hours of the morning. My oldest sister had left the front door open and Floss had decided to go on a little adventure. She was lost for about 3 days. I was distraught. I couldn't do anything, being so far away from home. I did what my generation did best. I posted a cry for help on Facebook, hoping someone would have some information about my precious puppy. Surprisingly someone did. Floss came home, a little shaken up. But she didn't care. She was all "yea I went on an adventure. Sue me.. sheesh."

My sisters would send me pictures of Floss from time to time, trying to give me updates. Sometimes Dad would text me, telling me that Floss had aged a lot over the last five years. I hated getting those texts that reminded me that she could go at any time. When I went home two years ago, I was a little miffed that Floss didn't quite give me the welcome I was expecting. There was no stump-wagging, or pulled back ears. She just seemed tentative. I guess she had a new favorite, Hillary.

But just like that first morning after Floss stayed with us, there was not a feeling of resentment. I mean how petty would I be to hold a grudge against a dog. I guess there are some things you overlook when you love something so much. I remember the one time Mom decided to return Floss to her previous owner. Dad had decided that we girls weren't giving her the proper responsibility she deserved. My uncle and aunt were in town from Singapore that weekend. I cried and cried the day she left. I was so upset with myself for letting her be given back. The next morning, when I came down for breakfast, my aunt remarked at my swollen eyes. All I could do was smile feebly.

But today, Floss left for good. A few days ago, my family noticed that she was having stomach problems. They didn't think anything of it. As it worsened, they took her to the vet, only to find that her stomach had ruptured. Even though she was a healthy dog (says the vet), complications arose. Even though the surgery went successfully, Death eventually claimed my puppy for his own.

The thing that sucks the most is that I was supposed to go home in a month. I had been so excited to see my little puppy. and my family of course. When I do come home, my puppy wouldn't be waiting for me at the door. The house would be silent of her yaps when the mailman rides by. There wouldn't be any poo waiting to be cleaned up when we come home from a long day. There wouldn't be any stump-wagging or ear-folding. There will be no Floss.

There are countless of things I wish I could tell you about Floss. How she curls up when she sleeps, or how she stares at you with her bug-eyes. I could tell you about how protective she gets when we give her Denta, or how she embodies the spirit of youth by always looking young. I could tell you that because of Floss, I prefer small dogs over larger dogs. I could also tell you how Floss taught my family the responsibility of caring for a pet, of loving a pet. I could tell you that despite how we might have ill-treated her (perhaps unintentionally), Floss continued to love without condition.

I find solace in knowing that she is no longer suffering from pain, that she had a good life with my family and that she could spend the rest of her life with people who loved her and doted on her every move. I find solace in knowing that she made an impact on our lives just as much as we had on hers.

Here's to Floss. from a hundred thousand miles away, I love you with all my heart and wish that you rest in peace.

Goodbye my furry friend. Sleep well.

People never realize

People never realize how how much they mean to you, or how much you have to offer till you disappear from their lives.

Then frantic acts of redemption that border desperation -- not sincerity -- and you, a person who cares so damn much, do you give them yet another chance? or do you walk away?

Better yet, is it possible to walk away from that person.. Ironically, since you care so much, you can't.

It only comes around and bite you in the ass.. over. and over. and over.

and over.

and over again.

Eeyore

"Eeyore, what are you doing there?" said Rabbit.

"I'll give you three guesses, Rabbit. Digging holes in the ground? Wrong. Leaping from branch to branch of a young oak tree? Wrong. Waiting for somebody to help me out of the river? Right. Give Rabbit time, and he'll always get the answer."

"But, Eeyore," said Pooh in distress, "what can we - I mean, how shall we - do you think if we -"

"Yes," said Eeyore. "One of those would be just the thing. Thank you, Pooh."

HAH!

I love Eeyore.

I had a Splenda moment!

Ever had one of those moments where you just want to kick yourself for saying the stupidest things at the wrongest times?

Well here's one.

My roommate Sam and I were at the library one night, studying away. I was toiling away at my grammar homework and Sam decides that it's coffee time. We go downstairs to Java City and I order a small Hazelnut Latte while Sam gets an large Iced Coffee. While waiting for our coffee the barista yells "aoehf iehazelnutag osfh"

Well, that's what it sounded like to me anyway. It was a large but I picked it up anyway. Two seconds later the barista yells "Small hazelnut latte!" I looked at my untouched cup o' joe in my hands and sheepishly put it down. The girl behind me picks it up as I grab my coffee. I mutter an apology..

Sam gets her large iced coffee and tastes it.. Sam is not a frequent coffee drinker; therefore, preferring a sweeter taste for her coffee.. As she pours sugar into her drink, she tells me that

"The whole point of me ordering an iced coffee was so I didn't have to consume so many calories."

"Well if you're so worried about the calories, you could always use Splenda"

"Bleargh!" we both say at the same time.

2 seconds later I notice that the girl whose coffee I had grabbed was putting Splenda into HER coffee, packet after packet.

Shit.

I turned around and tried my best to keep from laughing but to no avail. Sam and I were doubled up, laughing without making any noise so as not to make fools out of ourselves anymore. Needless to say, it wasn't successful

As we were walking back to the "quiet" floor, Sam says to me

"geez Elena, first you take her coffee then you insult her"

Next time I pledge to be more mindful of my surroundings.

Foot in mouth moment... Splenda moment.

NanaBanana

PS: To the girl whose coffee I grabbed, I am sorry! I meant no harm!

Creative Writing

So I had to write a piece for Creative Writing about my neighbourhood. this particular assignment was about scene building and pulling from memory. I got a 98% on this.

so here goes :

Operation Junk Food

The rumbling engine of my mother’s Toyota Unser faded away as she drove off. The plan was in motion. I bellowed to my sister Hillary, partner in crime and faithful follower. Hearing my yells, she tottered down the stairs, having just woken up from her nap. It was time to execute the mission. It had been a while since our last fix, and now with my mother out, it was time to satisfy that itch.

We waited ten minutes just to make sure my mother did not forget anything and had to return home. There was no room for error. We spent those ten minutes counting our money, making sure we had enough to get exactly what we wanted. Precisely ten minutes later, we both consented that Mom was well on her way to wherever she needed to be. Making sure our money was safely tucked away in our pockets, I locked the front door and we started our walk. Not even two minutes outside, we were both already drenched in sweat. We walked past Uncle Sulaiman’s masterpiece, a house lavished in intricate wood carvings and design. It seemed like there was always someone filming a movie there every other day. His stoic gardener was out hosing the foliage to keep them from drying up. We said hi as he nodded his silent greeting to us.

At the end of our street, we took a left and then a right into an alleyway. My mother had always warned us about that alley. One of my older sister’s friends had been mugged there before, in broad daylight too. I grabbed Hillary’s hand and we hurried through that narrow space. She understood. It gave her the creeps too. Once out of the alley, I breathed a sigh of relief. We then crossed the cement bridge above the monsoon drain, smelling the foul, pungent stench of water emanating from below. I couldn’t be distracted by the low levels of water that gushed beneath us; we were so close to our destination— the sundry shop.

The coolness of the sundry shop abated the devilish heat as soon as we walked in. It was filled with all sorts of miscellaneous items, from junk food to bananas and coconuts, basically everything. Hillary and I knew exactly what we wanted. We went straight to the counter, lined with countless jars of our favourite sweets. We scooped heaps out of the jar and counted out ten of each kind. They were so cheap too! I could get twenty pieces of my favourite candies for only a dollar. After we stocked up on our favourite goodies, we trekked over to the Shell station, right around the corner from where we were. This made me a little nervous as it was where my mother usually got gas. A run-in with her here would not be good. We went into the busy gas station and bought goodies the sundry shop didn’t have. Chips, ice-cream, soft drinks and more candy were added to our stash. As we paid, the dark-skinned Pakistani-looking cashier attempted to flirt with us. “What a creep,” I thought, “we’re like, twenty years younger than you.”

But all was forgotten when we walked the seven minutes back home, devouring our ice-creams while quenching our thirsts with soft drinks. Junk food was scarce in our house, unless we went shopping with Dad. Even then it was hard to come by. As a result, on the occasion that my mother had some errands to run, Hillary and I would pay a covert visit to the sundry shop and Shell for our decadent treats.

We retraced our steps, walking quickly. Left out the alleyway, a right onto our street, walked past the architectural masterpiece and straight into the coolness of our home. As we lapped up the last of our ice-creams, I tucked away the rest of our haul. Some went behind my study table; the others went behind the clothes in my closet. As for the wrappers, I collected them. You see, there was no way we could throw them in our garbage without getting caught. As such, I took the wrappers and threw them away in our neighbour’s trash. It was absolutely essential that we covered all grounds. Getting caught meant big trouble. I couldn’t tell you exactly what punishment we would have received as we had never been caught.

As I shut the garbage bin, I saw my mother’s red Unser pulling into our street. She pulled into our driveway and asked me what the heck I was doing in the heat. I told her nonchalantly that I was just chasing a stray cat out of our yard. She bought it. As I lugged the grocery bags into the house, I rationed out the junk food in my head. Who knows when the next time we would get to carry out Operation Junk Food again?

Can't Leave the USA.

I have come to a revelation that I would never be able to leave the great United State of America.

Why?

Simple.

Because leaving the USA would mean not having Pandora in my life.

And that's just miserable.

I think this music genome project is ABSOLUTE genius. And thus, I can't abandon its greatness.

That would just be sinful .

NanaBanana Out.

Les yeux qui ne voient pas

This piece was our final composition for our class with Professor Juall. Un prof spectaculaire!

Quels sont les sentiments d’une jeune femme âgée de seize ans qui déménagera à un pays inexploré ? La tristesse ? La peur ? L’excitation ? J’ai senti toutes ces émotions le jour où j’ai quitté la Malaisie. Mes parents avaient décidé que je recevrais une meilleure éducation aux Etats-Unis. La décision était subite mais finale. Je me suis fait croire que cette résolution était pour améliorer mon avenir. Bien que j’aie eu quelques doutes dans mon esprit, je les ai mis de côté. Toutes les accommodations avaient été conclues. J’habiterai chez la famille d’un ami de mon père. Apparemment, cet homme et mon père avaient formé une amitié solide en étudiant à l’université. Il n’y avait aucune raison pour gêner mes parents avec mes petits soucis.

Août 2007—L’été s’était passé lentement et paresseusement. La famille m’a accueillie avec le cœur ouvert. Également, j’ai trouvé un emploi dans un restaurant. Le salaire me plaisait. Les gens qui travaillaient là semblaient gais et étaient munis d’une manière amicale. Et moi, j’ai surmonté le mal du pays avec une nouvelle famille, de nouveaux amis et une vie neuve.

–—Tout va bien. Qu'est-ce qui pourrait mal tourner?

Je ne savais pas que mon bonheur était chancelant.

Le premier jour du lycée – un événement qui a changé mon regard envers les Américains. Je suis entrée dans le lycée, armée avec assurance.

–— Tout va bien, Elena. Tout ira bien.

J’ai eu tort. Les couloirs et les salles de classe, ils exsudaient tous de l’hostilité au lieu de chaleur. Personne ne me voyait, personne ne me parlait. Leurs yeux rencontraient les miens et je les plissais. Dans un cas, leurs yeux aveugles auraient ému une personne qui était plus digne. Pas moi. Malgré que j’aie été entourée d’une mer de personnes, je me sentais de même qu’une île, isolée et seule. J’écoutais leur bavardage bruyant qui ressemblait aux vagues s’écrasant sur le sable. Mais je n’entendais rien. N’ayant été vue et n’ayant été entendue par personne, je devenais invisible, une nullité.

Après que le jour est terminé, je suis retournée chez moi. Immédiatement, je me suis renfermée dans ma chambre. Toutes les émotions que j’avais refoulées bouillonnaient au-dessus de mon estomac. Mon corps a commencé à trembler violemment. Les larmes comme la lave torride ont fait éruption sur mes joues. Je ne pouvais pas les arrêter. Beaucoup de questions sont survenues dans mon esprit.

–— Pourquoi personne ne m’aimait? Pour quelle raison suis-je ici ? Y a-t-il un problème avec moi ? Je pense que les Américains sont censés être aimables, n’est-ce pas?

Mais la plus grande préoccupation faisait glacer mon sang dans mes veines.

–—Que faire si cela continue d'arriver? Que ferai-je? Encore plus important, qu’est-ce je peux faire ?

Le rêve que j’avais imaginé s’est brisé en mille morceaux. Dans ce rêve, je connaissais la chaleur, le bonheur et l’amitié des Américains. Fâcheusement, tout ce que j’avais était la réalité brutale. Mes attentes différaient tellement de ce rêve infantile et idéalisé. Ce n’est pas un rêve ; c’est un cauchemar. J’étais incapable de mettre en mots le désespoir, la déception, la douleur que je vivais. Assise sur ma table de nuit, la photo de ma famille heureuse me regardait. Je me suis souvenue de l'irritation de mon père le moment où la photo a été prise. Les larges sourires espiègles de mes sœurs et le visage plein d’apitoiement de ma chère mère me faisaient pleurer plus intensément. Les vagues de mal du pays que j’avais affrontées sont retournées, me tirant en dessous. Je baignais dans la tristesse. Non—Je m’y noyais.

Dans ce moment, j’étais vraiment seule. Personne n'était là pour m’aider, pas mes parents, pas mes sœurs, pas mes amis. Je me souviens, j’ai réalisé que le monde me décevait. Une espérance qui peut se tuer facilement. Et quand on sent la misère, on se rend compte de la solitude de la vie.

Grade: A++ for creativity, A++ for grammar

Bravo Elena- C'est un travail vraiment extraordinaire! Tu écris tellement bien en français -- a un niveau vraiment avancé. Je crois qu'il est toujours difficile de déménager -- et quitter son pays et ou famille est encore plus difficile... tu arrives à dépendre tes sentiments de manière excellente. Bon travail ce semestre! J'ai beaucoup apprécié ta présence exquise en classe! Merci pour ta participation et en enthousiasme.