Atypical love story

Seldom write love story because I don't believe in fairy tales and happily ever after. This one had been in my head for a while and its definately ain't Mills and Boon. 

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Sam tried to stay close behind Ming muscular body, finding their ways through the usual Friday crowd inside the Jam Club. Ming was a fitness instructor and knew many friends who worked as bouncers at the clubs downtown. Sam felt safer to have him. 

Ming stopped and pointed his finger. Across the crowded dance floor, Melody and her friends clustered around the couch in a dimly lighted corner. She was seen sitting on the floor with her head resting on the seat, eyes closed and didn’t bother how revealing was her low cut dress in that posture. A group of young men were passing drinks and cigarette among them. 

“That’s her. What do you want to do?” Ming asked.

Without answering, Sam charged across the dance floor towards the group. Ming let out a sigh and followed. This was not the first time he had to accompany his good friend to locate Melody in one of these clubs. She obviously had big drinking and drug abuse problems.

Sam grabbed Melody’s arm and said, “Melody, you come with me and go home now.”

Melody didn’t bother to move her feeble body, apparently too stoned to bother with what and who was around her.

The men closed in on Sam.

“Who the fuck are you? Buzz off. We found her first.”

They let up when Ming and his bouncer friend stepped in. Ming lifted Melody onto her feet and dragged her out from the club. She was swearing, yelling and kicking all the way. He had gotten used to the drama.

One time, he had to engage in a fist fight to get Melody away from a drunken fellow who thought he got lucky to find a lone stoned young girl in a bar.

Back at Sam’s place, the drama continued with all the puking, swearing and verbal abuses.

“Leave me alone. I do what I like. Don’t you dare to tell me what’s right what’s normal. The whole fucking world is BITCH! Nothing is normal”

“Just calm down, dear. Go to sleep and everything will be ok tomorrow.” Sam was in the usual soft and gentle mood.

After a while, Melody was too drained by the alcohol and drugs and just dropped on her bed and drifted off. The drama was over.

“I know I had said it many times. Ming. Thanks and very sorry to drag you into this again”. Sam said to Ming but didn’t have the courage to look at him. 

“Its ok. We have come a long way, you and me. But what are you going to do with her? this can’t go on forever, you know. She has huge problem and you can’t help her.”

“I know. I just can’t leave her. I just can’t. She is the only one I have.” Sam was staring at the floor.

“Sam. She is not for you. She doesn’t deserve you.”

Sam didn’t answer. After a deafening silence, in slow and deliberate voice, Ming said to his close friend, “I know its hard to change. But she is ruining your life. Have you considered, maybe, just leave and stay away for a short while? You know, to let things settle down and give yourself some space and time to think.”

With teary eyes, Sam looked up and said, “I know you want me to be happy and have a more normal life. You are always my best friend. I will really think about what you said. Its late and you have to work tomorrow.”

“OK. You take care, Sam.”

In the darkness, Sam curled up in the couch in a foetal posture. The splendid night sky of KL outside the apartment window was a big contrast.

“We had many good and happy times together. What went wrong?”

“Mother. I wish so much I could listen to you to get married and live a simple life. I am sorry to disappoint you. She is not as bad as others see her as.”

“Oh, mother, how I wish I could still talk to you and hug you. How I wish I was at your side before you left.”

Sam got up and turned on the radio and took out a photo album from a drawer. She looked at the photos of her and her mother, and broke down in tears.

Beyonce’s melodious voice was on the radio.

“If I were a boy, even just for a day …”

Prayer

This is pretty coarse and unrefined. didn't want to publish it at first. but then, what the hell.

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Its June and the summer afternoon in Lhasa was bright and sunny. Thousands of tourists were crowding the already crowded old city area around the famous Monastery Jokhang. The gilt roof of the magnificent temple glittered under the clear blue sky. Hundreds of small stalls lined the Barkhor bazaar bustling with commercial activities. Local and foreign tourists looking for a bargain and souvenir hawkers wanting a sale created a buzzing but comforting background noise. The old city of Lhasa was very much alive after witnessing so many bloodsheds in the last 50 years.

Lobsang was oblivious to both the crowd and the noise. He held his palms together and repeated the mantra of Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva 3 times. Then, he kneeled down and performed a full stretch bow on the ground.  Slowly, he raised, counted a bead on his ring of praying beads, took 2 small steps forward and repeated the same ritual again. He had vowed to continue performing his prayer until he had looped around the old city, which would take days. With every bow, he felt his mind was being cleansed bit by bit, which was manifested in a very calm and peaceful feeling amid the noisy, hot and crowded background. His strong vow kept him going although his body was screaming for a break. “Focus on the mind and observe the pains.” He remembered what his teacher had taught him.

Jane Xia was in her new VW sedan, frowning at the crawling traffic. The AC of the car was at full blast and the cool air brushed through her dyed blonde hair. She looked out of the window behind her pair of Gucci sunglasses and cringed at the sight of those local Tibetan performing their slow prayers.

She just wished to go back to her cosy office and get on the internet to chat with her boyfriend in UK. Lured by the better pay offered to her, she had taken up the vacant manager post in Lhasa from a big traditional medicine supplier. Her shop in Lhasa specialised in supplying Cordyceps or commonly known as “caterpillar fungus”, a very dear traditional herb only found in the Tibetan plateau. She would source and purchase them from the Tibetan peasants at the remote highlands and resell them to the smaller shops in Lhasa and other cities in China. The profit margin could be as high as a few thousands percent.

From her car, she cringed at the sight of Lobsang in his ragged and soiled blue clothes.

“What a broken place. If not for our liberation, these people are still slaves serving their landlords. “

When she was on the computer and chatting with her boyfriend afterwards, she wrote “our leaders were right to say religion is the opium of society. These uneducated people still worship their expelled Dalai Lama and don’t know how to utilise their time to develop their economy. What a broken place!”

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In a small café in Barkhor Bazaar, Giana and her friend Paulo were enjoying their ice coffees. They had had some tiring days visiting the monasteries.

“I think there is a reason why a country is undeveloped. Look at them, indulged in so many useless rituals. I m sure they don’t know what they are doing besides following what had been told to them without understanding.”

Giana pointed to the few Tibetans performing the full stretch prayer not far from the café.

“A religion without substance and love.” Giana added.

“Do you remember the thousands of scripture we saw in the monasteries, but without one single book to tell them which one is the real truth?”

Paulo nodded while sipping his ice coffee.

Giana continued, “Worst of all, they still worship human idol, their Dalai Lama.”

“These people are probably doing their prayers because they have a lot of guilt inside them. They’re probably hoping the ritual will cleanse their karma.” Paulo broke his silence. A medical doctor from Portugal, he was trained to be observant and analytical.

“And” he said while pointing to a bowing old man in ragged blue clothes, “if he keeps doing this, very soon he will hurt his knee and elbow joints. So badly that he may not be able even to walk. Under this hot sun and strong UV, I don’t know how long they can hold.” Paulo shook his head empathically.

“Well, that’s not our problem if they want to be ignorant and refuse salvation.” Said Giana.

“I am so tired of all these nonsense about reincarnated monks. They’d obviously chosen those who they wanted to choose to become the high monks. The normal people don’t involve. It’s a plot to control the people.”

“I will leave in 2 days and fly directly from Beijing to Rome. I m so excited because I may have to chance to see the Pope in real person”

“Yeah. It is good to see the holy Papal.” Paulo said.

Lobsang carried on with his prayer although it’s late at night and the streets in the old city were almost empty except for a few fellow prayers. His mind was as clear as the cloudless summer night sky. He was hungry, thirsty and tired but they seemed remotely distant from him. He smiled and continued his prayer of Avalokitesvara Mantra.

Thousands of miles away in Beijing, the capital city of PRC, thousands of local tourists were at the famous Tian-an-men square. Across the road, overlooking the square was a huge colour portrait of the late Chairman Mao.

A teacher was explaining the history of the square to her group of young students.

“That’s our great leader Chairman Mao. All of you bow and pay your respect” she pointed to the portrait and told her students.

Thousands of miles away in Vatican City, centre of Rome, thousands of believers of the faith gathered around Saint Peter’s square. They were waiting patiently and orderly for the Pope to appear from his study. Usually the pope would appear, wave and to be applauded by the waiting crowd.