Dato Maharaja Lela, "Pejuang" Kebangsaan Perak

This is for all students of Form 2 or above. (Of course, first formers are welcomed to read it as well because you're all going to study about it eventually.)

Right, remember the 7th chapter in Form 2 History text book? It's the chapter talking all the bullshit (excuse me) about heroes fighting for their -our- country. Oh, you know - the "heroes" who sounded more like terrorists, "heroes" who attacked the British because they had "menghilang kuasa untuk memungut cukai danmentadbir" or because the British had "melucutkan gelaranmereka". Yeah, I know! The British are plain atrocious, aren't they? These "heroes" have perfect reasons to attack the British, I tell you.

I mean, they got a warning letter from the British for not paying their taxes! What were the Brits thinking?! The office for paying taxes are located in towns. What did they expect the villagers to do? Walk out of their kampung to the nearest town (probably 1 or 2 kilometers far)once a month just to pay taxes? Why, how utterly ridiculous!

Alright, sarcasms aside. I've just been reading about DatoMaharaja Lela, "Pejuang Kebangsaan Perak", and did a search on the Internet. (For those who are really rusty in History, he's the one who killed Birch who was taking a bath. Seriously, how cowardly can he be? I mean, Birch obviously had no weapon with him - when he's taking a bath.) And, I found out that apparently Mr D. (Dato Maharaja Lela, for dimwitted eejits) captured and sold the Orang Asli as slaves to maintain his gleaming pile of gold. Birch, though hypocritically, abolished the practice of slavery and therefore cutting his steady income, was killed by Mr. D, the cowardly dog -I mean, ahem, hero.

Seriously though dudes, this chapter is very interesting. Especially when you look at it in the unpatriotic way. You'll be laughing to death like we did. Enjoy studying, third formers! Freedom is weeks away! (That is, if you survive the battle.)

Good luck, my sweet readers.

Ring Around the Roses

"Ring around the roses,

A pocketful of posies,

Ashes, ashes,

We all fall down."

As I walked by the playground, I heard a group of little children chanting this rhyme at the top of their voices with their hands linked to form a circle. I guess this is perfectly normal child behaviour. The thing is, when I was small, my grandmother never let me sing this rhyme and warned me to never join the other kids playing this game.

Orphaned at a very young age, I was brought up by a fairly superstitious grandmother. One day, I came back from kindergarten and starting to sing one of the nursery rhymes the children had taught me. "Ring around the roses, A pocket-" My grandmother came out from nowhere and screamed at me to shut up. I had never seen her so frightened in my life. She was always the calm and composed lady.

I was told to go to my room and was forbidden from singing that rhyme ever again. Later that night, my grandmother came into my room and comforted me for I was still badly shaken by the previous event. When I asked her about the rhyme, her jaw clenched but after a long period of silence, she told me the story.

The rhyme was badly associated with death, caused by the Great Plague of London in 1665. The first sentence, ring around the roses, basically meant to gather around a bed of roses planted on a grave. Posies from the second sentence refer to a kind of herb that was carried everywhere as protection because it was said that posies could act as a prevention from the disease. And the third sentence, ashes, ashes, is claimed to be referring to the cremation of the dead bodies. Finally, the last sentence, we all fall down, obviously meant that everyone died at the end.

Since then, whenever I hear the rhyme being sang, I see a horrible image in my mind. Four little children were in a huge, dark forest. And they were forming a circle with their hands linked and chanting the rhyme at the top of their voices. And then one by one, the children fall dead to their feet...

The Seduction of Water

The woman clutched her Afghan blanket around her more tightly, desperate for warmth in this frosty winter night. Her night gown billowed in the cold breath of Jack Frost.

It was the middle of the night and she had woken up from a nightmare. It was her again. The little girl with the raven black hair and piercing green eyes that looked too intelligent for such a young face. Her lips, so like the lovely petals of a pink rose opened and formed a word. When she woke up trembling, the familiar voice was still echoing eerily in her ears, "Mummy, save me..." It was as if her daughter was still alive.

She had looked out of her window at the lake in front of her house. There was nobody there. No white arms protruding from the surface, no violent splashing of the green waters, nothing. Just the voice of her daughter ringing in her mind, calling her out to the lake. And just as the she was about to turn away from the window, she caught sight of something. It was her daughter's ribbon, floating in the middle of the lake like a water serpent.

It was too much. The water lapping at the shore, the gentle cry of the wind, the voice that haunted her night after night and finally the ribbon... Her daughter's ribbon. She grabbed an Afghan blanket and made her way to the lake. Her heart throbbed against her ribcage and she could hear the water lapping in her dreams. The lake had called to her, just as it had called to her daughter. And in her mind came that poem, "I will arise and go now, for always night and day; I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; I hear it in the deep heart's core..." Hadn't her daughter said it was her favourite one by the Irish poet?

She walked to the rocky shore of the lake, climbed up a huge one, and peered into the black depths of the lake. A white face stared back at her, her green eyes dead and lifeless, her lips was washed white by the cold water but the lips pulled itself into a gruesome smile. And the woman let out a terrible scream.