the end of August

today is the last day of August. tomorrow is the first day of September.

August was a good month in some ways.

First of all, there was the Olympics.

I watched Dream Again, Gokusen and Nodame Cantabile. All three were quite good, for various reasons. i think in some ways, the concept of Dream Again is similar to Proposal. but even ai katou and sorimachi takashi can't make it better. gokusen is not gto. but it's still good, because gto was too good. nodame cantabile is in a world of its own, just like noda megumi. but nodame cantabile is really a good show, imparting lessons through music. the special episode makes Paris seem so wonderful.

i would prefer miki kiyora to noda megumi though.

in addition, i also watched Tokyo Friends the Movie and L: Change the World. to be honest, if not for the songs, and the words Otsuka Ai said to Eita, about the very first dream, i think tokyo friends would have been very ordinary. and this would have been very disappointing, because i felt that the concept was very good. the execution wasnt very polished. i havent watched the drama, which was the prequel. maybe thats the reason why i couldnt appreciate it fully.

L change the world was also rather disappointing. aside from L's words to Kujo at the end, i go away not knowing why they made this. simply for the L fans? it is not quite enough.

i also wrote 4 stories, the most i have ever done in a month. july's haunted was rather disappointing, so this was like a redemption. i am satisfied with all 4: the balcony, somewhere out there, happy birthday and those emerald eyes. alot of old ideas finally materialised, especially in those emerald eyes.

i feel that the stories this year are more encouraging. it was easier last year to choose the "most representative" shorter story (thank you sorry goodbye). this year, when i wrote Blue Rose, i thought: yes, this is the one. Then i wrote Leave. then That Song. then these 4. all 7 of them are particularly important to me on a personal level.

i say particularly important, because

there is nothing in this world that isn't important

Somewhere out there

Somewhere out there, there is a field of dreams. We will meet again there.

**

August 2006

She found him lying on the grassy riverbank, eyes closed. She sat down beside him and nudged him, "What are you doing?"

He replied with his eyes still closed, "Thinking."

"Thinking of what?"

"Of you."

In spite of her irritation, she allowed a small smile which quickly disappeared when she noticed that his left eye was looking at her. He smiled and closed his eye again, reassuming his original position.

"Do you intend to run away forever?"

"I am not running now, am I?"

"Then why are you here?"

"I don't have to go away. The sky is blue here too," He sat up. "Besides, if I go away, what will you do?"

**

August 2007

He opened that old diary from 2006 and flipped to that page:

We agreed that we shouldn't stand in the way of each other's dreams.

When I told her that we should cool things down a little, for that moment, I saw the hurt in her eyes. A kind of pain I have never seen before.

Yet, she recovered her composure, and as we embraced for that one last time, she whispered:

Somewhere out there, there is a field of dreams. We will meet again there.

But I think the distance will only grow. That is why I think it is the right decision.

Things will only get harder from now on. It is a fight I have to undertake alone: My fight.

**

August 2007

She was hurrying past the bar when she heard the anthem being played. She stopped and smiled. She had almost forgotten that the game was today. She peered in. On that small TV mounted on the wall, the game was being shown.

She entered the bar and managed to get a seat. Then, she messaged her friend to tell her that she wouldn't be going for the party: there's a game to be won.

**

August 2007

He was sitting alone in the church, with his eyes closed. He felt someone sit down beside him, but he didn't open his eyes.

"So you found me," he said quietly.

"It wasn't that difficult. I knew you would be here."

He smiled, "What were you doing a year ago?"

"A year ago? I was…"

He didn't listen, because the question was meant for himself.

He opened the door to the church carefully and peered in. There, sitting alone, bathed in the sunlight that had streamed in from the stained glass windows was her. As he had expected. He walked over and sat down beside her.

Her eyes were closed, her hands clasped in prayer. She did not seem to have noticed him. He remained silent and watched her.

She opened her eyes and smiled, turning to him, "A year from now, what would you be doing? Would you remember today?"

**

The song was playing. As she listened to it, she was looking at her old notebook, in which melodies and lyrics were hastily scribbled down over the years, as and when inspiration struck. On the page she was at were the lyrics to this song- in his handwriting. He had written it- the only time he had ever written the lyrics to a song. After all, it wasn't exactly his forte. Still, it was a very good effort, or so she thought.

"I am stuck. The melody is stuck in my head, but I can't find the words to it."

He grabbed her book.

"Hey!"

He started writing in it. She just watched on. When he was done, he handed it back to her.

She looked through it. "Your handwriting is horrible."

"Don't complain. Not when I have just done you a favor."

She smiled, "Did this really come out from your head? It's wonderful. Are you a genius or something? How could you possibly come up with it so spontaneously?"

"I am a genius."

They both laughed.

"You have been playing that melody for a few days straight. I am kind of sick of it, so I want to put an end to it."

She laughed, "Anyway, could you sign this off? Maybe it would be worth a lot of money in future."

"Idiot."

"Sign it, dedicate it to me," she thrust the pen to him.

He took it and wrote: For you.

"Write my name!"

"This would do. You know I am referring to you."

"Write my name!"

"Take it or leave it," he ended the discussion by signing his name.

As she recalled that scene, a tear rolled down her cheek. And she realized that since a while back, they had stopped calling each other by name.

As though between them, names were obsolete.

**

On the sidewalk, as the torrential rain fell, he was alone, watching the TV on display.

"En-core! En-core! En-core!"

She stepped out from the curtains, and the cheers grew even louder. She smiled gingerly as she made her way to the front of the stage. She stood there, looking down, holding her mike tightly in both hands. She closed her eyes, as though in thought. Hushes were heard as the crowd quieted down.

Silence reigned.

She looked up, biting her lower lips, exhaling softly. "This song was written by someone. Today I am singing it for him. You know who you are. Wherever you are, I am sure you are listening. Listen to your own words, to your own song. That's what my heart is saying. Every single word."

**

With the 2008 Concert Tour over, she could finally take a break back home. The past year had been so busy that she hadn't had a chance to come home. Not even for the New Year. But she was back now, on the familiar street, on her way home.

She stopped. On the junction ahead was a MacDonald's. Only, it wasn't supposed to be. It used to be an ice cream café. Giovanni's. They always had ice cream there.

"There is nothing like Chocolate ice cream," she declared.

"Vanilla is better."

"Chocolate."

"Vanilla."

She wondered if somewhere out there, vanilla would be the only choice for him.

Chocolate was the only flavor in her heart. Always been.

**

He hesitated a little before dialing that number.

"Hallo?"

That voice.

That voice he had fallen in love with.

"Hallo?"

"It's me," he finally managed.

"Oh. How are you? Haven't heard from you in a while."

He didn't say a word.

"Hallo? Are you there?

"Yeah."

"Hallo?"

He didn't say a word.

"Besides, if I go away, what will you do?"

"I will finally have peace."

"Peace?"

"You know, when kids leave the house, the parents will finally have some peace, after taking care of them for so long. That's the feeling I think I will get."

"But after a while, they will wish the kids had never grown up."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I just miss hearing your voice, that's all."

**

"So what are you doing now?"

"Eating."

"What? But isn't it a little too late to be eating over there?" She adjusted her handphone which was tucked between her shoulder and ear.

"Supper. Well, I am eating instant noodles. That's the saddest thing in the world, right? Eating instant noodles alone at home."

Hearing his reply, she lowered her chopsticks.

**

He was on the flight, headed back home.

"But where am I headed?" he wondered. His eyes fell on the girl sitting across the aisle, by the window. She was peering out of the small window, her face bathed in the sunlight. Why was she on this flight? What did she expect to await her at her destination? Would she find what she was looking for, or would she be disappointed?

And he realized that the questions were meant for himself.

**

He scanned the surroundings. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized her familiar figure sitting on the grassy riverbank. He walked over to her and sat down wordlessly beside her.

She was smiling. A smile he hadn't seen in a while. Seeing it was…like falling in love all over again.

"I said that, didn't I? That we would meet again, at the field of dreams."

She pointed to across the river.

It was the field.

He was running with the ball, pushing it as far forward as he could, running as fast as he could. She was half watching him, half composing tunes in her head, scribbling down whatever thoughts that came to her mind- thoughts that would form the lyrics to their song.

He was lying on the field, eyes closed, relaxing after a hard workout. She was sitting beside him, still deep in thought.

"You know, we are always on the same side of the river," she said suddenly.

They were back again, back to the place where it had all started. A fitting tribute, a fitting finale.

Or maybe it is a never-ending tune; a track on repeat.

Their song. Their fight.

Their love.

since Sydney 2000, there is always a part of the Olympics that i don't want to miss- the closing ceremony, or more specifically, the point where the athletes troop out onto the pitch.

can you imagine standing there with your teammates and rivals, revelling in that moment? i am sure it will be a special feeling that will remain with you forever.

when i look at that, i realise that a medal, a gold medal would have been nice, but for many out there, just being there was enough. and why not?

i feel that the olympics reminds us of some things we have otherwise forgotten.

it was a good break away from football.

if it is so difficult, why don't we just admit it and give it up?

we neither have the quality nor the desire. while others have improved, we haven't.

we are just hiding behind our own illusion. i don't know why we seem to think we have "achieved" alot last season when we merely finished third and didnt get ourselves relegated as everyone else had expected. because of this delusion, we have changed nothing, when there was so much to be changed.

even i start wondering if arsene wenger has lost the plot.

i always believe that a manager has to be given enough time to execute his grand vision for the club, to transform it. arsene wenger has transformed arsenal. but he hasnt been able to take us to the next level. that is something you have to admit, and that is something that is not concluded hastily. enough time has passed. enough has happened.

4th place is the best we can aim for this season. even that is not guaranteed. after that, the team will just break up over money and "ambition". they will fulfil their ambitions elsewhere where there are people who can fulfil these ambitions for them, with them merely playing a supporting role.

we have been too patient with ourselves. because we couldnt win, we started to convince ourselves that it was more important to play beautiful football.

but what happens when we can't even play beautiful football?

you may say it is still early in the season. we can say: we will go on and win the remaining 36 games. but a match that hasn't been played is not a victory.

and looking at the last two games, i have nothing to say.

just be prepared for the worst.

and maybe someone can tell van persie to stop taking the free-kicks. his free-kicks are a waste of my time.

20 shots and 1 shot on goal. aren't we the laughing stock of england?

Norwegian Masterclass

The final of the women Olympics handball was one-sided, with Norway winning 34-27. Norway romped to a 9-2 lead within like 10 minutes and never relinquished their lead after that. With 2 minutes remaining, they were leading 34-24. Russia managed to cut the deficit to 7 only because Norway were playing with 4 outfielders after Gro Hammerseng(10) and Goeril Snorroegen(5) were handed 2 minutes suspension each.

The Norwegians were outstanding, while the Russians never got going. 5 minutes, that crazy first 5 minutes took everything out of the Russians. A high-paced game like handball is one where you have to make every attack count. Once you start to fall behind, it's a long way back, because you have to bank on your opponents not converting their chances, which was something Norway never looked like doing. They were simply scoring at will. They hit Russia on the counter: a forward one-on-one with the goalkeeper is always going to score. It was so lethal, the way the ball goes up the pitch so quickly that the defenders were all taken out. They also seemed to be able to score from anywhere, any angle, any body position. The No.18 Linn-Kristin Riegelhuth scored 9 from 10 shots, the No.6 Else Lybekk scored 7 from 9. The keeper Katrine Haraldsen was also magnificent in goal, saving 14 out of 36 shots. When you combine these statistics together, you will understand why the Russians had no chance at all.

What struck me was how they combined their brilliant attacking play with hard defending. They were ready to play rough, to break up the Russian rhythm. They played pretty and ugly at the same time. Today, the Norwegians had played like champions.

Korea, such unlucky losers in that fateful semi-final against Norway, were too good for the Hungarians in the bronze medal game: 33-28. If you look at the scores of the semis, the bronze medal game and the final, you will suspect that maybe it should have been a Norway-Korea final and a Hungary-Russia bronze medal match. But sometimes it is so, that the two best teams meet in the semi-final instead. Unfair as it may be, the loser have to go for the bronze.

Hockey

I realize that in the end, sometimes there isn't really much between the top four teams. Of course the Dutch were a class above- they won all of their games in this tournament. But between China, Argentina and Germany, it was rather unfair that the Germans were the ones who had to go home without a medal. But you could say it was their own fault that they didn't beat China in the semi, because they had done enough in the group stage to avoid Holland- that should have set them up for a rematch of the 2004 Final.

But looking at the team, you can't help but feel sorry for them- they had deserved more. Argentina didn't play particularly well, but they were a good team, no doubt about it. It may be biased to say this, but I feel that the ranking based on quality should have been so: Holland, Argentina, Germany and China.

It is massive disappointment and my heart goes out to Marion Rodewald- there wasn't a better Captain than her. There are some players whom you look at them and know at once that they are the captain; there is just this aura. She is such a player. Unassuming, stays in the background, but is always there when needed.

There is a reason why captains are preferably defensive midfielders, midfielders or defenders but not attacking midfielders or strikers. Such attacking players already carry a lot of responsibilities, expectations on their shoulders- the captaincy would only be additional burden. Players like Natascha Keller, Anke Kuehn are the key players in the German attack, the team looks to them for goals. In fact, I think the commentator's favourite name is Anke Kuehn. You never hear him say Kuehn- it's always Anke Kuehn. It sounds better that way, and always invokes a sense of expectation. But you never really hear "Rodewald". Yet the fact is that Rinne Fanny is the German top scorer with 3 goals, and Rodewald, Anke Kuehn, Keller and Janine Beerman all have 2 goals each.

In the Bronze Medal match, there was an incident where Argentina broke away, the forward was totally free when Rodewald suddenly appeared to nick the ball off her. At that time, I was thinking: is there a player who can play anywhere such that when you are chasing the game and need to bring on an attacker, you can bring off a defender and put that player in defence instead.

Those Emerald Eyes

"Attention all passengers, the night train to Madrid CNL 1113, originally scheduled at 0010 will be delayed for eighty minutes..."

I was standing right under the display screen at the platform. Right there, it was stated very clearly: CNL 1113 to Madrid, delay of 80 minutes.

"Damn," I cursed under my breath and stole a glance at my watch. 0000. Midnight. I looked around me. Midnight in Venprek, more specifically on Platform 8 of the Central Station of Venprek: there were a few other people sitting on the benches, shivering slightly. It was a cold night. They were probably headed for Madrid too. I rubbed my hands to keep them warm; I had forgotten my gloves.

The announcement was repeated again. When it was over, a girl sitting at the bench closest to me got up from her seat. She gave me a nod of acknowledgement and made her way to the escalator, luggage in tow.

"90 minutes, a full game," I decided to wait in one of the cafes in the station; it didn't make sense to feel frustrated and cold at the same time.

I caught up with her at the escalator. She was talking on the phone, "The train is delayed for an hour. I will probably arrive only at 11 instead of 10… yes, I know… it always happens, doesn't it? Is Mother asleep?"

Riding down the escalator, I saw a few more people lingering around the station. There were not many trains left on the schedule, so it wouldn't be as bustling as it would be during the day. Yet there were still people waiting to leave, and people waiting for people to arrive. Even at such an unearthly hour.

Upon reaching the foot of the escalator, the girl turned left. I looked around and decided to go to the right instead.

Most of the shops were closed, but I managed to find a café that was still open. Aside from the two baristas, there were only two other people in the café- a girl reading a book with a caramel macchiato and a man sitting at the table right beside the counter.

So this is what the Central Station is like at midnight, I thought aloud.

I surveyed the drinks selection, and decided on a Maple Cappuccino. As I waited for my drink, I couldn't help but overhear the conversation between the man and the barista who was preparing my drink, because he was talking loudly. The other barista had gone to clear up the tables.

"Say, will you be here tomorrow?" he asked.

She replied without looking up, "Maybe."

"Same time?"

She didn't really reply to that, instead busied herself with the preparation of my order.

"How about we go for a drink later?"

"I have classes tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"I am not really free," she said, before turning to me, and handing me my drink. "Your maple cappuccino."

"Thanks," I acknowledged before making my way to the empty couch next to the one the girl had taken.

She barely looked up as I made my way past her to get to the couch. It was right beside the glass wall; but at this hour, there was nothing to see but an empty passageway.

She wasn't reading a book. At least it wasn't a novel. It was a book bound in leather. She was reading and writing in it. A journal.

She suddenly stopped and turned to me. I hurriedly looked away, in a vain attempt to pretend that I wasn't looking at her, but she maintained her gaze. So I turned back to face her and said, "Hi."

She nodded in acknowledgement, and turned back to her journal.

"Where are you headed?" I asked casually.

"Madrid," she said, looking up again, and flashed a wistful smile. "But it's delayed."

"I am going there too."

"Really?" her eyes widened in surprise, and she smiled. She looked as if she was going to say something, but didn't.

"Why are you going to Madrid?" I asked.

"I am from Madrid," she said. My eyes fell on the suitcase and another smaller bag beside her.

"Here on holiday?"

"No," she shook her head. "I was doing an exchange semester here."

"So it's over and you are going back?"

"That's right."

"You have a good grasp of the language."

"There was a module for it in the curriculum," she said.

"Did you know anything before you came?"

She looked away. "Not really."

"I see."

She closed her journal. "What about you? Why are you going to Madrid?"

"I am looking for someone there."

She nodded slowly in understanding.

I nodded in acknowledgement and smiled. "That's why."

We sat quietly for a while, staring at our drinks.

"I was here to look for someone too," she said quietly.

I looked up in surprise.

"That's the reason why I came. When the opportunity came up, I immediately went for it and got it."

"Did you find the person you were looking for?"

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"I see," I said, looking down.

"But don't worry," she said, putting on an encouraging smile. "I am sure you will have more success than me."

I smiled. "Thank you. Maybe he is in Madrid all this while."

"I am looking for a girl."

"A girl?"

She nodded and leaned back against the couch. "My boyfriend came to Venprek on a trip. When he came back from his trip, he was a different person all together. He was always dazed, always lost in his own world. Like under a spell, a curse. I tried to help him, and probed about the trip. There was a painting. He told me everything about it. A painting that he had painted himself while on the trip. He treasured it a lot. It was the painting of a girl wearing a mask at the Grand Fest."

I nodded in understanding. Taking place in summer, the Grand Fest is one of the most important dates in the Venpreker calendar. On this day, everyone would dress up and go out to the streets to party. The city literally transforms into a gigantic ballroom. It is also common practice for girls to wear masks that cover the lower half of their faces. It is a tradition that dates back to the Middle Ages.

She continued, "The girl he had come across at the Grand Fest, wearing a mask which covered half of her face, but whose whole appearance he had committed to memory, drawing it hours later in solitude by the moonlight, capturing with every stroke, bringing to life with every stroke, her radiance, charm and style. Most striking of all were her eyes. He told me that he had fallen in love with her eyes. He would be able to recognize them anywhere."

She paused before continuing, "To understand it, to understand him, the new him, I came here to look for the girl with those emerald eyes."

"At that time, it did occur to me: Maybe I will lose everything. But I couldn't just sit still and do nothing. I had to go for it." She looked at me, signaling the end of what she had to say.

"I see," I finally said.

"I am sorry to interrupt," the barista who was clearing the tables came over. "But we are closing soon."

We nodded and started to gather our belongings.

"Your caramel macchiato," I pointed to the half-empty cup on the table.

"I am leaving it here. I am leaving after all," she said with a smile.

I nodded and held on to my maple cappuccino. As we made our way out, the guy flirting with the barista was also taking his leave.

"Don't worry. I am leaving tonight. I am leaving for good. Never ever coming back. I was supposed to have left already, but my train was delayed. I didn't mean anything that I had said. I was just passing time while waiting. The fact is that I am leaving someone else tonight. Someone who means a lot to me. And this city of course. This city which means a lot to me. Thank you for keeping me company. And goodnight."

Outside the café, I checked my watch. It was 1 in the morning. "We can start making our way up to the platform."

She nodded. We rode the escalator silently. On the platform, we sat on an empty bench to wait out the remaining few minutes. The train was not yet here.

As the train finally rolled into the station, she asked, "Why are you looking for the person you are looking for in Madrid?"

"He is from Madrid," I said quietly.

"Do you know Spanish then?"

"A little. Whatever he had taught me."

"And you are going like that to find him. That's brave of you."

I laughed. "You too."

She laughed.

"Say, do you have the painting with you?"

She looked at me, "He told me everything about it, but never showed it to me."

"I see."

She whipped out a piece of paper and scrutinized it. "I think my reservation is over there."

I verified for her. "It is. Mine is right here."

She laughed, "No wonder you chose this bench. So you knew."

I smiled and stuck out a hand, "Thank you and all the best to you and your boyfriend."

She shook it, "Thank you. All the best in your search too."

I nodded and released my grip. She adjusted the bag slung over her shoulder and smiled, before turning to walk away, pulling her suitcase along.

I boarded the train and found my seat. As the train finally started pulling out of the station, I thought about the night. Leaving a place and going to another, the expectations, optimism and yearning that lead to it, or result from it. Not just that of the person himself, but the people around him, the people who matter to him, and the people to whom he matters. I thought about myself throwing everything down, leaving my beloved Venprek to go to his Madrid to search for him. Without knowing anything other than his name. Impulsive or naïve? I didn't really know. Perhaps I would lose myself in Madrid. Maybe I would lose everything. All for the sake of chasing a summer. That summer.

Staring out at the Venpreker night, I caught my own reflection in the window. Were my eyes the ones she had been looking for?

The Balcony

I stepped out to the balcony, and saw her.

She was standing by the railing, smoking. She calmly remarked, "Cold night, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is. Autumn is coming."

She exhaled, "How are things?"

I shrugged, "It's ok. Nothing fantastic, but nothing bad either."

"That's good, isn't it? Sometimes it's good to have some peace. Some quietness."

"But sometimes the silence can be deafening."

"True," She conceded, nodding her head as she shook off the ash.

" Do you feel alone sometimes? I mean really, really, really very alone. As though the world has abandoned you."

She considered my question, exhaling yet another stream of smoke before replying in a measured tone, "It is my only company sometimes."

I did not say a word. Neither did she seem to expect an answer from me. To her, perhaps I hadn't even heard it, lost in my own thoughts. Maybe she was lost in her own words too. We were just two people who happened to be at the same place at the same time. At that moment in time, our two worlds had brushed against each other, with the balcony as the tangent.

"It's cold, I am going in," she finally said.

"Uh," I said, still staring out at the night sky.

"By the way," she said at my door.

"Hmm?"

"I am moving out at the end of the month."

"Why?" I turned to face her.

She smiled and shrugged, "No particular reason. I guess I just need a change of environment. Never could stay in one place for long."

"I see."

"Oh well, good night," she said before going back into her room.

**

She was again sitting on her chair smoking when I went out to the balcony to hang my laundry to dry.

She watched me as I went about my routine.

"Doing laundry can be therapeutic," I said, to break the silence.

I stole a glance at her. She was looking at the cigarette between her fingers, the other elbow on her knee, her upturned palm propping up her chin.

Her eyes shifted from the cigarette to me; she had caught me staring at her. She raised an eyebrow, and her eyes were somewhat smiling as she asked, "For what do you need therapy?"

I looked away. It was that same expression from long ago.

You know, cooking can be therapeutical.

She looked up from her laptop screen, her face never leaving her upturned palm. Her eyes were twinkling as she asked, "Why do you need therapy?"

I spread the bedsheet, draping it over the line, adjusting it until I was satisfied. "We all need a little break, a little relief from this world sometimes."

She smiled and nodded, "True."

We didn't say another word for a while.

"We didn't really get to know each other, right? Even though we have been neighbours for a while," she said suddenly.

"Yeah. I guess we both have been busy with our own stuff."

"Maybe we should start getting to know each other better."

"But we are running out of time," I said.

She bit her lip, seemingly in deep thought. "That's true," she finally said.

She was leaving the day after tomorrow.

**

I heard three knocks on the door leading to the balcony. I pulled aside the curtain and smiled when I saw her at the balcony.

"All packed and ready to go?" I asked as I opened the door.

"Yeah, the delivery people just came to get my stuff. My room is an empty shell now."

"I know that feeling. The night before you move out, when you have sent away all your stuff, the room somehow doesn't feel like yours anymore."

"That's true."

We had dinner together, after which, we sat on my couch, staring into blank space, listening to some random music that was playing on my laptop.

"It's good to be like this, isn't it? Just sitting here, doing nothing, enjoying the presence of each other. Makes you wish you could do it more often, you could change your lifestyle a little," she paused, before continuing, "Maybe let someone in."

I didn't say a word.

We sat like this for a while more. Then, I suddenly felt a weight on my shoulder. I tilted my head slightly. Her head was resting on my shoulder, her eyes closed.

"I should have met you earlier," she whispered, barely audible. " Maybe I would have stayed."

After a while, she sat up straight again. I remained motionless.

She got up, "It's time for me to get going."

"Oh," I said, somewhat startled. I hurriedly got to my feet and accompanied her to the door leading out to the balcony.

"Goodbye," she said at the door, smiling. "Thanks for the meal."

"Will I see you again?"

Her smile grew and she looked away before turning to face me again. "Maybe. Ask me out for drinks sometime."

I nodded, "I will."

"Goodnight," she said, meeting my gaze. Then, she turned and stepped deftly around and back into her bare room.

**

The sound of a key being turned in a lock woke me from my slumber. The sound of a door opening. Some banging noises. I smiled with my eyes still closed.

I opened my eyes. Something wasn't right. I reached for my phone. 10 in the morning. I got up from my bed and opened the door to the balcony, sticking my head out.

The chair was there.

Her door opened. A young girl's head popped out, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw this guy staring at her. She somewhat recovered to stick out her hand and introduced herself.

I shook it, without really paying attention to her enthusiastic chatter.

She was gone.

She was really gone.

Later on, as I was listening to the same songs from the day before, a thought suddenly struck me. I reached for my phone and scrolled quickly through the contact list. I flipped my phone shut and tossed it onto my bed, and leaned back on my chair, somewhat in disbelief.

Her door opened, and the girl stepped out. She leaned against the balcony, smiling to herself.

My door was ajar; I always left it ajar. But unlike before, the smell of the cigarette smoke which I had gotten used to did not waft into my room as anticipated.

It had disappeared into this big city.

It's my only company sometimes.

weekend roundup

the weekend is drawing to a close. even though it's a long weekend in Bayern, with Friday being Assumption Day, i did not really succeed in getting much done. i cleaned up the house, wrote the report for the praktikuum, watched epl and olympics, and unpacked.

ever since coming back, i haven't really unpacked. as in i took out all of my stuff and put them generally in where they ought to be, but haven't really gone about organising them, consolidating them.

if you remember, i always leave my stuff in the bags and ziplocks. it is almost as if i am ready to leave again quickly.

that hasn't changed, but at least i organised the contents within, getting rid of excess packages.

anyway, on the olympics, watching the japan-china volleyball game, i come to the following conclusions:

-if you claw yourself back to pull level at 24-24, forcing a deuce, you owe it to yourself to complete the comeback, or all your effort would have gone to waste.

-if you lose 24-26, 24-26, 24-26, you still lose 0-3.

i watched the spurs-boro game. because it is still so early, and because we only won 1-0, i reserve whatever comments i had.

i watched 3.5 EPL games, and i think i only saw 2 of these. in comparison, i watched the extra time of Germany-Sweden in the women Olympics quarter-finals, and both teams made at least one of such plays. so i wonder why at the highest level, they don't do it more. it is not easy because on first sight it demands very good technique and precision. but i think if you are able to make that decision that fraction of a second faster, take the chance when the chance presents itself, that alone would have created that "precision".

that's what i call 'a moment of magic'; that split second.

anyway, Sandra Izbasa won the gold for Floor. to me, Floor's the most important event after the Team and the Individual All-Round. so even though the Romanians couldnt defend the Team, nor got a medal in the Individual, the next best would be to win in one of those apparatus events. it's a consolation. and she was actually the last on the roster, and supposedly, shawn johnson had looked unbeatable.

in any race, it is always more difficult to be the one playing last. in a title race, in a relegation dogfight, when your direct rivals play before you, there is always more pressure, because there is a result to match. so it hasnt been easy, especially since she was a dark horse to begin with.

i can only say: well done.

when your team is down 0-5, the only thing you can ask from them is to score one goal. just one goal, and see how it goes.

arsenal 1 west brom 0

do you know why west brom gave us trouble, why right up till the end, we had to be nervous, and why we were relieved when the whistle was blown?

"we forgot to score that second goal." - johnny rep, 1974

i read that west brom is actually quite a decent team. but i think when you score after just 4 minutes and start to dominate play, against a team that just got promoted, whatever its reputation, you have to score more. i was expecting to win 4-0 at least.

but frankly, the goals were never going to come.

almunia-6
i am just relieved he kept the clean sheet.

clichy-7
dominant down the left. hardly a mistake. when he keeps his focus, he tends to do very well. no really great crosses from him, but that's something i have given up hope on anyway. for him, it's just about getting up there to help to hold the ball and pass. don't cross, because he hasn't showed that he can cross decently and consistently.

djourou and gallas-5
some errors in judgement which would have been costly against teams of better quality.

sagna-6
another composed performance. glad to have him back. there is much more stability.

denilson-7
ran the show in midfield, dictating play. reminiscient of fabregas, missing through injury. great run to play the final ball to nasri.

nasri-6
scored on his debut. overall good play, fits right into the team, the only player whose shooting actually gives the keeper something to think about.

eboue-5
it has become very clear what he can, and what he cannot. what he can do, namely the injection of pace and penetration is something that i admit we lack, due to our overemphasis on the patient passing game. but what he cannot do is really glaring and takes away what he can. he cannot shoot nor make the right decision.

walcott-5
not very impressive on the flanks. largely quiet.

bendtner- 5
nothing to say about him.

adebayor- 5
i don't know what adebayor expects from the fans, but to tell the truth, when he gets the ball, i don't expect anything. because you don't know what is going to happen next. hold the ball too long and lose it, foul the defender, make a stray pass, shoot wide. you don't know what is going through his mind. he missed a one-on-one, held the ball when he should have passed, passed when it was too late. if you want to be paid that kind of money, you have to deserve it. when the team needs someone to score that second goal, you have to be the one. otherwise why are you playing as the striker? why are you demanding to be paid that money? and come on: it's only west brom. you can't score against them? it's great if your midfielders and defenders can score and score. but if you play with two strikers, there must be some justification as to why you play them, and the only justification is goals. if i don't expect my strikers to score, then why do i play with two? i will just play with one, and ask my wingers and the amc to score.

don't waste my time.

van persie- 5
the sharpness is simply not there. too slow, not thinking fast enough. i don't know if its complacency, but theres nothing to be complacent about. when clichy made that brilliant run down the centre and played the ball to him, he should have made his decision faster, instead the defender got the ball off him all too easily.

toure-5
just a runout to gain some match fitness in the end.

ultimately, i think some players(adebayor and van persie) have gotten a little complacent, thinking that they are the first-choice players, that they are on a higher class. the truth is that there is nothing to be complacent about, because last season, we didnt win a single thing.

i am looking forward to players like vela and wilshere making their mark. keep your heads down and work hard. i can feel their hunger. i don't think i can feel the hunger in adebayor and van persie. bendtner is just feeling too frustrated to play properly.

la maga

i was waiting since 12 for the broadcast of the hockey game between Germany and Argentina on the ZDF livestream. they only started showing it at about 1, with 20 minutes remaining.

i was disappointed to find the number 8 luciana aymar on the sidelines, waiting to come on again, because the reason why i wanted to watch this game was because of Germany and because i have heard alot about her. the world player of the year, she is nicknamed la maga, the magician and compared to maradona. so that tells you something.

while Germany came into this game with 3 straight wins, Argentina had come into this game with 2 surprising draws(USA, Great Britain) and a narrow win over Japan- hardly inspiring form, considering their pedigree. but when i saw that Argentina were leading 2-0, the thought that came to my mind was: form is temporary, class is permanent.

but the commentator was saying that Germany were actually on top, had 4 very good chances gone begging and are now paying the price, because Argentina is a top team. and a top team will punish you by taking their chances.

anyway, with about 8 minutes remaining, luciana aymar finally came on.

one assist, one goal. Argentina 4 Germany 0.

and you wonder if she had a part in the first two goals.

cooking and life

even with the intense pace of the modern lifestyle, there is no 'quick and easy fix.'

nothing is really served to you on a platter just like that, without you needing to do anything.

instant noodles still have to be cooked, just that they are a little faster.

buying fast food or bread require first of all travelling time, and perhaps waiting time at the queue as well.

needless to say, going to restaurants/eateries probably take up even more time.

and cooking yourself takes effort.

so basically, we can't really just go in and whack. you need a specific mood, a particular craving.

that's why we say "in the mood for love"

after so long, i finally understood: you can't force things, nor can you expect to snap your fingers and things happen. it is like grilling. you need to find a suitable place, get the kind of food you like, build the fire, cook the food to taste.

a lot of effort indeed.

"It is more honourable to be raised to a throne than to be born to one. Fortune bestows the one, merit obtains the other"
-Francesco Petrarca

dream again

watching dream again, starring takashi sorimachi and ai katou, i can only come to the following conclusion: ai katou is really very stylish.

anyway one of the lines which struck me most was:
it was through my own effort that i stood in the Giants' batter's box. i won't let you call that 'fate'
- ogi shunsuke/asahina takaya (sorimachi)

it's good to be able to share a dream with others, to find others of the like mind, because some dreams are too heavy to be carried on one's shoulders alone.

but did you even swing the bat?

**
what does it mean to be German, Japanese, Singaporean, American, Croatian, Italian, Spanish, Norwegian, Romanian or whatever nationality that comes to your mind right now?

with the world as it is, something which has been happening all along anyway, lines are increasingly become blurred. names that don't sound typical of that country. faces that don't look typical of that country.

you wonder if nationality will become an archaic concept.

anyway, i agree with arsene wenger on the following: the passport does not matter; if you are good enough, you are old enough.

but i do feel there is a fundamental difference between A and B.

where one is a natural development, the other is something that is forced upon, that is carried out for one sole purpose, which should on one hand be lauded for its ambition, but on the other frowned upon, because maybe that isn't everything. it becomes such that you can't say whether it is right or wrong.

if i am not able to accept it, will i be accused of being outdated in my thinking, of being not liberal enough?

and it may seem especially contradictory to the two beliefs i stated above.

and in a way, clubs (and other organisations) are doing it. but somehow, that is different, because they are not nations, and they don't proclaim to be something they aren't, or at least not yet.

so i guess the crux of the issue lies in that very concept of nationhood.

i appreciate the borderless world, for one the convenience that comes with it. and i think kenichi ohmae would be right- the world will move towards one in which regions will take precedence over whole nation states as functional units.

but you know, there is something about international football that club football can't quite replicate.

so maybe we should keep some things separate-go on, celebrate the differences in club football, don't put any restrictions. but keep club football as club football.

home

i realise that even right now, i am not really looking into furnishing my room.

in the past few years, i have always been moving around, not staying in a place for long. whereas others might have made a personal touch to that temporary place they were living in, i had shunned doing that. mainly because of the place we were staying in. my mentality at that time was: this is where i suffer, and i wanted to draw a line between the outside world and that world. a very very clear line.

in my 6 months in koeln, it was because i knew i was going to leave the place.

so now i am in a place where things are abit more permanent. in fact, i ahve told myself that i will stay here for at least a year.

a year seems like a long time to me, when you consider the context above.

but when i think about it, it is also rather short.

so i don't really know what to do about my room. i do think i will be looking to get a foldable chair to put at the balcony.

seems like i am a nomad, a wanderer.

i do feel tired of always moving around though.

i guess at some point in time, we will want to settle down.

everybody needs somebody.

ayaka's Okaeri
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EfxdMXoy5WU

olympics

unlike previous olympics, it is hard for me to watch this edition. the live streams i tried don't really seem to work, and of course there is also the time difference(how ironic) to contend with.

so i have basically missed out on both of poland's first two games, the gymnastics qualifiers.

anyway, i must say that handball, hockey and judo are quite interesting.

i sure hope that the romanian team can defend their team gold this time round.

Happy Birthday

I stepped out onto my side of the balcony and answered the call, "Yeah."

"Hey, guess who I am."

"Mikel."

There were noises in the background as I waited for his reply.

"Ok, 1, 2, 3- Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you…"

In the song, I heard the voices of the others. They were gathered together again, except for me.

"Happy birthday from miles away," he said at the end of the song.

"Ask him if he is touched?" I heard Stefanie's voice ask in the background.

"Let me talk to him!"

Maggie.

"Hey Giovanni, how are things over there? Happy Birthday to you. When are you coming back?"

"Thanks Maggie. Things are fine over here…I don't know when I am coming back…"

"Hey Gio, Stefanie here. Are you touched? I bet we are the only people who sent you birthday wishes, no?"

"Yeah, I am touched."

"Not very sincere…"

I wasn't paying attention to her reply, because Mikel was talking in the background. Then I heard her laugh. She said something I couldn't catch. But it was her.

"Ok, hang on, I will pass you over," Stefanie said.

"Hi Gio," Claire's unmistakable voice.

I finally managed to reply, "Hi."

"First of all,happy birthday." There was a cheerfulness in her tone; I could almost see her smiling.

"Thank you."

"How are you spending your birthday? You are staying at home right? As always…hey, why don't you go out and do something special? It after all comes only once a year."

"But it comes every year."

"Are you trying to be clever? Go on, go out and make it memorable."

"It's already late."

"So? That's just an excuse, isn't it? There are a few hours left before midnight. There's still time. You just need to get out there."

"Staying at home is nice too."

"But that's what you do every year."

"I am happy like this."

The moment my words came out, even I was stung for a while. I regretted it immediately. But yet, I did not retract it. At that moment, I didn't understand what I was doing anymore. I couldn't quite explain what was going through my head, what I was feeling, as I was talking to Claire on the phone. As I was talking to her for the first time in a while.

"As you wish," she said, ending it.

I didn't manage to retract my words.

"Hey Giovanni, Mikel again. Treasure the last bit of your birthday ok? Talk to you again, bye."

He hung up, and I was all alone again; that brief connection was broken.

It was then that I noticed her.

She was sitting on her foldable chair at her side of the balcony smoking.

"Had an argument?" she asked casually.

"Not really," I shook my head, and leaned against the railing, taking in the crisp evening air.

"It's my birthday today," I said, glancing at her. She exhaled, turning her head to the railing so that the smoke would leave the balcony. Her face registered surprise, and she got up and came over.

"Happy Birthday," she stuck out a hand and smiled.

"Thank you," I shook it.

"What are you doing here then?"

"I don't have the habit of celebrating my birthday. And I don't really know anyone in this city either."

She exhaled another stream of smoke into the evening air. "So your friends called to send their regards?"

I nodded.

"That's nice of them."

"Yeah," I smiled slightly.

"They mean a lot to you right? Especially one of them, the one whom you talked to last. Even though right at the end, you said unkind words."

I was struck by her bluntness. By the truth in her words. They bored right through me. The many, many superficial layers I had put on- to protect what, even I couldn't give myself an adequate answer.

She returned to her seat, "Pride…is like the darkness. It hinders your vision. But unlike the natural darkness, pride is more like switching off the lights yourself."

She bent down and tapped her cigarette lightly against the edge of her ashtray on the floor. "Sorry, I talk too much."

I smiled bitterly, "No, you are right. Absolutely right."

I inhaled sharply, "I never seem to learn, always making the same mistake, again and again."

"If God gives you a second chance, and you don't take it, don't expect him to give you a third."

"I won't get another chance."

"Why?"

"She's married."

"Uh huh."

"But she's happier now… I haven't heard her laugh in a while. But her laughter is something I have never forgotten. Hearing it again was like a burden off my shoulders. Like an absolvent."

She did not reply to that, but stubbed her cigarette and got up, making for her room. "It's cold, so I am going in. Good night."

At the door, she said without turning to look at me, "Why don't you be happier? Make it a birthday gift for yourself."

And she left me standing alone on the balcony in the cold August night.

we haven't won something in a while.

I watched Arsenal lose to Juventus in the Emirates Cup, in what is the second ever defeat at Emirates in all competitions, friendly or otherwise.

You could say:

-we played our youth team for the first half, and Juventus played what looked like their first team for most of the game

-it's just a friendly, just a game to let players regain match fitness

-trezeguet's goal was clearly offside.

-we dominated the game

But a defeat is still a defeat. Whatever positives we try to find from a defeat are mere consolations.

I wouldn't take it away from the team, especially the youngsters, that they had played well. In fact, I was surprised that defensively, we actually played well in that we closed the opposition down fast and were often able to win the ball back, be it one-on-one or with the help of another teammate. Gibbs played well at left-back, as did Djourou and Denilson.

What was missing was the incision and precision, which isn't really important if we had had the former. We played pretty football and were able to keep the ball a lot. We did create chances, definitely more than Juventus. But I feel that the chances were not good enough. No one was daring enough to take shots, to make the decision, to take the gamble. Like last season, we were trying to be too precise. I think if we were more willing to take the risk, to go for it, we don't need that much precision because of the element of surprise, which will upon closer analysis be lauded as a moment of brilliance. It is really just a matter of quick-thinking, to be one step ahead of the opponents. That will give you that one inch of space you are trying so much to squeeze out.

As Cryuff said: people often mistake insight for speed.

Anyway, the commentator was talking about Adebayor's 30 goals being needed for the coming season. I think he got 30 goals last season because he was the one playing. Frankly, I watched most of the games, and all I can say is that given the kind of chances he had had, a better striker would have scored 40 goals at least. And he only scored one goal in the Champions' League Campaign. In the league, Bendtner started in 7 games, scored 5 goals and created 3. In comparison, Adebayor started in 32 games, scored 24 and created 3. The goal ratio is not that much different. Of course we can say that Bendtner came off the bench 20 times, but he probably had only 15 minutes each time. And you know it is actually not easy to come off the bench and make an impact. What I am trying to say is that Adebayor had gotten the chance. Maybe if you had given it to someone else, that someone else would have been the one scoring 30 goals.

Anyway, if you ask me for my honest assessment, Adebayor reminds me of a pathetic dog that has returned home with tail between its legs. No offence intended, but someone who talked so much doesn't really deserve anything. To actually say that he should be paid like Henry just speaks so much of his intelligence, which isn't a lot, if you consider the fact that he is the player called offside MOST in the EPL.

I think for his own sake, he had better score at least 30 goals this coming season, or I think he would be hoping that the ground would just swallow him up. Really, he talked too much without thinking. Score 30 goals and he probably can get the transfer he wants, or the contract he wants. Score less, and he will become the laughing stock of the town. Who knows, he may find himself playing for Portsmouth soon enough.

"In Arsene we trust" has over the years taken on more significance, with the departures of Vieira and Henry in particular. Even more so for this upcoming season. But not because of the players we let go, but because of the players we didn't sign, and the fact that other teams have strengthened their teams considerably.

The faith in youth will come under immense scrutiny, even more than last season. Because as we have seen in this game, there is potential. But that potential has to be fulfilled. And it is something that cannot be repeatedly pushed to the next season.