Mother’s embrace

Mother's embrace

A warm hand covers the forehead,

Bare and pale.

A warm smile

Lightens up the room

And speaks more than words can express,

The love for a helpless lamb .


The kid learns to walk,

Held afloat by the invisible strings of patience

And the helping hands of anticipation.

But as life takes its turn,

The teenager walks away from the hand that

Fed it.


The Mother still awaits,

Anticipating his return though the signs point to

“Maybe not”,

Like his replies every reunion invitation.

“I’ve got my own kids now,”

He said as an excuse (with hope of understanding).


And the Mother does understand,

Without a shred of complaint,

She lets her son carry on on his

Journey of life.

For she realised that you don’t learn to walk

Just to stay in the same place.


And when the son realised he needed

To feel his Mother’s warm embrace

Once again,

His mother’s arms were already open




Jaime Ng (3 Truth)

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Short Stories/ Poetry: If time could stop

Germaine Poetry


it will be

with the strange softness

that we set off with 4:27 pm on

our minds, an ever lingering

sensation of your racing car heart

and the tension on my mind.



i dream a dream of a dream,

of people floating into a void

of memories, and

of the quiet, where we venture

into the open space of a world

where worry is a word that

lacks a meaning



but reality is a flash of a photograph

sweeping us off our feet.

and we float (yes, we float)

on storm clouds like water droplets

to rain into the universe of the

hopefully serene reality.



these days we sit in hallways,

legs crossed and heads bent,

craned in the search of sound.

but only the quiet returns.


Germaine Ong (3 Purity)

Short Stories/ Poetry: Why did you not?

Poem Yen Chi

Remember that day

I dented your new Ferrari?

I thought you would murder me,

you did not.


Remember that time

I spilled wine on your new carpet?

I thought you would hate me,

you did not.


Remember that day

I dragged you to the beach?

It was raining like you said it would

I thought you would say “I told you so”,

you did not.


Remember that time

I did not tell you the party was informal?

You came in a suit and leather shoes

and I thought you would abandon me,

you did not.


There were a lot of things

you chose not to do.

You put up with me,

loved me, protected me.


I remember that day

I wanted to do something for you.

I waited for your return at the airport,

you did not.


I remember that time

I cried myself to sleep and

told myself I did not love you,

I did.

Ang Yen Chi (2 Unity)

The Quiet

The Quiet

All was quiet. The sharp, acrid stench of fear permeated the room. Her fear. Two doors, one through which she entered, the other locked, unknown. She waited in trepidation for what was about to come. Her breath came in short pants, unable to take in enough air in her current state of mind, not helped by the dark, musty and cramped room. Her fingernails clawed the concrete floor helplessly. Her heartbeat resonated in her ears. Thump…thump…thump.

Noiselessly, the second doorknob started to turn. Her head snapped towards the direction of motion, pupils blown wide. Her face was contorted in a glassy stare of panic. Click. The door was unlocked. Her heart plummeted.

Inch by inch, the door crept open. The ominous creaking was anything but a respite from her terror. She let out a silent sob of anguish, a plea for help. Deep down, she knew that nothing could help her now. No one could save her.

She stared into the gaping black abyss before her. She heard a rustle emanate from within. She took a deep trembling breath, her hand crept towards the flashlight that lay beside her. She had not kept it turned on before in fear of being discovered. It was pointless now. It had found her. She clicked it on and directed the dim beam at the doorway.

Eyes as black as night, devoid of all emotion, gazed at her from within. A scream of pure terror ripped itself from her throat. The flashlight slipped from her grasp and clattered across the smooth floor. As if a switch was flicked, It’s eyes transformed to a haunting shade of blood red. Her stomach turned to ice. It pounced.

Cries for help and pleads for mercy spilled out from her mouth. Talons enclosed her neck, cold, unforgiving, It’s iron grip not unlike shackles. It dragged her like a ragdoll back where It came from. Her hands scrabbled on the stone floor, desperately attempting to find purchase. She thrashed around and kicked with all her might. It was no use, she was nothing against It. Pain and grotesque horror reflected in her eyes, even as they began to dull from lack of oxygen.

Heartbreaking wails filled the air in a terrible concerto as her legs, her torso, her head, her fingers disappeared into onyx void. Softer and softer, until finally, all was quiet once again.


4 Justice

Poetry: Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them


mischievous yet adorable nifflers

treasure diggers prized by goblins

unleash them in a bank to wreck pandemonium

tickle their magical pouch upside-down;

you’ll find sickles and galleons raining down


bowtruckles, a locksmith’s aide

with their deft long sharp fingers,

twist, turn, click – access granted

camouflaged, these tree dwellers are

sought after for their nimbleness


erumpents’ attacks prove fatal

with a horn containing deadly fluid

it’s humongous and spell-resistant

yet erumpent musk and a mating dance

prove to be its undoing


thunderbird; magnificent beasts

feathers shimmering with cloud-like patterns

majestically arching their wings,

thunderstorms follow their flight;

blinding the city with electrifying light


I was inspired to write this piece as I felt intrigued by the abilities and distinct personalities that each magical creature in the film had. Through poetry, I wished to capture their uniqueness in terms of appearance and other distinct characteristics. As such, the reader would hopefully find them more endearing, and have a better insight into the range of magical creatures Newt Scamander possesses in his brown leather trunk, as well as the depth of understanding he has regarding these creatures.

Chloe Kho (3T)



I think I am crazy,

to be writing about them.

But let me be me,

for I can’t function without this band.


Two thousand thirteen,

November twenty second.

That Friday evening,

at 11.44pm.


They danced into my life

without a single warning.

And their voices like knifes,

got me crying.


The love of a fan,

is like that of a parent,

we do what we can,

this is apparent.


They stole my heart,

but not to keep.

What I think is art,

is simply for their keep.


Honestly, I stopped caring,

along the way,

I grew to be daring,

against what people say.


Judge me for all I care,

EXO is my idol.

I just need them to be there,

so I won’t be suicidal.


Ang Yen Chi

2 Unity

Poetry: Leukaemia and Loved Ones


mama’s eyes are milky chocolate

ringed in the grey of Snowy’s fur;

a white-turned-dirty grimy smudge

the well-worn marks of the loved.

mama’s eyes are pain-free, sting-free.


(i want to squeeze Snowy against my chest, but she’s at home on my bed mama says, “At rest”)


i reach out a pointed finger,

trace the hollows brimming

with salty pearls I try to catch-

they are splashing silver fish

that slip silently down my wrist.


(they tickle a little and thread past my arm, a second set of shiny tubes)


i want to tell my mama

to shut those eyes,

catch those shines;

before they pelt my

heart and hurt.


(a hurt deep in my belly, it pulses like another heart, grips my bones wrenches me apart)


but i can’t-

i’m too tired-

from holding

back my own

salty tears.


(my bones are screaming my stomach flipping)


i’m sorry

i’m sorry

i’m sorry


(i would hold my pain a hundred times over, if it would make my heart stronger)


i don’t-

i didn’t-

want to leave either


(somethin’s pressin’ down on me)


Chloe Wong, 3P

Short Story: Fear

The best way out is always through’ ~Robert Frost




There was nothing.

Literally nothing.

All that remained was darkness.

Looking back at the room he once thought was ‘safe and cosy’, was nothing more than despair and horror. He turned back, fixing his eyes towards that destination like a watchful hawk eager to catch its prey. He’d been having those creepy visions of monsters again and he couldn’t stand it. He had to seek help.

Seek help from her.

He knew it was dangerous, he’d been told many times not to go to her for help. It wouldn’t work, he couldn’t get better. However, there was nothing else.

No option.

He made sure to tread carefully. Walking very slowly across the long corridor, he silently prayed for some sort of light at the end. He reached out, hoping to catch himself if he fell. Nothing came. Groping around, he could not find anything. Nothing to help him.

Darkness was engulfing him and everything in front of it. His heart was pulsating, about to burst out of his chest. His hands felt sweaty, unable to feel the cold air in the room. He scanned the surroundings hurriedly, as if about to be ambushed.

He wanted to end this once and for all. He could do it and yet it was not possible. He was missing something, something he could not find. There was one thing, like a key to turn the lock or a switch. He could not. He was scared.

Just then, he saw a light. A hope for him. A way out of this mess. He treaded towards this light. He knew it was too good to be true. He had to try. Suddenly, he felt something. Relief engulfed me. He hadn’t lost all sense yet. He could feel and touch!

He had done it. Feeling the surface, he found a small crack from which the light came from. Edging through it, he found the way. The light was there. Through the window, there was a strong yet dim light shining. He found her. The light was shining upon a bedroom. The opulent decorations, the small yet seemingly comfy bed. He had found her. However, she was asleep.

Edging forward, he tapped her sleeping body. At first, he thought he shouldn’t wake her up, it wasn’t worth it. And yet it was. He shook these thoughts away. As she finally woke up and turned on the small nightlight next to it, his features were finally illuminated. A small boy wearing pyjamas with little stars on them finally appeared in the light. His face was shaking and his hands were clammy. “Mu…Mummy.”  He stuttered as she finally sat up.

“Honey, are you ok?  Did you have another nightmare again?”

He looked at his ‘Mummy’ and knew something. He had done it. He had overcome that fear in him. That fear of the dark inside of him.

“No mummy, the nightmare’s gone.”

Rachel Lie (1P)

Short Story: Sunlight


She looked at her hands. Soft, pale white skin wrapped around her bones. Her feet were dirtied by the mixture of sand and dirt on the ground, but she was as comfortable as she could be. Wandering through the tall grass, her eyes were searching for something bright. Something that could shine. She planted her bum on a bed of flowers and lay down. Fingers twirling in the air, wind blowing her auburn hair, sunlight touching every inch of her body it could find. Her green eyes blinked at the fluffy cotton balls up in the atmosphere while her heart was beating fast. She had never felt this way before. At least, not in a long time. Her eyelids fluttered shut and the sweet fragrance of lavender wafted into her nostrils, filling her heart with joy and her stomach with butterflies.

Then her eyelids opened. She was disorientated by the bright light that shone. It may have been put there to bring warmth to her surroundings, but all she felt was cold and chilly. This wasn’t the sunlight that made her skin tingle or a warm smile to appear on her face. It was devoid; nothingness.

“Madam, the doctor is here. It’s time for your check-up,” A lady at the door wearing immaculate attire commented. It may have been intended to give her comfort; instead it filled her with quiet anxiety. “Hello madam, nice to see you again,” the doctor said with a grin.

“I see that you have been well fed. After the last few years, I haven’t quite seen such a big improvement in your… mental well-being. Just continue to stay here and rest up, it’ll be alright,” he read off the points on his chart and proceeded to walk out the little ‘prison cell’ with the lady following behind him.

The fact that her room was cleaned spotless and the walls were creamy white irked her the most. She would rather play in mud and enjoy the beautiful colours of nature, smell the grass and dance in the breeze. Her favourite thing would be the sweet melodies the birds chirped and how they swooped in the big, blue sky — Free. She longed to go back to the time when she could feast her eyes and ears on such things. But she can’t now; nor ever.

She lay back on the bed. The mirrors on the ceiling reminded her of reality: the eye bags under her dull green eyes, the thin and sickly layer of skin covering her fragile bones and the light shining down on her lifeless body. Her eyelids fluttered shut and she once again yearned to experience it and have it shining down on her, a warmth she hasn’t felt in a long time.

Jaime Ng 2 Loyalty

A Cruel Twist of Fate


It smelt like stale air-conditioning and underground metals, just like how trains always do. Today, I smelt like antiseptic and bad news.


The ring tone of my phone screamed in my ears. The screen showed: Ah Boy. Clenched eyes resigned, I picked up the phone.


“Hey mother… I…have something… to tell you…! I…was given a scholarship…to CAMBRIDGE!!! My dreams…had finally came through. I am…ecstatic!” my son exclaimed in jubilation, tears choking him.


A small smile played on my lips. I knew how much Ah Boy wanted to go to Cambridge. As a mother, I was really proud of him. I thought of the radiant smile on his face. As I was deep in my thoughts, a thought jerked me back to reality. How long could I share this happiness with my son if my life was as barren as dirty yards?


Looking at the medical report clenched tightly in my fist, all the smoldering emotions swelled in me burst – my third stage of cancer, the costly medicals fees and the hopeless life ahead. All these feelings combined in one great impulse towards destruction. The purpose of my life had faded. What was I going to do? What about the hefty medical fees? When was I going to die? What will happen to Ah Boy? And the question that was inevitable: Should I tell my husband and Ah Boy?


I recalled the times when my husband and I used to date. All these memories. All the time spent. All the efforts. I also recalled the very first time I embraced Ah Boy in my arms. I had held onto his hands, seeing those minuscule hands grow into brawny ones. These were symbols of love. However, love had no chance with death.


If I were to tell my husband about this, I knew he would be despondent. He would definitely, and obviously tell Ah Boy. And that Ah Boy would give up his scholarship and take care of me. What must I do?


Frazzled, I let the tears in my eyes roll down my cheeks, unto the medical report.

Lynn Tan (1F)