Why I want to be a BRATs Young Journalist

Life is an amalgamation, and a complex one, of many things. A omnipresent, bold portrait of every possible colour melded together on a single canvas. 
 
For so long, people have tried to dissect this conundrum; to delve into the depths; to dig deeper and plunge further, in a quest to unravel to find the true definition of humanity's essence. But a real truth looms that life is so extraordinarily complex, that maybe its truth should lie in what each individual believes is its ultimate creed.
 
My definition of life, is challenge.
 
Here's some more basic bio on me. Name: Koh CY. Age: 14. At least nine of those years, I've been an active peruser of the Star. From the day I first picked up its freshly-printed, inked pages I've enjoyed filling myself up with my daily dose of thunderstrike headlines from all over, glossy pages of the lifestyle section that rotated on a satisfying weekly cycle of makeup, travel and auto news, and the comics- Calvin & Hobbes will always remain a favourite of mine.
 
I've had a deep interest in the line of journalism, too. It's a highly multifaceted job, that most don't realise beyond the images of reporters with mics being sent into the middle of warzones while their colleagues smile back at the cameras from a studio. Journalism is a form of storytelling. It brings the world to one's hands, in print or by screen, from the most groundbreaking stories of the week to a simple, wholesome anecdotal article. What has always amazed me about journalism is, despite the arduousness, the struggles, and sometimes even the danger, producing an article takes, it is truly a job that, for many, always remains fresh.
 
Last but not least, I enjoy writing- greatly. English has always been a favourite subject of mine since first grade, and I've read a wide range of fictional and non-fictional prose throughout my life so far. I can expand my writing abilities to a plethora of contexts- from my strongest suit in stories and poetry, to pertinent, condensed arguments in debates, to non-fictional essays and presentations for countless assignments. And I'm deeply interested to increase my talents further by learning to write in a journalistic context- which is why I was passionate about joining the BRATs team from the word go! 

Recount About A Recent Flood

The raindrops poured down to the earth in hordes. It’d been going on like this for some time already that day, and no one really expected anything to emerge from this relentless downpour. Some noticed that it seemed to be going on interminably, but everyone seemed to ignore the looming reality that had occurred several times in our neighbourhood- the chance of flooding. It had been quite some time since such a phenomenon had last come upon us, and even then it was quite minor- only spanning our living room in my case. I was upstairs, killing time until dinner came, as the rain continued to tumble from the ominous grey canopy levitating above our houses.

Some time later, I decided to go downstairs, and that’s when I saw my family frantically running around, hands laden with boxes, scrambling to find a place of safety for them. 

My curiousity was piqued, and I headed to the window, to be greeted with an intriguing and terrifying sight. The storm drains were packed up and as a result all the water streaming down from the heavens had culminated in a flood, that was rapidly rising and threatening to enter our house any minute. My family was frantically trying to stuff up the gaps in our doorway with towels and mats.

But it would be inevitable that the defences became waterlogged and soon a steady stream was soon trickling into a living room. The puddle quickly spread despite our efforts, and when it was finally time for dinner three-quarters of the floor was drenched in rainwater. As we ate, the atmosphere around the table plagued with tension and stress, the rain and the water entry persisted, until it had rose to cover about two inches off our living room floor. The living room was by then completely off limits.
To make matters worse, the water soon started to turn a deep murky hue and give off a terrible smell. There wasn’t very much to do now that the living room was flooded except pace, sit, and worry, especially about the rising water levels around the back door that was threatening to engulf our kitchen too. 

I eventually had to stop fretting and head up to bed. Everything was fine for a couple minutes, but suddenly all the lights, fans and air-conditioning units instantly switched off and the house was plunged into darkness and stifling heat. We lit a candle and left it outside upstairs, but to no avail. To make matters worse, the water had just breached the kitchen step and had flooded our dining room and kitchen. I sat outside of my room on the floor, in a state of mental numbness, eventually just lying on the ground by the candle light, not thinking about much.

But that night had to be one of the most torturous attempts to sleep of my life. The air-conditioning was hot, so the heat was absolutely unbearable. That in itself was terrible, as my eczema flared up unbearably quick, but the worst part was that there was absolutely no electricity, so I couldn’t turn on the lights to while away the time or the fan to at least give myself some relief- all I could do was stare outside at the floodwaters in a mild coma, watching some other night owls mill around and help. I only got snatches of sleep uncomfortably, and when I woke up for the last time and saw the time at 5.45am, I decided to go downstairs and help out for a bit. I ended up spending around an hour using my phone as a torchlight while someone else cleaned out all the floodwaters from the dining room. It looked absolutely filthy, disgusting and coated in mud, that area did.
And, at probably the most inopportune time ever, almost an hour later, the electricity switched back on again.

But our work was far from done. The house was in a mess. Actually, scrap that- the entire COMPOUND, from my house to my cousin’s two blocks over, was in a mess. Although most of the water had drained out, the ground was now left coated in a layer of soggy mud and debris, with a clear waterline showing up on all the outer walls. Our dining room was a complete mess and the table was cluttered with miscellaneous objects, let alone our living room, which was soaking wet as we tried to clean out all the dirt and grime. And of course, there was tons of objects cached in the storerooms that were completely ruined in the floodwaters, sitting in a messy, filthy pile outside. The entire house was in a state of disorder.

The rest of the day for me was spent in a blur, between helping out on the house with various tasks such as sweeping floodwater out of the house and rubbing down the mud-caked chairs, to working on some of my own projects (homework and a historical fiction story that’s coming very soon). 

It eventually took us a solid three days to sort out both our house and our entire compound. Several objects suffered greatly from the flood, as we found out in the aftermath- namely the fridge, the washing machine and many of our cars, resulting in a flurry of tow trucks arriving at our house on consecutive days. But at least now, the tail of the storm has disappeared and we can return to our normal lives- at least, until the next incident.

Experiencing Formlessness

 

Walking into “A colourful journey to a promise” on Christmas Day, it brought joy and awe to my soul. Not only was I in the midst of a lively art exhibition that beckoned to me with every sight, these congenial and flamboyant pieces of artwork were no other than that of the female Andy Warhol of Malaysia, Norma Abbas.

When modern art comes to mind, most people think about figures formed with geometric shapes and random circles and squares and lines scattered around a canvas. And they normally have extremely queer titles that almost do not conform to the artwork and are therefore very tedious to portray the true meaning of, examples being Pablo Picasso. Renaissance art, on the other hand, have titles that conform to the artwork and intricate brush strokes that form an easily-conveyable canvas, examples being Leonardo da Vinci. But as for Norma Abbas, she has combined two artistic worlds together to form an abstract, yet somewhat easy to portray, piece of art. All in all, you can see why she is regarded the “female Andy Warhol of Malaysia”. Here are some of my favourite pieces of artwork in the exhibition.

Amrik

Amrik was penned by Norma Abbas when she was only a kid, assuming by the date when it was first made.{circa 1975, according to the labelling} It was a miniscule piece of paper that was folded countless times before a cute little drawing was put on. The materials also added more evidence into the fact that Norma Abbas only penned it as a wee child, as only pencil and gouache paint was used.

Woman And Friends

Woman And Friends really sheds light on Norma Abbas’s crafts having a high level of reminiscence to Andy Warhol. The figures looked distorted, and there were several whorls and circles around, along with something looking like a tall sunflower sticking out of the top. It was only penned last year{circa 2016}. At first glimpse it looks extremely arduous to convey, but peel your eyes even more and you will be able to decipher the artwork’s true meaning.

On The Way To The Loo

This painting has a rather scrubby title, and Norma Abbas expressed it in a rather idiosyncratic manner by making the painting look scrubby.{for the sake of art} It was penned at the start of the 21^st century, and is a monochromatic piece of art. According to the labelling, Norma Abbas, being an abstract artist, makes use of etchings in her canvases. For the uninitiated, etchings are made from engraving onto metal plates.

Iva And Two Birds

Another abstract artist Norma Abbas probably has taken inspiration from is Jackson Pollock, and this is evident in Iva and Two Birds. In the artwork, Norma Abbas used untidy splotches of paint to total an exquisitely-abstract piece of art.{again, for the sake of art} Jackson Pollock used the same method, but Norma Abbas only used the basics- she didn’t go over the top like Jackson Pollock, who sometimes made whorls in his canvases by riding a bicycle over them while the paint was still moist.

The Proposal

The Proposal, unlike most of Norma Abbas’s other artworks, is not fully abstract, and is instead delicately-painted and easy to convey. It is a romantic painting of a man trying to propose a date to a lover, which is a simple and to-the-point subject that most abstract painters would not commonly paint. It is still slightly cluttered compared to non-abstract artists, but it is still simple to portray and is a very well-executed piece of art.

Breathing In Early Morning Energy

The painting “Breathing In Early Morning Energy” is a canvas with a very relaxed aura that is expressed in the title. The lady, hidden in the swipes of paint everywhere, is in a very meditative mood, as observed from the face. It brings a certain meaning, as ‘early morning energy’ is usually rather calm and revitalising. The finer details are cluttered yet very much visible, which includes the long eyelashes and the fine strands of hair.

Grandpa, I Want To Tell You A Story

Out of all the paintings in the exhibition, this one hits one of my Top Threes. It has a wispy, romantic atmosphere, and the little figments in the background are reminiscent of a Malay kampong{village}. The protagonists in the painting are a young lady, who could be a daughter, and the datuk{grandfather}. The daughter and grandfather are shown embracing, smiles etched on their faces, in a very heart-warming and loving mood.

For my sum-up, Norma Abbas is a talented painter. Her paintings straddle various genres, including bouncy and happy, soothing and calming, and romantic and loving. And she also knows how to move with the modern art times and understand the artistic realities of the present day, yet can make a easily-conveyable painting that is blending two basic art styles- abstract and Renaissance. Since the exhibition is still going on until April of 2017, I hope you will drop by at the Bank Negara Museum to peel your eyes at these catchy canvases.

The End.

The Mystical Breezes

“Mother, look at that unsightly bird! It’s got black specks on its breast! How can the Bird Park consider that their star attraction?”

I was dumbfounded and full of confusion about what that impertinent youngster was speaking about. I am a Rainbow Lorikeet, with a plumage draped intricately in red topped by cerulean blue and greens partnered with sparkling gold. As a chick, I fell from my nest in the Chilean forest - into the enclosed space of a net. Upon arrival at the Bird Park, I underwent rigorous vocal training to attain my harmonic voice. My gorgeous, vibrant appearance and my mellifluous, melodic voice makes me the superstar at this sanctuary. The Bird Park is a paradise of multi-coloured flowers, green shrubs and  brown sycamore trees.

That afternoon, I decided to preen myself. WHAT ON EARTH HAS HAPPENED TO ME? The sight of the matted black spots on my breast left me tear-stricken and heart-broken. Just then, I saw the zookeeper strolling down the trail.

Excellent! I thought. When the zookeeper unlocked my cage door, I swooped out immediately and flew to the imposing glass sanctuary that housed our grandiose Lord Alexander, a cantankerous Cassowary.

“John, the haze and smog is adversely affecting us. Many parents are keeping their children indoors. Our ticket sales for the past two weeks have plummeted.” The manager complained.

“Mr. Strathmore, some of our birds have lost their appetite due to ailments caused by the haze,” said John.

Upon hearing that, I had to break the news to Lord Alexander.

“Fret not. I believe the haze will dissipate soon.” He told me, calmly.

That didn’t happen. In fact, the pollution intensified and many of the small perching birds were down on their knees with terrible illnesses. The effects on me was no less devastating. My colourful plumage is being tainted with smog, and I’m losing my melodic voice.

I overheard Mr. Strathmore and John rambling again.

“John, we’re suffering drastic losses. If the condition doesn’t improve by the end of this month, we’ll have to close down the Bird Park,” said Mr. Strathmore.

“I understand. Sir, a dozen of our birds have died. We can’t continue to let the birds live in this state.” Said John.

 “Yup. John, we can’t run this business with the birds and our visitors dwindling. You’ll have to find new employment soon.” Said Mr. Strathmore.

I didn’t nibble a seed at noon. I was moping over three things: the air pollution, the fact that I was going to be homeless once the Bird Park closed, and that I had lost my refined and smooth tone of voice. Just then, a sudden gust of wind whipped me wildly around my cage like a pinball machine. The cage door swung open and a time capsule dropped suddenly from a cloud in the sky. It engulfed me, and as it zoomed off, a blinding ray of light blazed my eyes. The rest was darkness.

When I finally came round, I noticed something had come over me. I still couldn’t sing as mellifluously as before, and my feathers were still fairly dull, but I was no longer housed in my cage. I finally realised time had rewritten and now I was a chick, sitting on a luxuriously- comfy carpet of feathers. Outside my peep hole, I was back in the Chilean rainforest, with lush and dewy green grass, towering trees overlooking the murky tan-coloured waters of the river, and for contrast, red and blue macaws shaving bits of clay off the grandiose clay mountains. And the sky was azure blue with magnolia clouds, not the disagreeable ominous haze over a saddening palette of sky. I grinned, and curled up to sleep in the nest.

The End.

Representing KTJ Primary for Fobisia Short Story Competition 2017

Story Competition - Emporeo and Adeliet

It was one of the most critical events in the year of 1751, in Vostok, Antarctica. The Prince had arranged an annual conference to be held at his grandiose hall. Members from the two richest penguin families in Vostok, the Emportagues and the Adepulets, had flocked to the Prince’s hall to attend the conference. And this is where the story started.

In the early morning, a few hours before the meeting, two adolescents from the Emportague family, Emporeo and Krillvolio, were out waddling in the avenues of Vostok. 

“Krillvolio, have you heard today is the day that Prince Troutalus’s conference is going to be held? We must head back to the Emportague mansion and don our formal robes and tuxedos so that we’re ready before schedule!” Emporeo suggested.

“Hmm, yeah, you’ve got a point, Emporeo, it’s nearly half past eight.” Krillvolio remarked, staring at the gothic red-brick clock tower housed in the nearby cathedral. So, Emporeo and Krillvolio headed back and began changing for the special occasion.

Later, Emporeo and Krillvolio arrived just in time for the banquet at the humongous hall. Waitresses with neck frills and ballroom dresses adorned with roses and ivy charms around their frills sashayed into the dining room, carrying mouth-watering entrees including their signature prawn cocktail and creamy clam chowders. Krillvolio decided to treat himself to a little morsel of food but Emporeo decided to wait for the ladies to come waddling into the hall.

At half past ten, the males proceeded up the marble-tiled steps towards the colossal auditorium. The ladies followed suit and sat behind the males, and it was not long before the meeting was called into order by a blaring and honking of trumpets. The held-high-in-esteem Prince Troutalus, dressed in a fancy feathered chapeau, boldly sashayed onto stage and prepared his notes. Just then, something caught Emporeo’s eagle eye.

He had spotted a gorgeous female penguin sitting down the row and he immediately set his eye on her. Emporeo fervently hoped that the conference could end soon so that he could flirt and flatter with his new-found love and maybe arrange a meal with her at the Vostok Krillpub, which was just half an hour away from the Emportague mansion. However, he had one doubt. She was an Adelie penguin, which meant she belonged to the Adepulet family. The Adepulet family had always been at loggerheads with the Emportague family, and that made the market a violent landmark to visit. Every now and then, there would be an unsuspecting battle at the market between the Emportagues and the Adepulets, using pieces of scrap seafood that were cluttered here, there and everywhere. Nevertheless, he was still grateful that the conference was only one and a half hours, and he seized the chance to have a little penguin chat to the most attractive female penguin in the hall. 

“Hello, my gorgeous! You look fabulous in this outfit. Could I have the honour to treat you to a fancy dinner down at the Vostok Krillpub?” Emporeo asked politely, in the most professed sweet-talk he could manage.

“I would love to, but I’m an Adepulet and you’re an Emportague. Are you sure Old Emportague would approve? My name is Adeliet, by the way.” Asked the Adelie, in a charming feminine voice.

“Oh, sure he will. We’ll dine in secret, to be on the safe side.” Emporeo answered.

That night, Emporeo moved some of the potted plants around to create a fort. For extra privacy, he installed some black opaque sheets around the plants and purchased a humongous vertical wooden door between two of the potted plants for entry. Everything went well until Emporeo’s friend, Clamcutio, took an evening waddle around town and saw the shelter. Clamcutio smelt a rat and hurried to the Emportague mansion to tell the Old Emportague.  

“What? My son, Emporeo, dining with an Adepulet? I trusted him not to do so! He should be ashamed of himself! Clamcutio, thank you for telling me. You can come with me to the krillpub to deal with it.” Snapped the Old Emportague. Immediately after that, the Old Emportague and Clamcutio furiously stomped off in the chilling evening blizzard to the Vostok Krillpub. Just then, when the Old Emportague entered through the front door, another door popped up. The Old Emportague opened that one, only to find another one. He opened that one too, just to find yet another. The whole saga happened for about two minutes before the Old Emportague could enter. Old Emportague then snatched the golden key used for the wooden door and unlocked it. He was obviously furious when he saw what lay beneath the doors.  

“EMPOREO EMPORTAGUE! You have brought a great disgrace to the Emportagues by dining with an Adepulet, whom you know we have been rivalling with for years, yet you still breach the rules. As punishment, you shall be punished to 12 months of house arrest. Now, head back to the Emportague mansion this instance!” he snapped.  

“But, father…” Emporeo started.  

“No buts or what ifs! Head back this instance, or there’ll be trouble,” ordered the Old Emportague. Reluctantly, Emporeo sulkily headed back to the Emportague mansion and to his room.  

Later in the night at about eleven , Krillvolio had returned from a shopping spree at the apparel store and decided to visit Emporeo.  

“Why are you home so early? You usually stay up to midnight or even dawn at the nightclubs on weekends.” He queried. 

“It’s ridiculous the Old Emportague and his laws to the blame,” shrugged Emporeo.  

“He found you dining with Adeliet and sent you back early, right?” questioned Krillvolio.  

“Worse than that, he sentenced me to house arrest for twelve months!” cried Emporeo.

“What?” shrieked Krillvolio, his eyes bulging wide and his pupils enlarged.  

“He sentenced me to house arrest for twelve months!” cried Emporeo, louder still.  

“Emporeo, this is simply unfair! He has no right to sentence you when he knows you’re perfectly innocent! Come, come to my room. I shall explain my crafty but quick plan for you to meet Adeliet again,” Krillvolio said. So, Emporeo strolled across the corridor to Krillvolio’s room and then Krillvolio started their murmuring, whispering conversation.  

The next morning, the Old Emportague was awoken by a mob of Emportagues from the palace. Emporeo was attending. So was Krillvolio and Clamcutio, who had donned a very crafty disguise from the apparel shop. Adeliet was there too, and all of the 536 other penguins who lived in the colossal palace were out on the field, holding up colourful signs that screamed their point of contention, which was Emporeo’s ridiculous ban.  

“I knew I should have voiced out my punishment differently,” sighed the Old Emportague. He changed into his normal garments and ate a slice of pumpernickel bread, since he was a bit hasty that morning. Then, he opened the door out of the mansion and headed out to the field. To his horror, a humongous sign supported by sticks that were rooted in the earth and stuck to the sign using slabs of cement was mounted right before his eyes.  

“Oh, Krillvolio is definitely not going to be the next alpha Emportague. I’ll show him!” thought the Old Emportague, gritting his teeth. Emporeo had donned protective steel armour and was armed with a lance and a shield. The Old Emportague had almost no protection and no weapons, so the chances of him winning was just as likely as the chances of the Emportagues and the Adepulets agreeing to stop their incessant fighting. Thankfully, there was a basket of lances near to the fence, so the Old Emportague got the longest, sharpest one and prepared for the battle. Not long after, the cathedral clock struck eight. The duel was to start. Krillvolio charged forwards towards the Old Emportague, but the Old Emportague fought back with his lance and sent a heavy blow towards Krillvolio’s shield. However, the Old Emportague’s lance was considered blunt towards Krillvolio’s. Krillvolio managed to slice off a bit of his father’s lance, and that was when the climax began. Krillvolio and the Old Emportague did their final charge, and Krillvolio struck the Old Emportague in the heart!  

Everybody gasped. Everybody gaped. The grandiose Old Emportague had been the delight of all cognoscenti for years and was ranked as a mighty monarch, but he was no match to even his second-born son, Krillvolio. Krillvolio had defeated him, and was declared the new leader. Since Krillvolio was still in his late adolescents, he was titled “Young Emportague” and the first thing he did as Young Emportague was to lift the ban off Emporeo.  

But that was not the ending. Adeliet’s infamous, fame-craving cousin brother, Crabbalt, heard about the love affair that made his blood boil. Why? Because he was actually the guy that had proposed a marriage to Adeliet first, so he deserved to marry her, even if Emporeo loved Adeliet more than he did. He went down the street to the Monastery, which was just half an hour down from the Adepulet mansion. Friar Klam {the friar of Vostok} was reciting hymns, and Crabbalt’s timing was just right, he arrived when Friar Klam had just finished reciting the last sentence of the 536 hymns he had to perform for prayers in the afternoon.  

“Friar Klam, you know about Emporeo and Adeliet, don’t you?” asked Crabbalt.  

“Of course I do. You visit me a hundred times a week, and you tell me all the stories and news that have been going on. What has happened this time?” questioned Friar Klam.  

“Emporeo and Adeliet have fallen in love!” exclaimed Crabbalt.  

“And what’s wrong with that?” queried the friar, who had started tending to his pomegranate flowers in the monastery garden.  

“I was the one who was meant to be Adeliet’s husband! She promised me two years ago!” Crabbalt cried.  

“Okay, but then what do you think I could do to help?” asked Friar Klam, who had just got a bucket of water to sprinkle over his pomegranate flowers.  

“I beg you to concoct a sleeping potion that shall send Emporeo into a deep slumber for the rest of the year,” pleaded Crabbalt.  

Friar Klam flicked his head around, his attention distracted. “What did you say again?” he asked.  

“I beg you to concoct a sleeping potion that shall send Emporeo into a deep slumber for the rest of the year,” repeated Crabbalt, word by word.  

“I’m not really supposed to do this, you know. Abbott Crabstick will imprison me!” Friar Klam warned.  

“Oh, trust me,” begged Crabbalt.  

“If you say so,” sighed Friar Klam. He beckoned to Crabbalt and led him into his dormitory in the monastery. Then, he pressed a button. A tiny crawling corridor, big enough to fit Friar Klam and Crabbalt, appeared from an almost unnoticeable crack in the wall. Friar Klam and Crabbalt sprawled into the musty corridor, which was really narrow and stank of worm-eaten woodwork combined with the scent of rose water, vanilla and after-tobacco. It was a very mysterious aroma that wafted around. Finally, Crabbalt and the friar arrived at a wooden door swarming with holes that clustered around the surface. Friar Klam scrabbled around on the smooth but dusty marble floor. It was pitch black inside the crevice, and Friar Klam was as blind as a bat. Eventually, Friar Klam discovered the key- a rusty silver key attached to a golden ring. Friar Klam slotted the key in and turned it to the right. Immediately, the door rose up and crushed through the ceiling with a deafening boom, like the boom you get if you stand near a building that was just in order for demolishing. Friar Klam and Crabbalt sprawled inside. As they crawled further, the ceiling rose higher, and soon they were able to stand up again and waddle down. Finally, they stopped at a colossal room.  

“Welcome to my Potion Concoction Laboratory. I share the laboratory with my other four dormitory companions, but nobody knows what I do here in my spare time.” Friar Klam announced.  

“Exciting and very intriguing. What are you going to use to concoct a sleeping potion?” asked Crabbalt.  

“I’ll need 200 grams of pomegranate flower petals, 3 pieces of saffron soaked in crab brandy, half a flask of rose water, a quarter of crushed jasmine powder, a tablespoon of fish oil, a teaspoon of cod liver, one litre of Emporeo’s favourite liquor, and one litre of your favourite liquor,” replied Friar Klam.  

“Are you sure you’ve got them all?” questioned Crabbalt.  

“Of course” snapped Friar Klam. “Except the rose water. But I do have a flask of sludge water inside the cupboard, and you could boil eight withered rose petals in the sludge water to make rose water,” he added.  

“Sludge water?” asked Crabbalt, screwing up his face.  

“Yes. What did you expect?” snapped Friar Klam.  

Crabbalt was unsure of Friar Klam’s words, but he decided to play along with his game. He poured some sludge water into a wooden saucepan, poked the fire, suspended the saucepan over the fire, and poked the fire again for good measure. Then, he headed outside, found some withered rose petals, collected them and threw them into the boiling sludge water. The liquid fizzled and popped, sizzled and pooped, and at a few intervals it began to display a slight reddish hue. Finally, when Crabbalt thought he might have to wait for another three weeks for it to finish, there was a loud BANG! The rose water was finished. Crabbalt allowed it to simmer down for ten minutes, then he carefully poured the liquid into a long, narrow-headed beaker and strained it into the saucepan that Friar Klam was using. Just then, Friar Klam sniffed expertly at the liquid.  

“It needs a bit of ground sage,” he mumbled to himself. He ambled to the spice cupboard and took out the ground sage. He poured half a beaker in. Almost immediately after that, there was a slight sizzling noise and a loud crackling noise.  

“That’s not good, is it?” asked Crabbalt.  

“No, it’s just telling you that you need to pour in the liquor. Your favourite drink is oyster cognac, right?” asked Friar Klam.  

“Right. And Emporeo’s favourite is crab brandy,” answered Crabbalt. So, Friar Klam leapt onto one of the desks and climbed out of the window. Balancing tentatively, he ambled up onto the roof and opened up a hatch. It was the cellar, which contained all the liquors and tipples that Friar Klam needed for his experiments. Friar Klam received a bottle of oyster cognac and a flask of crab brandy and clambered back inside, just in time to add the two tantalising tipples.  

“Right. You’d better take cover after this!” ordered Friar Klam. They both hid underneath the desk. Immediately, the pan flew up in the sky, did a pirouette, and landed back on the stove with an abrupt clatter. Then there was a momentary silence. Then finally, a humongous BANG! BOOM! BANG! echoed in the laboratory. Friar Klam and Crabbalt arose. Immediately, the first thing they saw was a red rock in the centre of the saucepan. Friar Klam got a hammer and whacked it open without warning. The first two blows were unsuccessful. But Friar Klam then rose the hammer up to his shoulder and applied such a heavy blow to the rock that it split open. A purplish-green liquid oozed out.  

“This, Crabbalt, is my monastery sleeping potion. Now, all I have to do is get an empty flask of crab brandy and sieve the liquid inside. I’ll dress as a lady from the apparel shop, and you’ll be my assistant.” Friar Klam said. So, Crabbalt and Friar Klam put on their costumes, and the duo pretended to hobble down the street.  

Twenty minutes later, the delivery had arrived. The doorbell ding-donged continuously until Emporeo, who was a bit annoyed from the irritating sound, opened the door. “Crab brandy for 15 gold coins only! Special offer from the apparel shop!” said Friar Klam in a hoarse voice. Emporeo, being very keen on crab brandy, opened his wallet, gave out 15 gold coins, and went to store the crab brandy in the cellar.  

“He isn’t drinking it!” whispered Crabbalt.  

“Don’t worry. Sooner or later he’ll decide to take a quick nip of our sleeping potion,” chuckled Friar Klam.  

That night, Emporeo woke up at two in the morning feeling somewhat dehydrated. He unlocked the door to the cellar and took the fake crab brandy down by chance. He glugged it down, and put it back and went back to sleep. Just then, he felt a sudden pang in his webbed foot. Immediately, he plonked back down on the stairs. The next day, the Old Emportague woke up early for a meeting and found his son sprawling on the staircase.  

“Oh no! This can’t be…” he faltered. Without saying a word, the Old Emportague scampered back upstairs and informed his wife, Mistress Emportague. Not long after, the doctor was sent all the way from an unnamed town some 380 kilometres away from Vostok.  

The doctor inspected Emporeo’s condition using a tongue depressor, a stethoscope, and a cattle prod. “I’ve inspected Emporeo’s condition, and I believe he’s in a coma.” The doctor remarked.  

“Is it serious?” questioned Mistress Emportague.  

“Yes, very serious. My analysis shows that he’ll be in a deep sleep for about a month. He must have drugged himself with a sleeping potion.” The doctor answered.  

Everybody gasped. They knew Emporeo was sensible enough to know better than not to drug himself with sleeping potion. So why would he do this suddenly?  

The news spread far and wide. Eventually, it reached when a messenger brought Adeliet the news.  

“This can’t be! This is simply shocking! I’ll swim over to Vostok to persuade Friar Klam to make an antidote. Then I’ll cure Emporeo, and the Old Adepulet will be convinced enough that I can marry Emporeo.” Adeliet thought to herself. Immediately, she went downstairs, where her parents were having an oyster and crab fry for breakfast. She crept past them and headed down the stairs. In front of her sat the majestic and icy river that connected her town to Vostok. She dived in and began swimming gracefully towards Vostok. The distance shortened considerably as she accelerated through the crystal clear water. Finally, she reached land and clambered out. Even though it was early morning, Vostok was still in full swing. She scampered through the clacking of the wagons owned by the sellers of the market, who were heading to the wet market to barter and sell. However, when she got to the Emportague mansion, somebody else was there.  

It was Crabbalt!  

“Crabbalt, please give me the antidote,” she begged.  

“Tough,” rebutted Crabbalt.  

“Crabbalt, I’m sorry I fell in love with Emporeo. I promise that I’ll never fall head over heels with anybody else again except you. Please give me the antidote.” Adeliet pleaded. Left with no choice, Crabbalt handed over a miniscule bottle filled with golden-yellow liquid. Adeliet rushed into the mansion, where she found Emporeo spread-eagled on the stairs. She gently opened Emporeo’s beak using a spoon, then she poured the liquid down his throat. Almost immediately after that, Emporeo arose from his slumber.  

“Where am I?” he asked, scratching his head.  

“I’ll come back to that later. For now, Emporeo, I have something to tell you.” Adeliet replied.  

“Tell me now.” Emporeo said.  

“I am very sorry, my dear Emporeo, and I ask for your forgiveness. But I cannot marry you, since I have promised Crabbalt that I will marry him to give me the antidote to revive you from your sleeping spell. Goodbye, Emporeo, I shall see you some other day.” Adeliet said. Then, she plunged into the river and swam back to the shore on the other side of the river without uttering a word. Emporeo rushed out to try and stop her, but it was too late. She had arrived back at her family’s mansion, the Adepulet mansion, and went straight to the dining room to have breakfast.  

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, and Emporeo wondered if he would ever have another chance of reuniting with his dearest love. Just then, one day as he was moping in his mansion, he heard a deafening shrill shriek from across the river! He drew the curtains and was dumbfounded by the sight that loomed like death before his gaping eyes.  

It was Adeliet and she had been captured by the Derkiners, an obnoxious, injurious, and very tenacious band of cutthroat pirate skuas that threatened to launch surprise attacks without warning. They had the audacity to attack and execute and no penguin was safe from their abductions.  

Emporeo realised that this was his chance to show his true colours, the colours of courage. The only problem was how to swing into the vessel before the Derkiners were too far from shore. Just then, an idea channelled into his cerebellum. He remembered the old swinging rope mounted on one side of the mansion that he used to love to frolic around with every day when he returned home from his crèche as a youth. He held on, pulled back and swung like the Monkey King onto the vessel of the Derkiners. He landed with a thump on the main deck, causing their captain, Captain Catcher, and his crew, Greta-Ceous Tenacious, Molly Audacity and Dave Brave to turn their heads and stare.  

“I’m Emporeo from the Emportague family of Vostok, and I’m here to rescue my beloved Adeliet from you brainless buccaneers!” he ordered, raising his dagger.  

“Brainless? Boys, launch the cannonballs! And fight back with your cutlass swords!” ordered Captain Catcher. Immediately, all of Captain Catcher’s crew launched a speeding torrent and a merciless barricade of flying cannonballs. However, Emporeo’s strong dagger fended them away and knocked them into the river. Eventually, the skuas decided that cannonballs were of no use and began lashing their swords instead. It was like a battle between Blackbeard and a rival. But eventually, Emporeo managed some good action. He stabbed all three pirates with powerful blows of his golden dagger, gleaming with victory. Just then, Captain Catcher launched a death stare at Emporeo.  

“You might have got my mates, but you’ve yet to throw me out if you want Adeliet back,” he threatened.  

Emporeo knew just what to do. He scrambled up to the cannonball shooter. Captain Catcher tried to stop him from laying a flipper on the button, but he was too late. Emporeo had launched a monstrosity of a cannonball onto the deck, causing water to flood in. He quickly untied Adeliet, then swam away from the submerging vessel and sent Adeliet back to the Adepulet mansion. Everybody had witnessed it, and in no time, it spread among the whole of Antarctica. One day, when Emporeo least expected it, the Old Adepulet called him over.  

“Emporeo.” He began. “At first I thought you were a noxious fool, but you saved my beloved daughter from being executed. Now, my perspective has changed of you. And, consequently, you’re now officially allowed to be married.” He praised, in a deep baritone voice.  

So, from that day onwards, Emporeo and Adeliet lived happily ever after. 

Written By,
Koh Chee Yuan
A Modern Adaptations of Romeo & Juliet