By Lee-Ann Khoh, on May 15th, 2013  Photo by Paul Copeland Aiden turns four today.
Your little boy is growing up so fast. It fills me with a cocktail of pride and terror. Am I doing this right? Am I a bad mother? Who will teach him how to be a man?
Soon he’ll be at school and I’ll be helpless to shield him from the battles of the playground, from the afternoon he comes home crying because the class had to make Father’s Day cards and he has no words to put inside and no one to give it to.
Or maybe those are just my tears I’m imagining.
Believe it or not, the roses and azaleas you planted two weeks before you left are still there. I was never the one with the green thumb but I feel you watching over us when I tend those flowers, keeping us safe like you did all your life. Sometimes I pick a few to brighten up our existence. But as always, it’s bittersweet.
I can’t cry, not today. I have to be strong for Aiden. I have to get his cake and presents ready and perfect. We’ll put on some music and play some games and he’ll dazzle me with that cheeky smile that reminds me of you. I know he should be having a party with everyone from kindergarten instead of being cooped up in this house all day but I’m not ready to let him go.
And I just pray he’ll be okay without you. I pray he’ll be okay in spite of me.
“Mummy?” Aiden peers up at me with wide, anxious blue eyes, and my throat tightens, wondering what I’ve managed to mess up today of all days. “Mummy, I made you a picture.”
He holds up his creation and I inspect the swirling landscape of crayon colours put together in a way that only our little artist can.
“It’s flowers,” he explains. “I seen you pick the flowers from outside and then put them in water and then they die and you get sad. But when I make pictures you put them on the fridge and you look happy again. I want the flowers to make you happy.”
I burst into tears; I can’t help it. Aiden’s lip starts to shake. “Are you sad, Mummy?”
“No, no,” I assure him with a kiss and a hug. “I’m just so proud of you.”
He bunches his face up, looking slightly confused but ends up in a smile anyway. I scoop him up into my arms and carry him to the fridge, where his flowers take centre stage.
“Happy birthday, Aiden,” I whisper in his ear, ruffling his golden hair just like you used to. His toothy grin warms my heart.
“What we doing today, Mummy?” he asks.
“Whatever you want, darling.”
He puckers his mouth, deliberating, then says: “Tell me about Daddy?”
My heart sinks. I want to tell him no, you’re not ready, but that’s not fair to him when I’m the one who isn’t ready. I take Aiden outside and sit him down on the lawn by the flowerbed, stroking his hand. With a deep breath I begin: “Daddy loved you very much.”
“The other kids said Daddy wanted to die. They said he made himself die.”
My throat clenches as I fight the urge to kick down the other kids’ doors, shake their innocent little bodies for saying things like that to my boy and smack their parents for gossiping about you when it’s my job to talk to Aiden.
“Daddy was sick,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady.
“Did you put him in bed and read him a story?”
Tears slip from my eyes. “Daddy wasn’t that kind of sick, Aiden. He was the kind of sick you can’t see just by looking at someone. He had a sickness in his brain that made him very sad and mixed up until he couldn’t think of any way to feel better.”
The guilt seeps into my gut. Could I have done something? Tell me. Give me a sign other than that note on the pillow. Would Aiden have his father today if I’d been different?
Aiden frowns in thought, then with fearful blue eyes, asks me: “When you get sad, are you that kind of sick too?”
I think of the cold mornings waking up next to an empty space, wondering how I’m going to pull myself together for another day. Then I remember our son, and what will happen to him if I can’t. “I’m just sad because I miss Daddy a lot.”
“Me too.” Aiden crawls into my lap and wraps his little arms around my waist. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Aiden.”
“Don’t be sad, Mummy. It’s my birthday. We get cake and presents on my birthday, right?”
A short laugh trickles from my mouth in spite of myself. I gaze into Aiden’s eyes that hold our hopes and dreams and fears about the future. But right now, our little man is four years old and deserves to celebrate.
“Yes, we do. Let’s go cut some cake now.”
By Lee-Ann Khoh, on May 3rd, 2013  Photo by angy (morgueFile)
Do you remember Summer?
It was like a scene from Grease
Singing cheesy songs together
On that sandy beach
The days went on forever
We swore they would never end
But clouds are breaking
The seasons changing
Reality sets in
I see you down on the sand
With a board in your hand
Chasing Summer
But I want to be in a rock ‘n’ roll band
No back up plans
Just chasing Summer
Days went on forever
We swore they would never end
I recall that childlike wonder
And it drives me around the bend
Time slips through your fingers
Mother calls you to come on home
Then tides of star-crossed lovers
Turn to face the world alone
I saw you down on the sand
With a board in your hand
Chasing Summer
I wanted to be in a rock ‘n’ roll band
But Mother had other plans
When we chased Summer
You can do anything
Be anyone, they say
Until you hit some magic age
and they take it all away.
By Lee-Ann Khoh, on January 11th, 2013  Photo by Arundo (morguefile) I was young once, and shiny.
When they delivered me to my new school and installed me in my classroom, I was so proud to be making a difference to children’s lives. I had dreams of teachers writing inspiring quotes on my dark olive surface, of eager young pupils solving earth-shattering equations and smiling back at me.
Then I found out school was full of cynical teachers who had grown tired of acting as surrogate parents, and disengaged kids who wanted nothing more than to draw genitalia on me. (They don’t tell you that in the blackboard factory.)
Soon no amount of scrubbing with the blackboard duster could make me look as shiny and hopeful as I did the day they drilled me to the wall.
Still, I grew to accept my lot in life. I encountered a smorgasbord of eccentric personalities over the years and eavesdropped on enough titillating tales to sign a book deal. You know, if I had hands.
I thought it would last forever.
I still remember the morning the principal sauntered in to announce a sexy new intruder to my classroom. Now the class flits and fawns over this shiny newfangled computer projector thing, while I hang abandoned at the back of the room waiting for someone to get around to unscrewing me from the wall and taking me away.
I wish someone would just come and draw a dildo on me.
By Lee-Ann Khoh, on January 5th, 2013  Photo by Susan NYC (Flickr) I felt Lydia’s pain before I saw it.
Having cashed in my annual leave, I was strolling along the beach at Batu Ferringhi when the first storm of nausea struck me. Gasping, I collapsed onto the sand, my chest tightening, my heart thumping with confusion and fear, swaying on all fours for what seemed like hours. Looking every bit like an intoxicated tourist, I crept off the grainy canvas and stumbled back to my hotel room, dropping onto the bed. Trying in vain to ignore the throbbing ache in my ribs and arms, I drifted into a restless sleep with the sounds of the Night Market beating below.
The next morning I booked the first available flight home and went straight to my sister’s house.
“Cora!” Lydia exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Is everything okay, Lydia?” I was in no mood for small talk.
“Of course,” she replied – quickly and a little too brightly, I thought. “Come in.”
I entered the house, placed my handbag on the kitchen table and leaned in for a hug. I felt Lydia stiffen and wince at my touch. Remembering my own anguish the night before, I took a firm hold of her wrist and pushed her sleeve up.
Dark purple bruises marred her pale white skin. I knew if I lifted her blouse I would see more of the same.
“I tripped on the stairs yesterday and fell,” she offered lamely.
Lydia and I were born just 10 minutes apart, with the same fair skin, hazel eyes and mousy brown hair but it didn’t take anyone who knew us long to realise that our similarities ended there.
I frowned at her guilt-ridden expression. Her gaze dropped and she began twisting her engagement ring as she often did when she was nervous.
Lydia had always been far more gentle and timid than me. As the one person who knew her inside and out, it was my duty to protect her.
“Hi, Cora. Wasn’t expecting you back so soon.” Lydia’s fiancé Austin emerged from the bathroom, flashing a sugar-white grin. “Sick of shopping already?” He finished knotting the tie around his neck and planted a deep kiss on my sister. She smiled back.
I felt a ripple in my stomach and narrowed my eyes.
“Just missed my sister,” I replied shortly.
Austin laughed. “That twin connection thing, huh. Alright, babe, I’ve got to get to work. I love you. You girls have fun, okay?”
The door shut behind him and I took a step towards Lydia. “You’re afraid of him. I felt it. He did this to you.” It wasn’t a question.
“He didn’t mean it,” Lydia whispered. “He was so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Like hell it won’t!” I snapped. “And once is too many.”
I made her a cup of tea and kept her company for the day, rubbing the jetlag from my eyes as I kept watch on the clock. At 5pm, I knew Austin would finish work and I had to be there before he left. I said my goodbyes to Lydia just after four and drove to Austin’s office building, pulling in to a parking space along the street.
Austin swaggered out at five minutes past five with three other men. They all hopped into a black van. I trailed them to a pub situated about halfway to Lydia and Austin’s house and waited with the radio on, as Only Women Bleed filled my car.
An hour later, Austin emerged alone and began his walk home as I followed slowly behind. He turned, startled, before his trademark grin stretched across his face.
“Hey, Cora, you scared me there. Any chance of a lift?”
My face stared stonily back at him. “I know what you did, Austin.”
I saw his lip twitch. “What did she say to you?”
“Nothing. She didn’t have to.”
“That twin connection thing, huh.”
“You know it.”
Austin grimaced. “Then know this: I love Lydia. I didn’t mean to hurt her. It won’t happen again.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Austin squinted sharply and frowned. “Then I’m sorry.” He started to walk again. I continued to follow in my car.
I saw the exact moment his fear engulfed him. The same fear he had pounded into my sister. He began to sprint through the side streets, sweat shaking off his athletic frame.
I stamped my foot on the accelerator. My bonnet collected him first. He bounced off the windshield and landed with a flop on the road several metres away.
I kept driving.
I reached Lydia’s house and found her in tears. “Austin hasn’t come home,” she sobbed, her hazel eyes wide and fearful when she saw me.
I held her in a tight embrace. “You’re safe now, Lydia. He can’t hurt you anymore.” I felt Lydia stiffen and wince at my touch.
She was scared of me.
By Lee-Ann Khoh, on January 3rd, 2013  The last week of 2012 ended with the achievement of a personal milestone, when I published my first Kindle eBook. They Don’t Talk About It is a collection of eight flash fiction stories centred around a loose theme of imperfect relationships (Is there any other kind?).
They were originally written over a period of about six or seven years, the earliest being “Unspoken”, which was penned while I was studying for high school exams. So if you’re up for a little light reading and willing to part with about a dollar, you can download They Don’t Talk About It from the Amazon Kindle Store.
I know that’s somewhat limiting to owners of other eReaders (or non-owners of eReaders), but if you don’t have a Kindle you can read it on your computer, smartphone or tablet by downloading the appropriate free app. And it’s a quick read.
No pressure, though… I won’t be offended if you don’t buy it or it’s not your cup of tea. 
Acknowledgements
I didn’t include an Oscars-style speech in my book — It seemed a tad over the top for an eight-story 99c bundle — but I would like to make mention of a few people now.
To Book Graphics for designing the cover. Thank you for making a blurry vision reality.
To all the amazing writers and readers I’ve met online, especially the #FridayFlash community on Twitter for taking the time to critique me over the past two years. It’s a long road to becoming the writer I want to be and I’m not there yet but I’m gradually learning and improving. Special thanks to Icy Sedgwick, whose photo prompt “Mandrake” inspired “Living on a Lie”, and Chuck Allen, who was the first person to give me feedback on my writing when I started dipping my toes into the #FridayFlash scene.
To the special friends in my life who have become almost a surrogate family to me over the past year or so… You know who you are. Thanks for the constant love and support. I hope I can repay your faith in me.
Here’s to a beautiful, insane, creative, productive 2013! 
By Lee-Ann Khoh, on December 25th, 2012  Photo by kahanaboy Dear Mother,
It has been eight years, five months and 26 days since we spoke. But who’s counting?
I often wonder if you ever think of me because not a day goes by I don’t think about you.
I remember how you held my hand when we walked through the park to kindergarten.
I remember how you rushed over to cuddle me and clean up my bloodied knees every time I skinned them tripping over my own feet in the yard.
I remember my embarrassment when you marched into the principal’s office during his meeting and demanded the school expel Duncan for bullying me.
I remember how you took two jobs to pay for my private school fees.
I remember when you drove four hours through the rain to pick me up when I got drunk at school camp and waited until I stopped being sick to scold me.
I remember how excited you were to see me in a tuxedo for my school ball, the way you gushed about how beautiful Rebecca looked in her blue silk gown and joked about how cute our babies would be.
I remember how you baked my favourite chocolate chip muffins for me when the football jocks put me in hospital.
I remember your proud smile and the three packets of camera batteries you used up at my graduation.
I remember all the times you held me and told me you would love me forever.
I remember the day I finally plucked up the courage to tell you I was gay.
I remember how you insisted I was going through a phase.
I remember the day I brought my first boyfriend home.
I remember my heartbreak when you told me I was no longer your son.
I remember overdosing on antidepressants.
I remember when Jeff saved my life in more ways than one.
I remember waking up five years ago with Jeff by my side and realising I was happy and almost complete.
I remember our excitement when the adoption agency called and our pure joy when we held our daughter Hope for the first time.
I remember the tinge of sadness I felt last week as I watched Jeff’s parents play with Hope and thought about how she would never know my side of the family. I remember waking up this morning and thinking it shouldn’t need to be that way.
***
Asher stared at the page, salt water burning in his eyes for what felt like hours until his baby’s cries broke his thoughts.
“Sounds like naptime is over,” Jeff quipped, gently lifting Hope from her cot. He gestured at the Asher’s letter. “How’s it going?”
Asher shook his head. “Needs some work.”
Still cradling Hope, Jeff sat beside Asher and began to read. “Are you going to send it?” he asked.
Asher looked wistfully at Jeff and their child, then down at the letter. Stray tears slipped from his eyes and onto the page. He sighed.
“I don’t know. It’s been so long.”
By Lee-Ann Khoh, on August 15th, 2012 This was one of the 30 poems I wrote for NaPoWriMo in April. If you’re interested, you can check out the others on Tumblr and/or my pre-NaPoWriMo blog post.
 Photo by e-MagineArt.com (Flickr) You are a love that I can’t kick and I don’t want to
You touch my heart with the warmth of a heaven I never knew
You infect my soul so sometimes all I can think and feel is you
But you’ll never know and they’ll never know
Sometimes I cry myself to sleep to drown myself away
I fill the pages of my life with words I’ll never say
One taste of you is all I need to get me through the day
But you’ll never know and they’ll never know
My heart is screaming in my ears
I don’t know if I can handle anymore
These butterflies speak all my fears
I’ve never felt like this before
By Lee-Ann Khoh, on August 4th, 2012  Photo by waferboard (Flickr) They lie together on musty white sheets, entangled in each other’s naked bodies as the air conditioner washes the shining sweat from their skin. Her lips are pressed softly against his neck; her right hand caresses his chest as it rises and falls. She smiles with a contented sigh. He curls a hand under her hip and gives it a light tickle, spawning bubbly giggles from her mouth. She can still taste him on her tongue. In this perfect moment, there is no time and no one else in the world but the two of them. But moments are gone in a breath.
They don’t talk about it.
They don’t talk about the coded text messages that preface their clandestine meetings in the seedy security of motel rooms.
They don’t talk about how they can never be caught holding hands or looking too long at each other like normal lovers walking down the street.
They don’t talk about how her heart won’t let her date anyone else even though her head knows he’ll never truly be hers.
They don’t talk about the grubby rolled-up banknote sitting under the bedside lamp or the lines of white powder on the desk by the window that he’ll suck up his nostrils once she rolls over and closes her eyes.
They don’t talk about the gold band that encircles the fourth finger of his left hand and binds him to his doting picture perfect family.
They just lie together in silence, holding their breaths until the real world breaks through.
By Lee-Ann Khoh, on July 15th, 2012 When I’m not writing, taking a break from writing or procrastinating on writing, I work for a company that, among other things, manages social media for a wide range of organisations. Which means I spend copious amounts of time on Facebook. And as cruisy as that sounds, it can be incredibly frustrating too. Such as last week, when a new client of ours wanted us to assume control of their Facebook.
The client had set up a personal profile under their company’s name instead of a business page. So in order to manage their brand effectively, as well as comply with Facebook’s terms, we had to log into this personal account and convert it to a Facebook page. Easy enough? Well, not quite. When I went to migrate the profile, I slammed into this roadblock:
Please switch to a computer that you’ve previously used to browse Facebook.
To ensure your account security, please complete this process on a computer you’ve used in the past. If this isn’t possible, please contact customer support from the Help Center.
Obviously using our client’s computer wasn’t a practical option. Besides, organisations that outsource their social media management to us do so because they lack either the knowledge or time to deal with it themselves. It’s something they don’t want to have to worry about at all, so calling them up to talk them through the process wasn’t a practical option either.
And there are other reasons why innocent people may not be able to use an old computer. Computers stop working. Computers get stolen. Computers get upgraded. Lots of things can happen to computers.
 Photo by stoneysteiner Now, my gripe with Facebook is not the security measure; in today’s internet-dependent world, we could use all the help with security we can get.
My gripe is that you are told to contact customer support when it is virtually impossible to do so. You could easily spend hours trying to find what you need from the Help Center to no avail; at the time of writing it doesn’t seem to provide any answers on what to do if you can’t access an old computer. (Or if it does, the information isn’t very easy to find.)
Luckily for me, I’ve hit this particular rut during the course of my job before and there is a quasi-solution. If you browse Facebook using your new computer for a while, Facebook eventually lets you complete the page migration.
Spending half a day logging in and out and aimlessly “browsing” with my client’s Facebook account was also far from practical (especially when you’ve got other clients to take care of) but at least it worked — we were able to migrate the profile to a page and it was business as usual once more.
Has anyone else had trouble with Facebook’s customer support?
By Lee-Ann Khoh, on March 28th, 2012  Photo by ncgraphics (morgueFile) I’ve never considered myself much of a poet. Sure, I studied poetry in high school (I have since forgotten the majority of what I learnt) and have a few poems on this site but for the most part my “poetry” reads like bad lyrics and never see the outside of my private journal.
Which brings me to NaPoWriMo aka National Poetry Writing Month. Inspired by NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) in which participants attempt to complete a 50,000 word novel during the month of November, NaPoWriMo calls for a poem a day in April.
I’ve made two unsuccessful attempts at NaNo in the past five years. The first time was because it coincided with the busiest time of the year for me as far as exams and assignments go, and I just couldn’t handle the added pressure. The second time around I was still getting used to full time work and my brain was too fried at the end of the day to produce the approximately 1700 words a day required to stay on track.
But I’ve decided to give NaPo a go this year. In my favour is the fact that word counts won’t be hanging over my head, although ideas (and of course poem quality) could prove elusive. I’ll actually be overseas in the first half of April, which could provide the spark of inspiration I need, or it could mean I’m too tired from rushing around to come up with anything semi-decent… but we’ll soon find out.
I’m not sure how often I’ll be able to get to a computer to publish these poems while I’m away (I’m hoping at least once a week), but if I stay focused, then I should have 30 little poems to unleash on the world by the end of April. Wish me luck.
Wasn’t sure how best to wrap up this blog post but ever since I was a kid, I’ve been turning to the Star Wars universe to inspire me, so I’ll end with a bit of philosophical waxing from one of my favourite Jedi Knights, Qui-Gon Jinn…
Remember: Your focus determines your reality. Feel, don’t think. Use your instincts.
Hey, at least I didn’t start talking about midi-chlorians. 
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