“Seven Apples on a Witch’s Tree…”

It has been like a damned jackfruit under my mattress for the past month, but now the grant application is done and submitted never to be heard off again, not at least until the pivotal call comes saying that it’s a sorry to inform you sir but it’s been rejected, or perhaps you could come and do a presentation, in front of a panel of judges, all whom have seen thousands of similar shirt-tucking idiots presenting mediocre ideas in all the same manner, and please wear a polka-dot bowtie because it would make a huge difference.

This week I’ve seen the completion of two grants, twice my puke swirling down the basin (hello McNuggets), and a wall graffiti somewhere in Petaling Street saying “Rape the wall, not the kids” (beside it is a very nice drawing of a toddler holding what I believe to be a spray-paint can).

I’m also addicted to a song, which is this one here;

(Yay, first vid on this blog)

The title is Ringo Hiyori ~ The Wolf-Whistling Song, by Rocky Chack (which, I think, is a Japanese snack food).

It’s the ending song to the anime adaptation of Spice and Wolf; a personal favourite now, mainly due to this song.

If you couldn’t catch it due to the horrible diction, here’re the lyrics to it;

Seven apples on a witch’s tree,
Seven seeds to plant inside of me (o.O)
In springtime I grew a magic song
Then skipping along, I sang the song to everyone

I look up the world through apple eyes
I cut myself a slice of sunshine pie
I dance with the peanut-butterflies
Till time went and told me to say hello while waving goodbye,

A thousand sugar stars
I put them in a jar
Oh and whistle ‘round the world
Oh and whistle round the world
I’m a little wolf inside a girl, you say
Off I go from June to May
Oh, whistle ‘round the world

(There’s also a full version, if you’re interested, and it’s here)

I’ve been looping it at work until everyone started raising an eyebrow at me, and by then Katatsumuri Ojousama (previously Mademoiselle Escargot, in truth Ji Lin) was already cringing every time it starts. I’ve even sang a variation featuring her, and soon she was performing trepanning whenever I started to sing.

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There was a card, I think.

Somewhere in the basket among the dust-collecting CD covers, and the wires, and of course, the dust.

It didn’t belong to me. My brother thinks it belonged to him, but he said ‘belonged’ in the way he made sure that it was a past-tense, and that now it belonged to someone else but is with us, forgotten and perhaps given away, but not the ownership at heart.

Just the card, the words and the picture hearts, red and wide and full.

**************

I remembered going into the 2nd year of my diploma course and hating valentines day.

I knew why I hated it; I hated it because I was lonely, bitter and missing someone. I think everyone who was alone, at some points at least, found reason to hate valentines day, and mostly because it’s like it was smack right in your face and you can’t turn away from it.

And then there were those times where a simple Happy Valentine’s greeting came and replied with a “I don’t do valentines. Not yet anyhow” with all the bitterness of mothball flavoured chocolates. It’s the sort of hate from emptiness, in a place where everyone is full and whole.

At some time people grow out of it (or, by fate, found someone to complete them); callowness die when we grow, and even if the that sort of silent mockery that permeates the air still remain, the condemning whisper whispered by oneself, I think we all end up understanding that staying soaked in bitterness feeling bitter is all and twice the torment.

I think we know when to take the lollipop when someone offers it.