Dronesville adventure #11: banned from Dronesville

dronesville-adventure-11Banned!!! I cannot say more than this word right now. What happens on this fateful night is beyond anyone’s wildest dream or imagination. The boss and I manage to get into the backyard of the ‘Russian'(which is not Russian as we find out later) mansion, with me again soaked to the bone, this time exotically decorated with a few lively accessories like water lilies but predominantly live baby terrapins stubbornly clinging onto my hair, and some relentlessly fastening their beaks onto my trousers! The boss wears a mask but I can see his rigorous facial movement with his mouth moving soundlessly and I cannot figure out whether he is stifling his sniggering or sniveling. Anyway this is not my concern as I have more important thing in mind. Where is Gracie the faithful and brave Dronesville dog?

The boss seems confident and leads me swiftly through a back lane among the trees and bushes. It is unusually quiet. The residents seem asleep. How can this be? Surely they would have discovered my great escape, haven’t they? We walk through the dark garden and soon arrive at a row of old cabins made of train cars which seem deserted. No sound. No enemy activities. What a good adventure this will turn out to be. But I am congratulating ourselves too soon. A shot in the dark. We hear little running feet but cannot see anyone. Something attacks my feet and topples me. I am being dragged into a shed, dropped into a hole, and onto a moving conveyor belt, through a long tunnel. The thing that accomplishes this feat looks like a dog but is not a real dog. He has a lasso with one end tied to his neck and the other end latched onto my left ankle. Don’t ask me how this functions. I try to describe at best I can and it sounds incredible even to me. (I know some of my nerd cronies are sniggering or howling in laughters. “LOL. Who would believe this ridiculous description?” They would comment in our private chat board.)

But the next scene is more incredible. We are back into a well lit hall and who do you think are there? Haha, the two women I described as crazy in my previous blog. One of them removes the lasso from the robot dog and pets him, saying, “Good dog! Go and take your treat! ( A spray of fragrant stuff over it as it presses a button with its paw. Apparently it is programmed to like such stuff!) One of the women carries a baseball bat. She gives me the threatening unspoken look that seems to say that she may test her power throw or hit again using my head as a target. I do not see Gracie and that is a relief, presuming that she is safe.

One woman speaks, “Nerd, you have trespassed our property twice and there is no excuse. What are we to do with you? Give us a good reason that you deserve a better treatment than to be fed to the jelly fish.”

Another woman says, “We give you two choices: (a) To be fed to the mutated giant jelly fish; or if you are scared of water (b) To be banned from Dronesville?

The first woman says, “I am in a merciful mood now and besides, our jelly babies do not like your taste. So I let you choose to be banished. Ok, court adjourned. Dismiss! Dog, escort the prisoner into exile!”

The robot dog, with its menacing flying lasso, and the second woman with her equally menacingly swinging baseball bat escort me to the front door and throw me out into the street that serves as the boundary of Dronesville. “Goodbye, and don’t you ever step into Dronesville again. You hear me?” She says without waiting for an answer and slams the door in my face. (To be continued)

Notes on photos: The picture is a compilation of four original photos taken by this blogger while visiting an old gold mining town.

Dronesville Adventure #10: babies, water lilies, and promises to keep

Promises to keep. dronesville10-pond
“As soon as one promises not to do something, it becomes the one thing above all others that one most wishes to do.” There are times when I wish I had not promised the boss not to quit as long as there are treasures to hunt! What if I had not promised? I would have been sleeping and dreaming of stuff like eating ice cream, hunting Pokemon Go, or even racing down the street/park at midnight, chasing intruders, with half the work done by the Dronesville dog Gracie and the drone. I don’t mind working for the Dronesville senior virtual football club. Indeed, as my fellow cronies have complained all over our closed chat board, “When will you get up to living the status a nerd is called to be? This is now the tenth episode and you have not achieved anything except lamenting your seemingly inappropriate occupation?” One mysterious foreign woman caller managed to hack into my anonymous location and called up through a satellite phone and questioned, “Who are you trying to fool? Those two women (my former captors) are not Russians. You stupid nerd!” I tried arguing, “How do you know they are not?” She laughed and said, “It is obvious, baseball is not a favorite of Russian women!” (Foiled!) She further educated me, “The strongest and most organized women’s baseball leagues are in the United States, Australia, Japan, Taiwan, Cuba, Hong Kong, and Canada. Look, young man, I strongly suggest you look nearer home for your baseball women!” I realize later She was right.

Meanwhile the boss and I are in the second private garden. There is a gigantic pond in the middle of the garden surrounded by thorny bushes and there is no way to get to the other side except through the thorns or swim across the pond. This is a huge garden. It will take the combined power of the two miniature drones and quite sometime to take the boss across. In view of the urgency as Gracie is possibly in grave danger by now, I decide to swim, regardless that I no longer have my Armani to feed any water predators. I admit I am not a hero, but I have promised the former English teacher and the Dronesville community to take care of Gracie their mascot and it means to feed and shelter her and ensure that no harm should come to her. Anyway, before I can change my mind, the boss is already flying across by the two drones.

As I dive into the water I can hear strange sound like a rush of little feet except that the sound comes from under the water. Another strange thing is that the pond is not deep. It is like a flat span of shallow water lily pond after all! It is too dark to see beyond three feet and I wade through the water lily walking on soft and slimy ground, being entangled often by the giant plants, leaves, flowers, stalks and roots and all. under the starlit sky I can see aquatic plants all over the pond: lilies, lotus, water lettuce, water shield and fairy moss. I realize too late that I have stumbled onto a baby terrapin farm and I am stepping on and surrounded by them! Soon I have baby terrapins clinging onto my back, perching on my head, and some stubborn ones with their beaks firmly fastened onto the legs of my trousers!

By the time I manage my big escape and wade through the waist deep pond I no longer care what I have brought along with me. I feel thankful that the pond contains babies and not ferocious carnivorous adult terrapins. A drone carries me over the wall into the backyard of Gracie’s captors’ house. The boss is waiting in silence. This is only the beginning of the real Dronesville adventure. (To be continued)

Photography: The picture is a compilation of segments from several original photos taken by this blogger except for the drone and the man in suit. The pond is taken from a tropical aquarium. The H2O has a rather unique look (like layers of tiles on a roof) in the picture. The dog does pretty well too in standing on her hind feet.

Dronesville adventure #8: original H2O nightmare for a nerd

an Original nerd’s mess.
dronesville-adventure-aquariumIt is not a nightmare because I am not asleep. But it is a real life nightmare. How can that be? A dull thud and a distant scream. What happens? Has something happened to Gracie the Dronesville dog who is coming for my rescue?
I can hear the rapid churning sound of H2O like water being whipped around by the giant jelly fish who are getting impatient to come at me out of gnawing hunger. I have figured out that since the two women have not come to this room for a whole day the monstrous fish must be near starving. I can now hear rushing footsteps of the two women or perhaps it is someone else? Suddenly I am lifted up and thrown into a container with a big splash. I am still blindfolded but the Armani suit slides off my body perfectly as the jelly fish starts to gnaw at it. They seem more interested of the Armani than me, for after all it is made of a special material and texture that simulate that of small aquatic fish and their eggs and invertebrates. The Armani sticks to their tentacles. Why did I wear such unusual stuff? Hahaha. It is a requirement by my boss for the treasure hunt over the high sea or some potentially deadly ponds hidden in the backyard of some vicious landowners, in case we fall into the vicinity of water predators.
I can hear the two women leave the room immediately after they throw me into the tank. But there is another person around as a pair of hands pull me out of the water before the giant jelly fish decide to treat me as dessert.
He cuts off the rope that ties my hands and removes my blind fold too. I am most surprised to see that it is my English boss, Lord xxx. He is still wearing his hack-proof mask.
“Where is Gracie the dog?” I ask. But he shakes his head and signals me to follow him out of the room down a labyrinth of dark passages. We soon come to a tall wall and he signals for two drones to carry us over and into the world outside! A black car waits at the side lane and we are soon inside and speeding away from that dreadful place.
The customized car is built into three compartments: a front section with a silent driver, the middle section where the boss and I sit and a back section which is partitioned off by an opaque glass panel. I still think of the Dronesville dog, Gracie. What as happened to her? Was she captured by the two mad alien women while trying to come to my rescue? I shudder. (To be continued)

Photography note: The picture is compiled by segments of several original photos taken by this blogger with the exception of the three heads and the suit.

War between Dronesville’s Brave (dog) and Meanie the Plop (cat): Dronesville adventure #5

dronesvilles-adventure-dog-3“Dogs are wise. They crawl away into a quiet corner and lick their wounds and do not rejoin the world until they are whole once more.” (Agatha Christie, Death on the Nile). Like I said in my previous blog about me being able to speak and tech-know, I go into hideout by joining my robot dog friend Robby in the hyperloop. By now everyone should know how loyal we dog are to our human masters. “The world would be a nicer place if everyone had the ability to love as unconditionally as a dog.” (M.K. Clinton, The Returns).

The hyperloop place is cluttered with all sorts of machines and being a miniature dog I can slip in without being noticed. It is three in the morning and everyone is sound asleep. They do not keep a dog but there is a tiny pet entrance at the back kitchen for a cat. Yes, there is a cat there. Her name is Meanie (aka Goliath) the Plop. The drone carries me over the wall smoothly. As I approach the cat entrance I can smell the Plop. But I am not afraid. “What counts is not necessarily the size of the dog in the fight; it’s the size of the fight in the dog.” Dwight D. Eisenhower (34th President of the United States). Like my master, I am oozing oily quotes/misquotes from every pore and oil myself to the floor. (My Fair Lady) My master has done a good job daily drumming them into his and my head through repetitions during meal time.

I enter the house without a sound. But the Plop seems waiting for me. “What have we here? Haha a miserable intruder!” She hisses. She is huge for a cat. Sleek and huge. Grossly overweight. “My, a miniature dog! What is that on your back? Hand it over!” Her size is colossal. She stands up and arches her back, opening her menacing mouth, sticking out a blood red tongue. Her claws are long and sharp. Shifting into a war pose she blocks my way. What else can an otherwise peace loving decent dog do in this situation?

I won’t describe the Dronesville brave (dog) and the Goliath Plop of a cat fight scene. it is not pretty. Losing is not my game so eventually I signal my companion brave (drone) to land on her head. She is shocked beyond words. The crash landing of the drone knocks her out. By then Robby has appeared and leads us two braves (dog and drone) through a dark tunnel to his hideout. I spend the rest of the night and many nights thereafter licking my wounds. I shall not rejoin my master until I am whole again.

I must admit I do plop myself down on the hard tiled floor and sulk for sometime. Then I cheer up. Robby the robot dog seems trustworthy. He is good in finding food too (for me of course). The drone is my assurance. He is like a security blanket a toddler must carry around. I need his mobility and later communication with my master who probably will be frantic when he discovers that I am missing. Hahaha, my turn to laugh and congratulate myself for my ingenious scheme to help my master, despite the Plop’s nasty interval. My human master will be proud of me. Tomorrow will be a brighter day! (Misquoting Gone with the Wind). (To be continued)

a rare dog speaks: Dronesville’s adventure#4

Rare Miniaturedronesville night escape“Some of my best leading men have been dogs and horses.” This is from the mouth of my favorite actress, Elizabeth Taylor. You guess right. Dog ranting continues today. “Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen.” (Orhan Pamuk, My Name is Red) I am now plotting my great escape before the night is over. As you would have guessed, I am of minute or rather miniature size in real life. Why? Was I stunted? Was I a runt? I don’t know. I was an orphan abandoned on the entrance to Dronesville. Pink nose, yellow eyes. The kind former English teacher adopted me for this special retiree teachers tech-know-to-be community. My age now? Hmmm, maybe I am seven more or less. Yes, according to this famous quote I searched from the internet (when my master fell asleep with his PC on and forgot to put me outside)I rank among leading actors and horses. My size does not deter me from being the hero. LOL.

Back to business. I know where I can go to find a hideout so my master would not get into further trouble. I have developed a taste for biting his boss’ heel (without actually biting into his skin) and possibly annoying him. It’s therefore best for me to go somewhere to avoid being dragged by him to some foreign land treasure hunting with a hidden obsession to bite him for causing my master and I duress.

For those unfamiliar with dogs, I do have packing to do. “What?” You ask, your mouth wide opened and eyes rolling. Ahem, don’t forget I am not an ordinary dog. What do I pack? Goodies to eat during emergency of course. In this case I also take along my master’s grand-aunt’s miniature drone which she handed to him and he inadvertently left on the couch. How else do you think the drone could have landed on my master’s head or safely stored in his pocket in earlier episodes of Dronexit?

Thus with my miniature futuristic solar digital voice/bark/whimper operated dog-backpack already fitted on my back by my master as he prepared for the treasure hunt venture with his boss, and a last glance at my drooling master who is in deep sleep on the couch probably dreaming of futuristic robotics, I open the door, jump over the fence and speed into the night. My destination is of course the Hyperloop at the far end of Dronesville. I have been to this place many times and am familiar with its layout. I even have a canine friend there in the hideout! An abandoned miniature dog robot who has made his way there and made it his home. Being miniature is an advantage. We can hide in nooks which many humans tend to overlook. The disadvantage is that we need to watch out for bullies from our own animal world. As I am the only dog in this neighborhood I don’t need to worry about that. But Hyperloop is another world…(To be continued)

For those interested about miniatures, read Pamuk’s novel, “My name is Red”. My Name Is Red is a 1998 Turkish novel (a philosophical thriller)by writer Orhan Pamuk translated into English in 2001. Pamuk would later receive the 2006 Nobel Prize in Literature. The novel, concerning miniaturists in the Ottoman Empire of 1591, established Pamuk’s international reputation and contributed to his Nobel Prize. The main characters in the novel are miniaturists in the Ottoman Empire, one of whom is murdered in the first chapter. Pamuk suggests that to some of the characters, viewing miniatures or “perfected art” is a way to achieve a kind of glimpse of eternity. Famous quote: “I don’t want to be a tree, I want to be its meaning.”

a night of rare decision for a dog: Dronesville’s adventure#3


dronesville#3It is time a self-respecting dog speaks his or her own view. By now you know i am the dog, Gracie. This is the dog ranting. LOL. i have a view too. i overheard the conversation between the boss and my very kind caretaker master, a young tech-know nerd. i heard my fate being decided by the humans (or rather one total stranger whom my master calls boss). Ahem, it is rather unfair. i am here happily minding my own business in Dronesville and keeping my own territory protected, and suddenly come this English lord who suggests i leave and trot round the globe with my master to seek some foolish worthless treasure! What treasure? To me, treasure means doggie treats with beef or chicken flavors and the illusive flying creatures with wings in the park. No, i am not going anywhere!

Yet, on second thought, i have been having this dream about a foreign golden hair glamorous dog wearing pretty red wear and looking real smart and glamorous. What do you think? Can’t we ordinary dogs have dreams of grandeur? i once heard someone said that opportunity is like a horse flying by and you just have to be ready to grab its tail and fly with it. Hmmm i am ready to grab this flying tail or not? Fame and fortune. Not bad. To become rare or not? That is the question. It is hard for a dog to keep up with the dog jones too. This is a rare opportunity for me to do something with my ordinary life. Maybe i get to know the world beyond Dogsville, oops, i mean Dronesville. Maybe i get to visit places with exotic flavored doggie food and lots of rare flying creatures with wings and catch some!

Glamour aside. The truth is,  what will I not do for my human master who has taken care of me so well?  No, I am not going to let him down. Why? i suspect he doesn’t have any choice. Neither do i.

That settles it. My decision is made. i am going to run away before the night is over. The blame will be on me and not my master. Being steeped in this tech-know community i am sort of a tech-know dog too. i know where i can go. LOL. (To be continued)

rare dog (Dronesville adventure#2)

dronesville dogThis is how the dog Gracie becomes a rare priceless dog sought after by many round the globe. The last episode’s piercing scream is like a extremely misplaced and most unwelcome nightmare drama being enacted in the dead of the night with realer than life spiritual alien actors/actresses suddenly infesting this normally peace loving and silence-obsessed community of retiree teachers tech-nerds-to-be. I run to the curtained window as usual and peep into the dark. Has an intruder suddenly appeared and attempted to rob my former English teacher who has just returned to her house alone and found that he has encountered a most ferocious umbrella wielding nemesis instead? I mean, in the dead of the night she could be mistaken as the most frightening apparition as she races down the street in her victorian white gown, white head-full of white glistening rollers and wielding a specially coated sleek-white umbrella that sparkles in white light in the dark, shrieking as piercing as she is accustomed to.

My dog Gracie decides she is not going to be left out of the fun. She starts her unique loud whimpering and squeaky barking like she does when she is uncertain whether her imagined nemesis is a physical creature or a spiritual thing. The screaming and shrieking and barking are growing louder and nearer to my house! I can feel the chills. I am out of control. I decide to fortify myself by turning on all the flood lights outside and the BASEL TATTOO 2016 “TOP SECRET” Drum Corps sound effect. The gun-like drum sound is of course my camouflage.

Alas, soon the outside sound seems to be drowning out my drum corps! Through the curtain I detect three persons at my front porch, no, actually four. The fourth party is Gracie the brave dog. One party runs away. One other party is my former English teacher (aka my grand-aunt). She is on the heel of the masked man who tries to do his great escape from her. She finally catches up at my front door. Gracie too has joined in the confrontation by biting his right heel. The grand aunt points the sword like tip of her steel umbrella at his chest displaying a modern rendition of the Disney’s Zorro (1957–59)with his sword. Now that the war is won by my two accomplices I venture to open the door. The masked man pulls down his mask and shouts at me, “You nincompoop! Get this creature off me!” I don’t know which one he means, but I get a shock at his revealed identity.

“Boss! How did you find me? Why do you wear a mask? ” My turn to panic.

The boss puts back his mask and continues to shout, “Get me to the clinic!”

“Huh, what for, boss are you sick?” I ask.

“Rabies! Tetanus! Nincompoop!”

I get the point. So I remove Gracie from his heel, pull down his sock and show him it is intact. There is not even a scratch. Gracie has become a master of dog-bite dexterity after thousands (or maybe hundreds or less) of little harmless bites of heels. She doesn’t really bite. She bites without actually biting as she hates the taste of blood. The boss examines every inch of his heel and finally warns me, “OK this time you get off. I will sue you to your last pair of pants next time for causing undue mental and emotional injuries.”

“Well, boss, you will need to sue Dronesville as Gracie is the community’s honorary resident and mascot of the senior nerds’ football club.”

“What kind of football? You are trying to fool me? I know the residents are 90% of 65 and above. There is no way they play football!”

“Ha, you are wrong, mister, we play a virtual football tournament and are among the top ten ranking!” My former English teacher corrects him.

“Who is this, ahem, gentlewoman?” The boss asks politely as he decides not to offend her.

The boss is an English gentleman and expects woman to be gentlewoman. At the introduction of his noble background, the grand-aunt is impressed and courtesies to him, addressing him “My Lord.” They immediately start exchanging polite small talk about the recent bouts of poor weather like they are at an afternoon tea party in the English garden of his Lordship.

“But, boss, why are you wearing a mask?” I am now obsessed with his sudden masked appearance at my doorstep.

“O, this?” He whispers mysteriously into my ear, “this is no ordinary mask. It is a hacker-proof communication filter through the quantum satellite we have just succeeded in putting to space.”

“What? I thought only the Chinese just put the quantum satellite up? How did you get it?” I just read the tech news two days ago of China’s announcement of another space success.

“Hahaha, how do I get other things? Huh?” The boss’ turn to laugh at my naivety.

I know. Never mind. But why is he here? He seems to read my thought. “To be frank with you I am here personally because I need your service urgently and it is a top secret. Not your Top Secret Drum Corps, you nincompoop. I cannot wait. Don’t argue or say a word. Just listen and obey! Got it?”

What choice do I have? I shut up and nod my head. Meanwhile he has plastered my grand-aunt (former English teacher) with humongous flattery and she leaves with a good feeling.

The boss tells me his latest discovery and plan. We are to leave without delay. I say yes. But he has a rare request/command, “I want that rare dog to go with us too!”

“What?” I cannot believe my ear. He repeats his statement and then tells me to get ready to depart in 24 hours. Then he vanishes into the dark, leaving me alone with my seemingly ordinary dog who is innocently waging her tail and grinning from ear to ear, expecting a dog treat for her bravery in biting the heel of the boss. How little does she know her fate of becoming the top secret and top sought after rare dog in the next episode. (To be continued)

gigantic eyeball (Dronesville adventure#1)

dronesville eyeball“It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not.”
I got this famous first line from Paul Auster (City of Glass). My phone rings three times in the dead of night. There is no one on the other end. Is it a prankster? Or have the Thompson twins caught on with me? I am chilling out in a secluded house provided by my seemingly unlimited extended family network of retiree teachers in Dronesville, while preparing for my treasure hunt adventure profession abroad.

When my phone rings a thousand possibilities actually race through my mind. My dog Gracie is with me outside guarding my new abode. Her old house is now occupied by the authority. Like me, she is sort of homeless. She starts barking frantically like someone has snatched her beef flavored goodies!
Who can it be? At such hour it can either be the law/criminal or the relatives.

I peep through the curtain and switch on the front porch flood light. Who but my former English teacher and her umbrella? “Ah, there you are, rise and shine, I need help!” She exclaims, waving to me with a hand that holds up a picture.

“See, what do you think this is? I took this last evening and now I have time to look at it. It is shocking, don’t you think? Like a gigantic eyeball in the sky!” She exclaims.

“Do you think the aliens are spying on us?” She is still panting because she probably has run all the way to my house. For those who are not familiar with Dronesville, the residents here are mostly of age 65-85, retiree teachers who strive to become technology savvy. They are mostly related to me in one way or another. My former English teacher also happens to be my grand-aunt. There are hardly any young people around and somehow the community treats me as their source of intelligence when it comes to tech know matters or something alien and smells of outer-space.

I look at the above picture and decide it is just the formation of the cloud and the sun and I tell her so. But she is not happy. She whispers, “You see, when I took it there was nothing up there. I was only shooting at the evening plain. I have a shock when this big eyeball appears in the photo! Don’t you think it’s rather rare and weird?”

She insists that it is a premonition and asks me to keep an eye for Dronesville since I am still considered comparatively loyal and trustworthy. “But, we have the police around…” I try to assure her. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head of white hair (she has recently decided it’s better to keep it un-dyed to avoid mistaken identity), and says, “No. I don’t know those young fellows. They haven’t proven themselves yet. So meanwhile you remain in position. Clear?”

“Here you are, the drone. ” She hands over her pride drone and gives me further instructions to keep watch. Then she disappears into the night.

As I examine the photo of the gigantic eye in the sky, a rare screaming comes across the sky. (Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow (1973)) (To be continued)

millennial short story

millennials then and nowHere is the whole series of the fun-filled and futuristic adventurous Dronesville’s story which involves a young nerd and a group of retiree teachers who are striving to become technology savvy!


to reach or not to reach (Dronexit#26)


a narrow door -time portal

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. This is the statement i have decided to use to finish this episode in Dronesville. My famous source is George Orwell in 1984 (1949) of course! By now the blog readers who are unfamiliar with this nerd, and who stray here without a reference from my cronies, would have noticed anyway that this nerd seems to be nerdy about English, British, WWII, drones, robots, vault, social media chat, messaging, nerd terminology, pictures created by cut and paste and overlay of objects and scenes taken or created by others on my own originals, story telling, adventure and spy movies reaching far back into history, science that borders on fantasy, overlay of individuals (often historical) on my current or fantasized scenes like what Pokemon Go does with little monsters overlaying on your mobile phone screens, pasting of my memes in your imagination with my blogs, and of course, cartoon characters, funny jokes, and literature quotes and misquotes etc.

the Dronesville residents call a meeting and give me a farewell party. The president of the Dronexit committee, a former botany science teacher, makes a descent speech about my contribution as the youngest (uncovered) member of this retiree community who belongs largely to the Baby Boomers and Silent Generation. “One thing we admit you do pretty well is being resourceful in trying and not giving up. And you dare reach where no one or hardly anyone dares.” He says.

The members reach an agreement and give me a gold medal with this inscription, “To reach or not to reach, that is the question” -a deliberate misquote from William Shakespeare – To be, or not to be (from Hamlet 3/1).

My former English teacher (who is also my grand-aunt) specifies, “We define the word ‘reach’ as follows:
[ no obj. ] (reach out) chiefly N. Amer. seek to establish communication with someone, with the aim of offering or obtaining assistance or cooperation: his style was to reach out all the time, especially to members of his own party | anyone in need of assistance should reach out to the authorities as soon as possible.
succeed in achieving: the intergovernmental conference reached agreement on the draft treaty.
make contact or communicate with (someone) by telephone or other means: I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.
(of a broadcast or other communication) be received by: television reached those parts of the electorate that other news sources could not.
succeed in influencing or having an effect on: their fresh sound and message reach people who may never set foot in a church.

Quite a tall order and prophecy for me and my futuristic journey in this blogging nerd’s life ahead. Blogging is all about ‘reaching’ an audience. The same with any social media. We just yearn to ‘connect’. Some prefer the word ‘share’. We like to share.

Whatever we use to describe this yearning behind every WordPress blogger, the motivation is similar. The mode of presentation too. We rely mainly on two things: pictures that say a thousand words. And a thousand words.

I have since discovered that this nerd’s targets do not read WordPress blogs or any blogs with words. To be precise, they do not read words unless the words interest them. How to make my words interesting to the millennials? My nerd friends tell me: fun and usefulness. And along this goal-path I shall plod.

I have not ferreted out the other two or three nerds hiding in Dronesville. They have moved house and do not seek to communicate. Apparently the lady who did not appear a nerd is one of them. She too vanishes into nerd’s air.

My time is up. I am due to travel to my distant and more exciting land treasure hunting. Good bye, Dronesville nerds. Time for my narrow door -my time travel portal now. Signed, a nerd from Dronesville. (Plodding on to reach my goals)


“To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,”
(William Shakespear)

p/s: This daily prompt stuff is good. I find lots of inspirations in formulating my nerd adventure story in Dronesville! Thanks! Continue to have fun, all!


hijacks and passwords. Dronexit#25

I see bombs exploding around me and marines fighting back with Anti-aircraft gunners. US planes and warships are in place too and a major combat at sea and air are in operation. I find myself suddenly adrift at sea and float between warships. The whole sky is aflame. Being still obsessed with the war I cannot switch to another mode. I float on watching the live battle between metal giants. I do not know how long I have drifted in the ocean of actions. The remarkable thing is nothing touches the time portal. I am totally unscathed. I am just a bystander. I finally fall asleep. When I wake I can see the sun is out the time portal has landed itself somewhere. When the portal reverts back into a robot strapped around my waist, I find that I am alone on a beach again. Has my mother’s warning come true? Am I now Tom Hanks (Chuck Noland)in the movie *Cast Away? I start looking for Wilson the volleyball which serves as Chuck Noland’s personified friend and only companion during the four years that Noland spends alone on a deserted island.

What I see is more shocking than the shocking volleyball if ever it is there. I see two men approaching. I am confronted by Thompson and Thompson the two who claim to be investigating for the Consumers Association. “Good morning! Nice to see you again!” One of them greets me with a handshake. The other one does the same in words and deed. They seem to ignore my condition: wearing old marines fatigue uniform, stinking of swamp creatures, with a swollen face due to insect bites. They escort me to the back of a black van and shove me inside. The windows are all shrouded with London fog and I can see nothing as the car speeds off. Soon I realize we are not on the ground. We are gliding in the air! “So you notice? We have our time portal too!” one Thompson remarks. “To be precise, this vehicle is a giant drone, not exactly a time portal.” Another Thompson remarks. “We have intercepted your blog and chat group beaming. Hahaha! So we know when and where you will land!”

I have been hijacked. Inside a drone with two lunatics. “We have no time for delay. You will give us the key and our agent will go to the house and open the vault and take the Drone#1 for us.” One Thompson says. “You see, we don’t even need you to take it for us or tell us what is inside.” Another says with a big grin. “Elementary. Just give us the key.”

“You see the fog? We are flying over the worst fog ever in the history of mankind. All we need to do is open the trap door below your seat and you will fall through into it. No one will see you again.” One Thompson tells me the consequence if I do not cooperate.

“The best option is to give us the key to the Dronexit#1. Once we receive confirmation it is in the hands of our agent, we will make sure you reach home safely like nothing has happened.” One says earnestly. “Yes, on our honor.” Another agrees.

“To be precise, your password.” Their hackers have failed. That is why they have resorted to this despicable criminal act. What choice do I have? To give the password or not to give? That is the question that matters now. The drone gives a running commentary of what we have below us, and right now it is a crocodile farm. Thompson orders the drone to hover over it as he says, “it is a perfect place to open the trap door!” Sadist!

“Password, please!” One of them is losing patience. One thing I am good at is originality. So I give him the password to one specific vault compartment which houses one box labelled Dronexit#1. Their agent soon confirms by mobile phone he has successfully got the box thus labelled. So These two clowns gentlemanly turn me loose at the entrance to Dronesville.

As I reach the street where I live, I can hear my dog Gracie barking like the house is on fire. The agent has chained her to her house and she is frantic. When seeing me, she barks again with relief and glee. I soak myself in a nice hot bath and take time to chill out later with a tub of ice cream with green tea flavor. Ah, home sweet home. My door bell rings and I know from Gracie’s bark who the visitor is. Who else but my former English teacher?

She has come to pick up her box in my self-custody. The box labelled Dronexit#1. “Is it safe?” She asks. “Yes, I have guarded it with my life.” I answer calmly. I key in my password and a specific compartment of the vault opens and releases the right box for the right owner.

I never know what the box contains. Being apprenticed in detecting fake diamonds I have acquired a skill to produce fakes when needed. Yes, you are right. I produced a few copies of the box with different contents. The vault has many compartments and each has its own unique password. The genuine safe keeping items require both the password of the owner and the password of the custodian (me) to access.

By the time the two Thompsons realize that they have failed in their mission I would not be around in this house. My former English teacher just told me that the police authority have acquired the property because of the famous vault. Since they will move into the neighborhood there will be no need for me to do the nightly drone patrol anymore! Hurrah! I can then be free to pursue my obsession with history. Remember? I am employed by the treasure hunters. Treasure hunting in historical sites of course! (To be continued for the last episode)

fog Londonphoto: Misty morning: A view of London from Greenwich, with Canary Wharf on the right and the Shard on the left in the distance. (by James Morrow)

*Cast Away is a 2000 American epic survival drama film directed and produced by Robert Zemeckis and starring Tom Hanks, Helen Hunt, and Nick Searcy. The film depicts a FedEx employee stranded on an uninhabited island after his plane crashes in the South Pacific and his Robinsonade attempts to survive on the island using remnants of his plane’s cargo. The film was a critical and commercial success, and Hanks was nominated for Best Actor in a Leading Role at the 73rd Academy Awards for his performance.


plagiarism memes surface Dronexit#24

quotes unseen“I’ve been imitated so well I’ve heard people copy my mistakes.” I hear this. As I ponder my fate of being stuck in the past instead of the future, I find myself in the time portal again! What a relief! As usual I have nothing to do than to rehearse the quotes in my head. The memes. The Pinterest. The Instagram. The whatever data I have been well fed as I grow up. Well, nerds, this is the best combination I can do today. This picture depicts the next worst case scenario if my robot goes wrong! What? You don’t like this? Excuse me! I think it’s really cool and chilling. Remember, you are not the one who is going to face my former English teacher who is now returning to Dronesville from her secret mission overseas. Am I not looking forward to see her if the robot time travel portal works perfectly? You bet. You try a day in Dronesville. Maybe the combination in the above picture of the day is more tolerable after all.


p/s: The Gen. X nerd-to-be lady who keeps complaining of my unpicturesque pictures please look beyond the surface. There is such depth and meaning deep down. Do me justice someone. I am not stupid you know.

pps: Mom just sends me this message! “Give me a break. You are not Elon Musk and I am not Maye Musk! Why can’t you stick to your millennial ranting about drones and robots and Pokemon Go? Now everyone starts asking me about you marooned in some silly Tom Hanks’ movie Castaway! The silly is for you and not Tom Hanks! BTW, I agree with that Gen.X lady. I don’t like your photos or whatever you call them! love and kisses, a harassed mom.

(Maye Musk is a model and dietician. Also the mother of Elon Musk, Kimbal Musk and Tosca Musk, she has been a model for 50 years appearing on the covers of magazines including Time.)

Maybe we should start again. Dronexit#23

dronexit#23 home A chat with my nerd friends: Maybe I should start again? What for? After twenty-two blogs? Unfortunately, nobody explained to me the difference between grade inflation and the real education so I tend to demonstrate poor spelling and even poorer grammar, not to mention the contents. I flopped writing? Work too? Ahem, I stand to correct, at work, I, a true millennial, believe I am an overachiever who just cannot be understood by loser bosses. Even my mother said so. One thing I am good at is being original. Which millennial-nerd, I ask you, would dare write such a blog? Hmmm, noted? You should be happy with this blog as no other self-respecting nerd would be seen dead posting this (not even my former English teacher and her retired-teacher-tech-know-nerd-to-be cronies.) The least I should receive is gratitude. Anyway, enough of ranting. Back to business at hand.

I realize my three days’ back-to-past odyssey is over and I can safely return to my own time. I have to admit right now I am definitely not in the condition I came in. You laugh and say i am just a pampered cry baby? Wait till you see the marks of mosquito bites which have left no ground/skin untouched! Mosquitoes, leeches, all sorts of creepy things…Yet, come what may, I am all ready to be teleported home -back to Dronesville. I can imagine the shock of my fellow marines from 1942 when they wake up and find that their human metal detector has vanished into thin air!

The youngest nerd (from Generation Z) asks in the chat, “How can you be so sure you can come back?” Before I can answer, the others answer her, “That’s the way we millennials are, don’t you know? We trust the tech!” We have grown up with it. How not to trust it? I am once again full of confidence and hope waiting for midnight. Home sweet home. Here I come. Maybe.

As the digital clock on my mobile phone home screen blinks 11:55 I start feeling the change in the robot strapped to my body. This is immediately interrupted by gunfire and men running around. The enemy has located our camp and their bombers are firing at us overhead, with explosions all round and everybody running for cover. The camp is on fire. At first I run with the marines. Then I come to a halt. I am supposed to be teleported to future by the time travel portal. Why am I still here? Maybe my robot is not working? Maybe I get stuck in the 1940s? Maybe I never see home again? Maybe…I should start again.

(To be continued)


we search for memes-millennial jokes (Dronexit#22)

millennials then and now“A joke a day keeps the doctor away. LOL.”
“I am part of the millions of my generation who are addicted to meme culture. I follow more than 30 Instagram “meme accounts,” a combination of funny pictures mixed with relevant commentary. My generation turns to memes — our version of “joke searches” — so that we can connect and relate.”

Today I receive the above quotes from a millennial fellow nerd, saying exactly what I intend to do here as I switch off my history mode. The problem is what kind of joke am I in now? I have no joke right now as I cannot access the internet. My phone is restricted to receiving the social media group chat called Dronexit# which some nerd meme-jokers set up for me just for the laugh. No it’s not in Instagram or anywhere you may want to access. It is a private network. Anyway my own mind data storage is overloaded with historical quotes and keeps unloading right now.

Here is a good quote from an American WWII veteran.
An 18-year-old Bronx kid named Al “Duke” Dellaera recalls the initial hours that kicked off a grueling, six-month battle that helped turn the tide against the Axis Powers in World War II. Seventy years later, the Guadalcanal Invasion stands as a seminal moment in World War II, the beginning of the end of Japanese naval dominance in the Pacific Theater. It was the Allies’ first engagement with the Japanese Imperial Navy, which had for months been establishing bases and dominance throughout the Pacific Theater, threatening supply routes between the U.S. and Australia.
“There was so much action going on that you didn’t dwell on anything,” Dellaera remembered. “But believe me, I was afraid a lot of times before things got started. I’m not afraid to admit it. But when action started, that fear left you and you concentrated on doing what you had to do.
“They were desperate days,” he added, recalling times when he subsisted on maggot-infested oatmeal. “You’ll eat anything when you’re hungry. But I wanted to be there because the country was at war and I felt it was my duty.”
During one nighttime patrol along the Ilu River, Dellaera saw a “shadow up ahead” in the grass, just shy of where heavy vegetation began.
“It turned out to be a Japanese soldier … so there we were, face-to-face more or less, about 25 to 30 yards apart. He stopped and I stopped, and we just stayed there quietly. And he was probably thinking, ‘Did I see something there or was it my imagination?’ And I was thinking the same thing.”

The worst thing is I am still stuck in the history of heroic acts of the young people of the past. I have been teleported to Solomon Islands. On July 6, 1942, the Japanese landed on Guadalcanal Island and began constructing an airfield there. More than 11,000 Marines U.S. marines landed and launched a surprise attack on August 7, 1942 and took control of the air base under construction. The U.S. forces quickly took their main objective, the airfield, and the outnumbered Japanese troops retreated, but not for long. Reinforcements were brought in, and fierce hand-to-hand jungle fighting ensued.

“I have never heard or read of this kind of fighting,” wrote one American major general on the scene. “These people refuse to surrender.” The Americans were at a particular disadvantage, being assaulted from both the sea and air. Both sides endured heavy losses to their warship contingents. However, the Japanese suffered a far greater toll of casualties, forcing their withdrawal from Guadalcanal by February 1943. In total, the Japanese had lost more than 25,000 men, compared with a loss of 1,600 by the Americans. Each side lost 24 warships.(Quoted/excerpted from: http://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/u-s-forces-invade-guadalcanal)

Being a present day nerd and am stuck in this 1940s history of real war, is the most difficult and challenging impossibility that no nerd, however brave, would want to go through. There is only one thing I was good at. I can operate my digital robot as a sensor to detect the concentration of enemy forces in a location despite the jungle terrain. My solar power robot works well for this function only. So as I march in the swamp with the marines I function like a first rate metal detector. In today’s picture you can see a typical nerd (not me, of course) in striped pajamas with a cup of coffee. Well, it illustrates how incongruous a nerd is in the midst of brave marines charging at the enemy’s territory. LOL. (My many fellow nerds old and young are rolling on the floor in laughters or rather hysterics, for which I subsequently receive positive ‘like’ comments.) (To be continued)


Note: dictionary definition of memes
meme |mēm|
an element of a culture or system of behavior that may be considered to be passed from one individual to another by nongenetic means, especially imitation.
• a humorous image, video, piece of text, etc., that is copied (often with slight variations) and spread rapidly by Internet users.
memetic |mēˈmetik, mə-| adjective
1970s: from Greek mimēma ‘that which is imitated,’ on the pattern of gene.

The stubborn battle of Britain (Dronexit#20)

Hms_rainbow_bow“On the sea of turmoil some hang on to life stubbornly and live on.”(Stubborn millennial’s lesson.)The day of the week was Friday,October 4, 1940. HMS Rainbow was a Rainbow-class submarine built for the Royal Navy during the 1930s.The boats were armed with six 21-inch torpedo tubes in the bow and two more in the stern. They carried six reload torpedoes for a grand total of fourteen torpedoes. Rainbow served in the Far East until 1940. She left for a patrol off Calabria on 23 September 1940 and was due to be back in Alexandria on 16 October, she was last heard from on 25 September. She is believed to have been sunk on 4 October in a collision with the Italian merchant ship, Antonietta Costa, which reported striking an underwater object at 03:30, followed by a huge underwater explosion on that date. (I quote this part of the history because it is sad and seems that the British and Allies have lost ground to the enemy forces.)

But all is not lost for the good guys as evidenced by history. The Battle of Britain was a stubborn battle involving major air campaign fought over southern England in the summer and autumn of 1940,  between July and October 1940. The Germans began by attacking coastal targets and British shipping operating in the English Channel. They launched their main offensive on 13 August. Attacks moved inland, concentrating on airfields and communications centres. Nearly 3,000 men of the RAF took part in the Battle of Britain. While most of the pilots were British, men came from all over the Commonwealth and occupied Europe – from New Zealand, Australia, Canada, South Africa, Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), Belgium, France, Poland and Czechoslovakia. There were even some pilots from the neutral United States and Ireland. Many people worked to defend Britain. Ground crew – including riggers, fitters, armourers, and repair and maintenance engineers – looked after the aircraft. Factory workers helped keep aircraft production up. The Observer Corps tracked incoming raids – its tens of thousands of volunteers ensured that the 1,000 observation posts were continuously manned. Anti-aircraft gunners, searchlight operators and barrage balloon crews all played vital roles in Britain’s defense. Anew danger had arisen. From the start of the war German submarines and surface craft, defying the convention which prohibited undeclared minefields dangerous to peaceful shipping, began to lay mines in British coastal waters. In September and October (1939 or 1940?) 59,027 tons of shipping were sunk by mines off the East Coast, in the Thames Estuary and elsewhere.

Well, I just think I might as well quote the above from horrible history in my mind data base so that other millennial nerds know what I am talking about. Crossing the channel in October 1940 is as easy as a nightmare. Mines underwater. Enemies’ planes overhead. The Christian Tandoori chef and his daughter are stubborn people. The man says, “We must cross tonight. We shall make it home alive!” The daughter nods her head and says, “Amen!” What option does a nerd from the future have against such stubborn and determined mind-set? NONE. So I nod my head and say, “Amen!”

My robot and mobile/cell phone remain quiet and still. They seem to be hibernating and I cannot get any signal at all. I am stuck in this 1940 horrible history whether I like it or not. But I can assure you it is very exciting and meaningful. It is far more interesting than playing the drone, the robot, and the Pokemon Go. The night becomes the most memorable night of my life.

As you can read from the picture I have included “close to death, six exhausted, freezing airmen are plucked to safety after surviving 11 days in a dinghy using their pants for a fishing net and their shirts as a sail.” “One can’t even begin to imagine the feeling of hopelessness and despair the men felt as day after day went by.” “Although they kept up morale by praying twice a day, two men became delirious.” This is real life. A stubborn struggle to hang on to life and hope, in the Atlantic 400 miles south west of Ireland. With limited supplies and no way to send an SOS, what followed was a desperate attempt to keep the crew alive. During the 11-day or­­­deal the men were capsized by huge waves, kept awake by freezing spray and had to bale out using their boots. They sucked rain-soaked handkerchiefs for water and tried to land fish in a pair of pants on a pole. But their only catch was foul-tasting jellyfish. After waiting close to the crash site for a week in the hope a search party would spot them, the survivors made a sail from two shirts to blow them towards safety. The dinghy’s speed picked up to two knots and after four days they were spotted by a British destroyer.*

What happens to our own tiny fishing boat and this fateful night? All I can write down is our captain is a brave man and he does not give up. He braves the dark night, the treacherous english channel waters, the threatening bombers, the deadly mines, and the worst of all, the fear of imminent death. It has taken him the whole night to battle the sea and its danger.

As we near the English side and see dawn, a German bomber appears overhead and we know all hopes are gone. The man and his daughter continue defiantly looking up and praying. Suddenly we hear another kind of engine. No, they are not engine sound. They are sounds from seven giant gulls. The winged giants fly powerfully and fearlessly towards the bomber head-on! The sight in the grey dawn is spectacular. The gulls look transparent and blend with a small round patch of blue sky that it brings with it but we can clearly see their outlines. They fly like they are the RAFs or even better. But they are not cold machines or hardwares. They are live birds. They are invincible. The bomber spots the giant birds and tries to fire at them in vain. The bomber panics and turns tail but it is too late. The birds encircle the bomber and capture it with their gigantic wings, forcing it to lose its engine power and plunge perpendicularly into the channel with an underwater explosion and sinks into its watery grave.

What do we do on the little French Brittany fishing boat? We give a standing ovation to the birds (or angels?). They fly over us and escort us until we reach British shore. It shows that it is good to be stubborn at the right time for the right goal after all. (To be continued)

(*The story about the six airmen surviving miraculously on a lifeboat is quoted from http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/real-life-stories/amazing-story-downed-world-war-7579828)

“On the sea of turmoil some hang on to life stubbornly and live on.” (Stubborn millennial’s lesson.)

unsung hero’s praise (Dronexit#19)

impossible sea“The impossible could not have happened, therefore the impossible must be possible in spite of appearances.”
(Agatha Christie, Murder on the Orient Express) Looking at the formidable raging sea on this side of the channel, my heart sinks. It is an impossible task to cross tonight. Yet the man and the girl are full of hope. This is what they say to me, “Don’t give up, stay positive and speak good words.”

The man who cooked the delicious Tanddori chicken and Naan bread is not the British soldier who did his solo escape from Dunkirk to England in 1940. This man is an Anglo-Indian chef stranded in the European great war and is determined to take his daughter back to England where she can be safe as she is half Jewish. His English-Jewish wife died in the war and he has vowed to keep the daughter alive.

My mind is full of stored data and as usual, I try to browse through and search out the more positive ones about making the impossible become possible. “Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying,’ she said. ‘One can’t believe impossible things.’ I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. There goes the shawl again!” (Lewis Carroll)
“Before I go on with this short history, let me make a general observation– the test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise. This philosophy fitted on to my early adult life, when I saw the improbable, the implausible, often the “impossible,” come true.” (F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Crack-Up)

The man and his daughter have a story to tell. But they are not telling much. Instead, they read the Bible, sing praise hymns and pray. I keep to myself and cannot help but wonder why I am here. Why me? Why do I appear and cross the channel with them tonight under such precarious condition. The Great War is raging. There are mines under water. The Nazis strafing the waters around you, bombs landing nearby. The weather seems unpromising too. Everything seems to go against us three going to sea and crossing the English channel. Then the man says, “come, it’s time.”

“Nothing is more imminent than the impossible . . . what we must always foresee is the unforeseen.”(Victor Hugo, Les Misérables) Their house is quite near the sea. They have hidden a boat at a deserted spot. It is a small 1940s fishing boat which the Brittany fishermen commonly used. The man says it was badly damaged during the fateful evacuation at Dunkirk!

Late May, 1940, was a desperate time for the Allies. France, Denmark, Luxembourg, and Norway had been invaded by the Germans, and Holland and Belgium had formally surrendered. Strafed by the Luftwaffe, hopelessly outgunned by the German Army, the troops of the British Expeditionary Forces retreated to the beaches of Dunkirk, France. There was little hope of rescue by navy ships because of the shallow waters of the channel. A call went out from the British Admiralty for small boats that could be used in the rescue of the trapped British and French soldiers. Then came a miracle, over 800 boats–pleasure boats, fishing smacks, trawlers, lifeboats, paddle steamers and many other types of craft, captained by sailors of the Royal Navy and by ordinary civilians–set sail to save these men by either transporting them directly back to England or ferrying them out to British destroyers waiting offshore in deeper waters. 338,000 British troops were saved from annihilation from the Nazi onslaught in June 1940 by the “little boats.” (This paragraph is quoted from: https://theyearoflivingenglishly.wordpress.com/2013/05/26/memorial-day-2013-dunkirk-englands-finest-hour/)

The nameless chef volunteered to ferry the British troops too during that rescue operation. His boat was badly damaged. He has since repaired it and is now ready to take his daughter back to England. “You will witness the impossible coming to pass tonight.” The man is confident. Then he says, “The Lord is my strength and my song, and he has become my salvation; this is my God, and I will praise him, my father’s God, and I will exalt him.”
Yes, we set sail towards England at midnight. (To be continued)

Note: Is this going to be a miracle? The fact that I am still alive and writing this Dronexit# blog means it shall be a miracle. I even anticipate hearing my senior family members singing endless praises to God when I safely return to my timezone at the end of this time travel adventure. I am an optimistic millennial, remember?

a profound starwar

a profound starwar

profound starwar2

profound starwar3It was an ordinary night and I was hurrying back across a narrow strait. The bus was crowded with millennials and everyone was engrossed with his or her own mobile. As we were approaching the other end of the bridge, I took photos at random out of boredom. I took about two dozen pictures not really looking at the subjects. A few days later I downloaded the pictures into my PC and looked at them. I found a series of star war scenes captured by my ordinary Samsung Galaxy…I look at them now and ask myself a few profound questions:
What have I really captured?
Are they aliens shooting in another realm?
Had the bus crossed into another dimension as it was loaded with tech know millennials?
Did we by mass clicking on the digital mobiles create a concentrated virtual zone where the virtual activities moved into the physical?
These are what we nerds consider as profound questions.

Note: The photos are in their original forms, unedited. But I had to reduce the size considerably.

dramatic Evacuation (Dronexit#17)

dronexit17“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times …” of course I am plagiarizing from Mr. Charles Dickens. I am in this time portal for what seems like ages and all I can do is to record down my current thoughts using my mobile. Strange that my mobile can still be used for recording as I believe I am crossing into spaces not governed by earth laws. The trouble with earth is that we human have run out of original words and phrases but we have been super-drilled to quote clichés from school days. How not to plagiarize? You tell me. The current trend of viralizing (my newly coined word) in social media is the best example of we millennials running out of originality. LOL.

Enough of ranting about English (which is to satisfy my former English teacher). How is the ride? My young nerd friend, don’t try if you can avoid this. Well, I have set my target destination as 2040-a golden tech age according to the latest tech know guru-nerd magazine prediction.

The time portal is is a tiny robot which I strap onto my waist. Once I press the button ON it becomes an invisible opaque shield cum capsule all round me and teleport me to another time and space. I have the longest lasting Solar pack from an inventor I won’t name to avoid being accused of advertisement. I presume 2040 still functions with sunlight. I intend to get their latest mobile!

Everything suddenly stands still. My time portal reappears as a robot strapped to my waist again. I feel chilly. Where am I? I can hear geese. I see that I am on a seashore with jagged rocks and gloomy sky. It doesn’t look 2040. It looks more like some scenes from old English movies. My robot mobile blinking the time and date as 26th May 1940!

Impossible! Either I have keyed in the wrong year or the time portal has made a mistake. I check location. The screen blinks: RAMSGATE. Being one fond of reading horrible history, I know what this means. 700 private ships sailed from Ramsgate in England to Dunkirk in France between 26 May and 4 June 1940 to help rescue more than 338,000 Allied (British, French, Polish and Belgian) soldiers trapped on the beaches at Dunkirk during Second World War! My mobile starts broadcasting to me a call by King George VI attending a special service at Westminster Abbey, having declared a national day of prayer.

What am I doing here? I am not being punished to do a research on the evacuation or the battle at Dunkirk, am I? Why me? My negative mind starts whining. The thought of me being stranded in the possibly worst era in the past to do history essay writing is practically chilling. I cannot think of a worse penalty for an ex-student who flopped history.

This girl appears with a wounded(?) snow goose. I am now inside the story “Snow Goose” from Paul Gallico. “I had just come to accept that my life would be ordinary when extraordinary things began to happen.” (Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, by Ransom Riggs). Another cliché line quoted from my mind data bank. I can’t help it. Unlike the original story I have not become the handicapped artist. This seems a new story after all. The snow goose is not wounded.

I smile at her and ask, “Do you speak English? Where are we?”
She smiles and replies in English, “Devon, France.”
I could have fallen off the cliff. I am not at the safe side of the channel? I am on the wrong side! What is the other story that involved Devon? I do a quick search in my brain. A British soldier left behind at Dunkirk, forced to be stranded in France for four months surviving on stealing from farmers’ kitchen and living in the wild. But there was a good ending because he managed to steal a fishing boat from Devon and sail home to Britain!

Then she says, “Tonight we cross the channel. Three of us. You wait here.” So we are crossing the channel ahead of the actual Dunkirk rescue? I ask to clarify, “What is the date today?” She looks puzzled. “4th October, 1940!”
The sudden changes of date and place no longer shock me. I know I am in a story so I am alright. Good thing I have not become the poor soldier who had to suffer four months as a fugitive being hunted by the enemy!
She soon disappears. I wait behind some rocks patiently for sundown. (To be continued)

The above picture is a snap shot of what I shall go through during the next phase of this time travel journey. Another narrow escape.

time portal starts here (dronexit#16)


For the benefit of those nerds interested in how the time portal looks or feels like, here are today’s pictures of two perspectives of the time portal: A dark side and a bright side. It depends on your own perspective. Cool.
As my time runs out and the time strikes twelve I get set, press the button ON, and go. What happens? I shall talk about it when I reach there. For the young nerds to be, my advice is, it is not that cool. Don’t try without parental guidance. PG rating.

An Admirable Leap: Back to the future (dronexit#15)

The twin men in black grossly underestimate me. Having been with the top secret team of advanced tech nerds for three years had amply equipped me to overcome any situation. I am not going to wait for them to come and get me or coerce me to surrender the Dronexit#1 which my former English teacher deposited in the vault and instructed me to guard it with my life. I call a nerd friend who owes me a big favor and instruct him to come and feed Gracie in my absence. Thereafter I prepare to go on a long journey and not appear until my grand aunt returns in three days. I know the Thompson and Thompson have guarded the entrance and exit to Dronesville. But I am not getting out in the physical realm. I have my Plan-C which I shall execute tonight.
Those who have watched Michael J. Fox’s and the mad professor’s Back to the Future movie series will guess the future events by looking at today’s photo which will give you some clues: The mad professor holding on to the clock, an antique car, a man’s brain interacting with machine, a mysterious doorway into another sanctuary where I can continue to chill out without disturbance. But I don’t know why I also pick the little girl with the snow goose. Hmmm it’s from a Paul Gallico’s famous story book. Is it a warning that something might go wrong? Or a diversion? But I have no time to ponder now. Anyway I take and merge five pictures at random from my stock and this picture comes out!
I don’t know what tech level you have when you stumble on this blog. I just have to assume you are living in the present time or future time. My Plan-B robot is versatile and can multitask quite sufficiently for normal tech tasks. It functions as a PC, projector, and game simulator generally, rather common nowadays. But the Plan-C robot is something of another class. It is a time portal that allows access to another time and space.
To be honest, I have never used this time portal. It is meant for emergency escape only. but I consider the present predicament an emergency. I cannot handle normal human social issue like Thompson and Thompson who claim they are from the Consumers Association with a product misuse complaint to investigate. I have never learned social skill and problem solving in school. So I now consider I am quite entitled to use the Plan-C to escape tonight.
As midnight draws near I can feel a rush of adrenalin and hydrocortisone to be exact. My palms are getting damp and my systolic heart rate increases. I am all dressed in my travel gear for the future. I have set the year and date I shall appear in the new world. The reader will think this is incredibly crazy. That is because you don’t know me and the incredibly crazy world I am at right now. No matter what you may be thinking you must admire that I am truly courageously unstoppable to have taken this daring leap of faith in action! (To be continued)

Unstoppable treasure hunt (Dronexit#14)

dronexit14 bird head“Into the face of the young man who sat on the terrace of the Hotel Magnifique at Cannes there had crept a look of furtive shame, the shifty, hangdog look which announces that an Englishman is about to talk French.” I copy this famous first line from PG Wodehouse’s “The Luck of the Bodkins”.

What can be more humiliating for a nerd than to be cornered and exposed? The worst thing is that no one will bail me out anyway if I should get into big trouble. “Teach you a lesson.” Most of the extended family members will say. I should have stayed French instead of wanting to be British. Maybe I would have had better luck. The family did not think high of me because I flung my college and went to Belgium. After an apprenticeship in the diamond trade I was given the boot. I joined the Roman legionarius (stuntmen of course) and was again given a discharge (not so honorary) at the end of my contract. Then I was employed by the King Solomon’s Treasure Hunt top secret project with a group of high-tech nerds. We went all over three large continents living in constant stress and treacherous conditions over a period of three years. That was how I got burn out and had to return home for a break. No, I am not a criminal as insinuated by the two crooks. It’s just that I cannot talk about my real assignment with anyone, not even family. I cannot get involved with the law. I have pledged secrecy in exchange for very high stake.

I now realize I don’t have the steely cool nerve and hawk-like alertness of 007 Bond. On the other hand, with luck I could cope as good as Johnny England. Since I am committed to such a confidential matter why do I bother to entertain the group of senior nerds? Well, I ask the same question too. Why do school kids do their homework? Because the teachers ask them to. I know this is not a good answer. But it just has to make do for now. I have more important thing to think over.

What were the wrong turns I made in my life?
1. choosing a career that calls for fictitious movie or best sellers’ characters like 007 James Bond, Ethan Hunt, Jason Bourne, or Indiana Jones.
2. coming home to Dronesville thinking that I can chill out here in peace and quiet hibernating in the midst of an ancient community.
3. making the assumption that no one here will be high tech enough to know that I am using my Plan-B robot.
4. worst of all, making the assumption that the senior retirees in this community will never be interested in technology and will definitely leave me in peace.

You ask, if I am that poor or sub-standard why do my Treasure Hunt employers employ me? Good question. I ask the same too. So there. No answer for you. What? You don’t like this blog because it doesn’t give away the answer? Okay. The answer is obvious. I can smell treasure. I am more accurate than any advanced tech gadget.

And I have a Plan-C. I am unstoppable. LOL. (To be continued)

p/s the picture shows how a cluttered nerd mind looks like.

The table turned the wrong way (dronexit#13)

drone crisisI am now accustomed to the unexpected. The door bell rings at 8am and it is bad news. Thompson and Thompson (not their real names) are at the door. Today the grand aunt is out of town and they seem to know.
“We might as well be frank with you, we are not from the FBI.” Having planted themselves comfortably on my arm chairs, one of them confesses. “Neither are we from M15.” Another adds. “Or KGB. Not German BND either.”
“We are from the Consumer Association.” One of them declares.
“Huh?” I almost fall off my chair.
“We are here to investigate a complaint.”
“Of a product.”
They continue in turn. To me it sounds like Greek. “What product?” I haven’t sold anything during the last twelve months. The last thing I sold was my old laptop before I came home.
“To be precise, the misuse of a product.” They explain.
“But I have nothing to declare. I have not purchased any new product for years.” (This is true as I use what others have purchased.)
“What we mean is that we have been observing you for quite sometime.”
“How?” I cannot believe my ears. One Thompson walks to my coffee table and take my mobile and smiles, “You see, this is our little spy! This led us to your exact location and where you were every time you ventured outside. We even know what you look at and what you are interested in. Of course we read all your chats and listen to all your calls.”
“But, but, but…” This self-professed nerd is speechless.
Thompson says, “Look, we are doing you a favor and we expect a favor in return.”
“You have misused a drone to do what it has no license to do.”
I know I am defeated so I ask,”How do you spy on me through this mobile?”
The two burst out laughing. “You mean you being a nerd and never know? through all the Apps of course! ”
“But I never allowed them to access my location etc.”
“Oh, that,” They laugh louder. “Don’t you know whether you allow or not they still access?”
“Huh?” I am now dumb-founded. The two have the upper hand. So I ask finally, “What do you want?”
“Just a small matter, the content of your grand aunt’s box labelled Dronexit#1.”
I know they are not going to tell me who they really are and why they are after the Dronexit#1. But I know I am cornered and there is no foreseeable rescue from anywhere. Like my former English teacher had said, these two are up to no good. She is the only M15 equivalent who can deter them. But she is now on her way to the airport.
“By the way, ” One Thompson says, “Don’t you nerds know the latest Pokemon Go too takes away your privacy?”
By now I no longer care. But I have no idea how to get them off my back.
Then one Thompson says, “Last night you were videotaped too when you spied on others. LOL.”
“Your robot is quite a gem. Multi-tasking and very entertaining. Where did you acquire or steal it? Any thought of selling it? No point leaving it idle as you might go to jail.” Another Thompson says.
“Your grand aunt will be away for three days and you still have plenty of time to think about what we are offering. Sleep on it.” Then they leave me sitting there feeling miserable and wallowing in self-pity. I think of my wasted life as a failed nerd. all the short-cuts I have tried to take and ended with wrong turns. (To be continued)

(This is part of a mini-series of somewhat ‘preposterous’ but ‘entertaining’ short stories I try to concoct for and communicate with my younger nerd-to-be relatives and older amateur-nerd cronies. Pure fiction except for the dog Gracie. The picture which I created from several photos taken in Tokyo one evening many years ago depicts a sadly confused and chaotic world with an overload of unfiltered and often biased and deceptive virtual data mingled with physical world but have no substance of value pertaining to teaching the young to value, honor and respect real life.)

Millennial elusive song (Dronexit#12)

droneexit12 elusive nerdsTonight I am turning the table by roping in two other young elusive nerds so there will be three of us and not one lone nerd-wolf in the digital wild.

I have this fail-proof nerds catching plan which I shall execute with perfection. As the night draws nearer to midnight I become more and more confident. Tell me, which nerd can resist the lure of the sight and sound of a low flying drone bearing the latest Pokémon Go free gift depositing on his or her bedroom window sill?

Hahaha, that is what I think as I walk down the street with my drone and robot flying above and my dog Gracie trotting behind. To cover the whole Dronesville I shall take at least three hours but I have since received renewable energy super-charged cell pack from SolarCity and the drone has been modified today for the job even if it takes the whole night!

The patrol goes pretty well and smoothly in that despite the temptation not one senior nerd opens his or front door or window to inspect the incredible noise the drone and the robot are producing as we walk from house to house. Many have obediently switched off their lights too. There is a false alarm in one case when one lady who apparently is not a senior or junior nerd has her lights on, opens her window and watches the whole show performed by the robot and receives her Pokémon Go gift pack with glee too.

Gracie the dog is not perturbed by the show. She seems in a serious mood. An hour has passed before we locate our first elusive prey. The blue building looks like a warehouse with all windows closed. But one can see light beaming out from behind one window. The drone flies near and the robot starts its show. From my mobile which is linked by blue tooth to the drone’s camera I can see the window scene closed-up. A young man opens his window and watches the entire drone-robot-show. He seems dazed encountering the incredible spectacle at his window. He retrieves the free gift too and shuts his window after that. The drone has taken a good video of this nerd and I have jotted down his street address too. There is no house number on his front door. But I can remember the location.

By the time I walk pass the last house in Dronesville I realize that the second elusive nerd has hidden himself really well. He has been alerted? Hmmm we shall see. Anyway I have caught one elusive nerd tonight and shall go home and call it a day/night. (To be continued)

fail-proof ferreting out: (Dronexit#11)

dronexit11Today I become a detective. I am going to chase after the two elusive millennial nerds who are presumably evading the rest of the community. The majority of the residents are in their 65-85. Millennials are the rare handful. In fact, I suspect I am the only one as I have never met the other two who are rumored to be staying somewhere inside these few blocks of exclusive houses surrounding a little park. Since I am the only young nerd found/trapped in the open (unlike the other two apparently in hiding) for the whole community to access, I have become the common helper. I am therefore stuck with the after midnight drone patrol in my unofficial job specification for an indefinite period until I ferret out the other two millennial nerds if they do exist.
I decide to deploy all my Ethan Hunt’s skills and expertise to flush out the two young nerds from their chill out holes. Unlike Ethan Hunt of Mission Impossible I do not have access to official classified information. What shall I do? I have searched the Facebook for likely nearby residents in vain. They do not use land line and the phone book is of no use to me. Hmmm here is what I shall do:
I shall set the drone to fly low and attract their attention tonight. If I were one of them what shall I do if I detect the drone? What is a millennial like? Here is a list of negative stereotype characteristics from the internet:
1. Millennials grew up with instant access to the Internet, and demand instant gratification and immediate reward for their efforts.
2. Some Millennials need to be reassured by receiving recognition and rewards.
3. Some Millennials may become frustrated and may decide to quit before achieving.
4. The negative stereotype of being entitled and unwilling to work.
The drone must fulfill the following conditions: give instant gratification and reward effortlessly for the receivers. The millennials like something innovative, funny, and original.
I have my Plan-B robot which can help the drone to do all that. So I inform all senior residents to ignore the drone tonight no matter what happens.
My plan is simple and easy to execute: I shall set the drone to fly low and near everyone’s window with lights-on. The robot will be dangled beneath the drone and projects a comical virtual show complete with simulated laser beams, song and music when it detects a human audience. The drone will take a photo of the person who responds and looks out of his window, and also take a picture of the front of his house with its number. The drone will drop a self-adhesive Pokémon Go gift packet onto the window sill too to lure the person to open his window and retrieve the packet.
Armed with this fantastic fail-proof plan I congratulate myself and feel as elated as though I have already bagged the two poor nerds who will henceforth replace me in my after-midnight drone patrol. (To be continued)

a dog’s life (dronexit#7)


tree and dog

This is how I become the neighborhood’s number one hero. The drone lands on my head precariously yet without a hitch beautifully executed by my Plan-B robot in my pocket. While balancing myself with the drone up there like a good oriental circus practitioner with super-human physical skills and dexterity, I am warmly ushered into the dining room of the oldest and most respectable resident senior nerd, the Dronexit chairman, Mr.Bee (not his real name)on this block. My dog Gracie too receives undeserved favor with my sketcher still hanging from her mouth.

The Dronexit chairman calls a meeting as all the members (ages between 65-85) are here. We have cups of hot tea with cookies. Gracie gets her doggie treat too. Mr.Bee, who is a retired botanist congratulates me for completing a truly difficult and near impossible task climbing up that tree with such speed with the dog dangling at one foot. But he warns that the next secret mission should not be so noisy and open for everyone to see. He expects discretion.

“But sir, I cannot do it in silence with Gracie insists on going the round with me!” I try to get out of this most unpleasant assignment. But they are not going to let me off. While all shake their heads, Mr. Bee says, “Young person, just look around the dinning table, is anyone of us capable of climbing that tree?”

“Is any head here capable of performing as a drone landing pad so perfectly?”

“Can any of us race up and down the streets in such speed and agility with a furiously barking dog right at the heel?”

“That settles it, none of us will be seen dead doing any of the stuff you do tonight!” My former English teacher finally declares.

The meeting is dismissed amicably and I get to go home to sleep finally, with the robot in one pocket, drone in the other, and Gracie happily trotting along, stuffed with doggie goodies. At least it has been a good night out for her after all. As for me? Speechless again. (to be continued)


SpaceX rocket landing padUnpredictable
I know too late that the drone has decided to use my head as its landing pad. It is a safe landing for the drone. As for me? Speechless.
“We are the distracted generations, wasting hours a day checking irrelevant emails and intrusive social media accounts. And this “always on” culture – exacerbated by the smartphone – is actually making us more stressed and less productive.” Someone just sent me this email and I am reading it before I venture out to do Dronexit patrol at nightfall, armed with my Plan-B. How true it sounds. All the distractions my email and smartphone are causing me. Because I have subscribed to a number of blogs my email alerts me as and when they post new blogs. Why don’t I unsubscribe or turn off the notifications? I like to say to them I appreciate them asap just as they do to my blogs. It is like a social club even though we have no idea who we really are restricting our interactions only on virtual platform. I now know when, at what frequency and what sort of blogs they likely post and what photos I can expect to see. Quite a civil and genteel small group of perhaps twenty or less regulars.

Coming back to Plan-B. I might as well get ready for the fist drone patrol. I enter my closet and the vault below and take out a tiny robot. I am not supposed to take it out but I have no option. I am not going out there in the dark alone. I carry it in my camel bush jacket left chest pocket. It is guarding my heart. Then I put on my sketcher shoes for walking and am quite ready with the pre-set drone in my right chest pocket, wearing my night-vision goggles.

The time is almost 3am. This is the scheduled time set by the group of statistical and mathematical retirees. But I have overlooked one thing. The dog Gracie. She is not used to seeing me going for walk without her! As I walk stealthily down the street, Gracie is barking in my garden like the house is on fire and she is stuck inside. She is a tiny dog but her bark is mysteriously amplified as if she is barking through loud speakers with over 20,000 watts in amplification in the heat of the night. I look at my watch and note that it is exactly three and the drone must set off now! I have no choice but to release it into the night sky. But Gracie is not stopping. I can hear her two streets away. Some houses switch on their lights. I have to go back to stop her. So I switch on the robot, climb the tallest tree in the neighborhood and place it there to supervise the drone while I race home.

Since I can’t stop Gracie from barking I decide to release her onto the street as well. She enjoys her night out tremendously and is so excited that she continues barking gleefully as we race down the blocks to where the tree and my drone patrol operation is. By then I am more concerned about my precious robot alone up there on the tree top. So I start climbing up and poor Gracie is concerned too as she has never seen me doing this in her life! She thinks perhaps I am in grave danger so she jumps her olympic best and sinks her teeth into my sketcher and holds fast with all her might, refusing to let go.

By then all the lights are switched on and my elderly neighbors are opening their front doors with base ball clubs and shot guns in their hands. “O my Plan-B, my Plan-B,” I manage to shake loose the sketcher hanging from Gracie’s mouth and continue climbing up to reach the robot. It is in tact, perching on a branch. No words can express my relief as I safely tuck it away in my chest pocket again and climb down.

But then the neighbors are ducking and some are running back into their homes.

I know too late that the drone has decided to use my head as its landing pad. It is a safe landing for the drone. As for me? Speechless. (To be continued)

(This is part six of a series in a short story for my nerdy young and older friends and others.The dog is non-fiction.)

drone patrol.dronexit#5

drone with zoom camera copyIt started with a phone call. A sharp and ear-piercing ring wakes me at 5am. ” Good News!” The caller continued, “After taking a trip to the first ever InterDrone convention in Las Vegas, I have been convinced and bought the best drone for the aspiring aerial photographer or videographer and amateur nerd. It has a forward-collision sensing system that will stop it in its tracks before it gets too friendly with a tree. it has built-in optical zoom and night vision too.” My 68 year old senior Dronexit (I have decided to give her this code name) is on the phone. She is full of positive news. Sometimes I suspect she has the intelligence of a potential rocket scientist nerd. She is truly a new breed of senior citizen tech-know-to-be in the neighborhood.

I want to commend her but suddenly realize that she is neither a photographer or videographer. What is the expensive drone camera for? She seems to have predicted my concern. “O, BTW, I am going to lend you this equipment to do the counter-spy work in our neighborhood. We have decided that you are just the right person to man our night drone patrol.”

“Huh?” I fall off the bed and collapse on the carpeted floor. “What? Who?” I mutter under my breath. But the senior has all the answers, “A group of us senior amateur nerds have formed a neighborhood dronexit cell group. You are our honorary member.”

She seems to read my mind and reassures me, “Don’t worry, all you need to do is patrol at night. A battery lasts around 28 minutes and you carry a spare one too. So it should not take you more than an hour!”

“I will personally bring you the drone and a random patrol schedule which we have worked out based on the latest probability statistics so you can start tonight.”

By the time she deposits the drone and schedule and leaves happily for her German and Russian class, I do not know whether I should laugh or cry. All her cronies are in the cell group. They are mostly retired teachers of old time and are now resolutely upgrading themselves in technology and languages.

Why me? I cry. Just in case you wonder why, I shall explain briefly. I am the youngest available person in this neighborhood. When I say young I mean I am in the millennial demographic group. Why am I currently so free and available? Because I just happen to be on my sabbatical leave from a highly confidential experimental project. Why do I have a vault in the house and keep receiving instructions from a former English teacher? Well, I am a rent-free tenant cum caretaker right now for the house which belongs to her husband’s family (which is in turn related to my extended family.)

All I need is sleep, watch old comedies and rest my brain. I even postpone getting involved with the Pokemon Go. BUT now I don’t seem to have any option. No, no slapstick humor this time. It is serious matter henceforth. I resort to my serious Plan-B. (To be continued)

drones n Pokemon Go. dronexit#4

Cowardicedrone pokemon Go
“Drones fly controlled by nothing more than people’s thoughts.” As I read this I begin to understand my former English teacher’s fear and resolution to protect herself against plausible intrusion of her privacy. She called me just now and asked, “Shall I invest in a drone of my own? I can even control it by thoughts! One day I could wear a brain-controlled interface device like I wear a watch, to interact with things around me!”

I gave her this warning I just read, “Once I know what the readings look like from your brain in a certain situation, I’ll be able to recognize you by that pattern again later on,” (a neuroscientist warns amid rise of computers that can read our minds.)

It is a frightening thought to manipulate and be manipulated by technology in the future world. Can any human avoid this invasion? I am pondering and hearing footsteps. Someone is at my front gate. No, not one person. It sounds like several people. What can they be doing? I mute my Mr. Bean and peep through the curtain at the French window. What a strange sight of grown men holding their mobiles, walking as dazed, gazing up and down, talking to themselves.

When I switch to BBC news, I read this on-screen: “Pokemon Go, a mobile game that has become a global phenomenon, has been released in the UK. It was already available in the US, Australia and Germany but some UK gamers found ways around the country restriction to get early access. The app lets players roam a map using their phone’s GPS location data and catch Pokemon to train and battle.”

Someone presses my door bell. Waving his mobile, he indicates he wants to enter my front yard which possibly is now infested wth creatures from virtual outer-space. I pretend I am not at home. My dog Gracie barks and jumps ferociously. But the man does not go away. He opens his mouth and says something. The commotion is deafening.

But like my former English teacher now being trained to teach German as second language, I too have my Plan-B. I duly put on my wig, floral skirt and fake gold-teeth and walk into the garden with a mop and a tin pail. I start speaking an unknown language in a falsetto. I wave my mop at him, reinforcing my lone brave dog. When he refuses to budge I pour the water on the ground and start banging the tin pail with the tin plate which is in Grace’s dog house. *

What happens now? You should see the poor man running down the street. Many others run behind him. What a sight. I treat Gracie with her favorite bacon snack, and me my favorite yam ice cream with coconut flavor.

yam ice cream

*Explanatory notes: the disguised dressing is meant to give the message that I don’t know their language. The banging of stuff is to make loud metal noise which is an ancient oriental traditional practice during eclipse of the sun.

I am a coward: resolution.dronexit#3

dronexit#2I am undone. My former English teacher (lately disguised as 002 -a code I now use to substitute the obvious) had deposited an iPad size box labeled DRONEXIT#1 with me in my vault and instructed me to guard with my life. She attends German class, registers herself with virtual addresses in famous cosmopolitan cities round the globe, orders her suits from Paris online, wears a blond wig, uses substitutes from Chinese words for endearing terms normally used between family members, attends underground church cell group, says soundless grace before meals with open eyes and claims now she is cosmopolitan and inclusive. She is really doing fine as a MT2 wannabe.

But I am stuck with the box in my vault. What is inside it? Why is she hiding it from the politically correct elite media drones? I have come down with insomnia. Nightly I sit inside the closet (which houses a secret door to a secret passage to my underground vault) and try to shut my mind from worries. What if she keeps some stuff inside that proves she is a mother or worse, I am one? No one will believe me that I can never be one nowadays with all sorts of advance technology for all sorts to become a mother. The what ifs are driving me into all kinds of scary and nerve shattering imaginations. What with the technology nowadays anyone can prove anything of any innocent person. Alas. Woe. Woe. Woe.

Ahem, I am not born to be treated in this inhuman manner. I did not ask to be born to be a human to see this day of doom for human family ways and godly values being stolen, killed and destroyed by aliens. What shall a human be if his or her ordinary humanness is belittled, ridiculed, trampled upon and forbidden?

I therefore make a resolution to henceforth spend more time looking for the remotest corner on earth. Yes, I shall also register myself with virtual addresses. No, not in cities. I shall become a citizen of the provincial poor and not-tech-know.