Category Archives: My Writings

Frightful Landing

Frightful Landing

By Tristan Pang, Year 6, 13/02/2012


Sucking the sweet from the thoughtful air hostess, my blocked ears suddenly popped open. We were descending swiftly. Almost as quick as sound, the roaring Boeing 737 plane caught the wind on its flaps. I could feel the thrum of the engines and the vibration of the plane in my skin when it danced on the fluffy clouds.

I felt a bit exhilarated when the grassy plains and clear streams down below were growing more and more visible. The cars on the state highway leading to the capital city were so tiny that they looked like ants moving their food home cautiously.

I was scared, screaming in my head, while butterflies danced in my stomach. The plane was metres above Port Nicholson. Was it going to land on the water? In no time, before I could figure out what was happening, the plane gave an unexpected jerk and slide briskly along the runway. It then de-accelerated and taxied into the pier….


Air (metaphor)

October weather in Auckland

By: Tristan Pang, Year 6, October 2012

You are the Greek god Zeus raging

           crazily round the roof trying to blow the world down.


You are the Anglo-Saxton monster Grendel cracking

          restlessly on the creaking beam trying to hunt men for your dinner.


The grass sways, the trees rock, the clouds rolls.

You smash my cheek, stir my hair,

            pull my legs as you pass by.


Fire (personification)

By: Tristan Pang, Year 6, October 2012

  Kindling, spark, then flames,

          lick a hole in the dark.  

The burning logs crackle, a symphonic melody

         breaking the silence.  

A wisp of smoke grows further, then rises higher.  

A flaring giant genie dancing waveringly

          that gives us warmth, light and hope.  

Fire (simile)

By: Tristan Pang, Year 6, October 2012

Fire is blazing red.

It tastes like hot chilli pepper,

    sounds like pork crackle being chewed in the mouth,

    smells like acid mixed with rotten egg in the lab,

    looks like a fiery giant beast dancing in the dark.

It makes me feel breathless and dazzling!

Water (simile)

By: Tristan Pang, Year 6, October 2012

  River is like waltz,

              cheerful and romantic.

Lake is like baroque,

              gentle and soothing.

Waterfall is like scherzo,

              lively and playful.

Ocean is like symphony orchestra,

              free and contrasting.



By Tristan Pang, Year 7, 27/8/2013 

I ran. I ran from Grendel. A huge hairy Man-wolf with green sharp claws. I kept running until I fell off a cliff and floated in mid-air for a moment then I plunged down towards the rocks. I was scared. My muscles tensed. I was forced down without any control. I woke up when my whole body jerked and twitched before I reached the bottom. I found myself sweating badly on my bed.

The dream was horrible but a bit amusing. Chasing and falling did appear a few times in my dreams. It was not always Grendel; it was once a spider preying me for its dinner, another time it was a pig running after me because I ate his brother.

The events in my dreams are normally beyond my control. I am just watching a drama that takes place in my skull. When I enter the mysterious and fascinating world of dreams, the reality does not apply. The setting, the story, and the characters do not make sense. They are all jumbled. I am sometimes not sure whether the main character is me or somebody else. I can only recall a few parts of the story when awake. I have to put the pieces back like a jigsaw puzzle to get a more complete story for my dream.

There are exceptions occasionally. I can at times make a creative move. I am aware that I am dreaming and have control over them. Like my mentioned dream earlier, I could have swerved the cliff and hide. This is called lucid dream. In here, I am the writer, director and character of the drama.

Sometimes during the day, I dream and dwell of the past or future, or even something impossible. Though these daydreams may be a waste of time, I sometime could solve the problems or get inspiration for the projects I am working on.

I had also experienced a type of dream called night terror. These were dreams similar to nightmares but caused greater degrees of horror since my toddlerhood until about eight. I was not aware of the night terror. My mother told me that it seemed like I was awake during a night terror with eyes wide open. I kept screaming, punching the air, and pushing everyone away including my beloved mother. Luckily, I outgrew this type of dream now but instead of night terror, I sleep talk and sleep walk. I sit up, move around on my bed, open my eyes widely, and talk nonsense for as long as half an hour. This type of dream is much more pleasant and interesting for my mother because I keep smiling and reacting to my mother’s conversation, even though it does not make any sense.

The world renowned psychologist, Sigmund Freud, said dreams reflect our deepest desires and anxieties. If we can recall and review our dreams, we can unlock our inner selves and improve our lives. But I believe even though we cannot understand our dreams, we can at least enjoy the wonderful moment in our dreams and be the main character, director, or audience. Dreams are the theatre of our mind!

A Battle

A Battle

by Tristan Pang, Year 7, 20/5/2013

Suddenly the grenade exploded. Bullets scattered everywhere like sowing seeds. He wanted to run, but he did not know whether forwards or backwards. He just stood in the middle of nowhere, a statue with the sand beneath its feet turning to stone. I pulled him back to our base as the enemy kept pursuing and shooting after us. Bang…bang…bang….

“Almost there,” I mumbled with a bit of relief, “Five metres….one metre…finally… ”. I called for backup, a machine gun at our base.

Everything became silent. So silent that we could hear our heartbeats. A gap in the shooting! I paused, listening for movement. They ran out of bullets! This was my golden chance. I left him, my team-mate Steven, and leapt out.

I heard the tiny whisper of footsteps and clicking sounds. It was Kevin, the sniper and attacker for our opponent, reloading his gun. He was shocked and sweating like a pineapple when he saw me. I shot him straight in his face.

Kevin, a sly and aggressive young man, allied with the strongly built Jack who defended their base. They took advantage of upstairs in the study with the desk as a bunker and chairs as mobile personal carriers armed with semi-automatic revolver.

Being an attacker and midfielder against these two enemies, I allied with the chubby Steven, the defender, who sometimes behaves a little clumsy and indecisive. Our team had the fully automatic machine gun and rapid fire gun. We hid behind the couch which provided us a fortress like a trench and enough room for a command centre.

Loaded with ample of bullets, Kevin started fighting back for revenge. He fired desperately, hoping to hit something or someone. “Ahhhh….” I felt the jolt of contact in my hand. The shock made me lose my grip of my weapon; it fell from my stinging fingers. He shot me few more times. His confidence and stamina grew in strength. Without the weapon, I lifted my shield and blocked the bullets. “Clang…clang…clang….” The clashing of bullets and shield filled the whole battlefield.

After several seconds of being attacked, I lost my patience and temper. I picked up my gun again and battled back at him as if to pound him into the ground. He bounded out of the way and came back strongly. Steven saw his chance and stepped in, and so did Jack.

“Ring…ring…ring…” the deafening noise shook us. All four of us cried out in an edgy voice, “War alert…let’s run away….”

“Stop being silly, boys. No more Nerf guns now!” My mum shouted while ringing the bell, “Time to tidy up!” We all woke with a startling jolt. All we could see was the post-war messy house!

It is spring!

It is spring!  (Free Form Poem on Spring Time School Backyard)

By: Tristan Pang, Year 7, 9/11/2013

 An old friend landing south

silently in our land.

Peaceful, lively, awakening.

A pacifier in our land…

announcing, “I am coming!”.


Robins chirping melodies

symphonic in the air.

Harmony, rhythmic, stunning.

A choir in the air…

singing, “It is spring!”.


Godwits forming patterns

manoeuvring in the sky.

Synchronized, highly collaborated.

Aircrafts in the sky…

showing, “It is spring!”.



Bushes budding flowers

gently on the lawn.

Green, brown and wet.

Factories on the lawn…

revealing, “It is spring!”.


Daisies blossoming petals

blooming on a stick.

Yellow, tiny and bubbly.

Machines on a stick…

presenting, “It is spring!”.


White butterflies fluttering

gliding in the breeze.

Silent, pleasant and pure.

Paper in the breeze…

illuminating, “It is spring!”.


Houseflies buzzing around

irritating on my skin.

Aimless, flying itches.

Intruders on my skin…

declaring, “It is spring!”.


Clouds floating randomly

bobbing in the sea.

White, grey and fluffy.

Sheep in the sea…

sketching, “It is spring!”.


Air releasing freshness

diffuses everywhere.

Natural, divine fragrance.

Zeus everywhere…

emitting, “It is spring!”.


Sun lighting souls

giving warmth to us.

Bright, gentle and friendly.

A protector to us…

proving, “It is spring!”.


Mother Nature so kind

providing the season of spring.

Summer, autumn, winter,

and follows is spring…

“Welcome spring!”



by Tristan Pang, Year 7, 4/08/2013

The Swiss inscription said, “Speech is silver, silence is golden”. Speech is great, but not the greatest. Speech is of time, silence is of eternity.

Silence is everywhere beneath the noises, beneath the movements, beneath the thoughts. Silence is in another world, a world to explore and experience.

Silence is the heart of stillness, the ultimate and infinite light. Stillness lingers everywhere in our heart.

In meditation, or just even a pause, we will experience a moment of peace, silence and stillness when we fall still. We can use this to get away from the physical world and enter the spiritual world where we can unite with our real self, with God.

Silence might be rare but anyone can experience it. We will feel relaxed and also alone but not the uncomfortable loneliness, the happy one.

Silence is golden. 

Devadatta and the Arrow Maker

Devadatta and the Arrow Maker

by Tristan Pang, Year 6, 20/5/2012

Under the scorching sun, Devadatta strolled through the marketplace among the wandering people. He squeezed like a snake between the densely packed stores trying to get to the best Indian weapons shop as prompt as possible. A spices shopkeeper who was selling red hot chillies, yellow curry powder, and brown cinnamon sticks shouted out loud to catch the attention of the customers. Another store was displaying gold necklaces and silver bangles on a table of red velvet cloth that caught the eyes of million passer-bys. The aromatic smells of fresh-baked Indian naan bread, the fragrance of the flowers and incenses, the sweat and dung and a thousand other odours wafted towards Devadatta.

Rhythmic shrills of music from far were gradually approaching. The noise was getting louder and louder. It became deafening when it reached the giant golden Buddhist statues where Devadatta was passing. It was a merry marriage procession. It marched across the market and captivated the attention of the bystanders. The immense daily market noise became an ear splitting rhythm of joy and excitement from the procession. Trumpets and horns tooted when blown by the musicians. They were so loud that it seemed like warning for the undesirable invisible spirit to move out of the way. 

The goddess-like bride and the princely bridegroom were carried round the village on an elephant’s back. It was painted in red and covered with a colourful rug. It shuffled as slow as a tortoise and moved its head and trunk up and down trying to tell everybody it was the most beautiful elephant in the world.

“You are such a striking elephant, no one would like to fight you during a battle,” mumbled Devadatta.

People danced around to bless the couple for happiness. Ignoring the annoying racket and struggling through the chaos of the market, Devadatta kept striding until he reached the familiar weapons shop. The door chime rang chirpily as he stepped in. He noticed that there was no one at the shop front. He passed the displayed bows, arrows, clubs, and shields. He then entered the workshop. He saw the arrow maker sitting on a wooden stool mesmerised on where the spoke shaft contacted the arrow. He kept shaving the wood without noticing Devadatta.

Devadatta greeted, “Hello, sir.” There was no reply. He repeated, “Hello, sir.” Still, no reply! Devadatta then tapped on his shoulder.

The arrow maker jolted up. He replied quaveringly, “Hello, Devadatta. How can I help you?”

Devadatta asked, “Did you hear the procession?”

“What procession?” he answered hazily.

“The marriage procession has been here for quite some time. I’m surprised that you didn’t hear it.”

“I think it’s because I was completely concentrating on my wood, bamboo and reed arrow. Nothing can distract me.”

“You have your heart in your job. That’s why I keep coming back for your arrows! Can I have two, please?”

The sun was getting hotter and hotter. The crowd was getting bigger and bigger. The party was reaching its peak when Devadatta left the shop carrying tons of arrows. He could not sense the heat, the noise and crampedness this time because he was concentrating on admiring the craftsmanship of the arrow he was holding and the heart of its creator.