First Dream
In my dream he was going out with my ex. He was someone who completed my life a year ago, and then it ended against my wishes. My EX. Both of them were sitting side by side in this cafeteria place that I have never seen before but can only be conjured up in dreams.
"Yeah, they have been seeing each other," Vince suddenly told me. He just appeared out of nowhere in the way that is only possible in dreams.
Stab to the heart. I remembered trying to move out of sight.
*missing memory*
I was crying, and he was trying to comfort me. I didn't give a shit about the ex. But I was upset about him. He held me and told me not to cry. I think I wanted to tell him how much I still love and miss him but I can't remember if I did. But he didn't need to be told does he?
*missing memory*
I was in this place that resembled one of those ancient South American Mayan/Incan temple complexes. Some crazy priest was holding us prisoner. "Us"? "Us" was a group of people I don't seem to know. The crazy priest had opened a tomb and in it was the richly decorated skeleton of some long dead lord. He poured some flammable stuff into the tomb and said he was going to burn the remains, and when it is gone one of us will have to lie in the tomb. The person he referred to was specific, and it was this blond woman who was with us. Suddenly she was lying on the slab above the tomb, dressed in white. I knew I had to stop him. I picked up a stick and bludgeoned the crazy old man. Although he appeared affected by the blows he didn't seem injured, and then he said he would follow us.
*missing memory*
Second Dream
I was in this theatre. The kind where you do live plays in. I don't remember what we were discussing about but Nicholas Cage was among us. Not just ordinary Nicholas Cage, but an old Nicholas Cage. When we were done talking, I offered to walk Mr Cage to wherever he needed to go. I offered him my arm to hold and he gladly took it.
"I just watched one of your movies recently, Mr Cage," I said casually as he shuffled along.
"Oh really, which one?" he replied.
I found I couldn't remember the name of the movie and I was trying to describe it to him, and he passively suggested a few titles. None of which I remembered.
"The Vampire's Kiss," I suddenly remembered.
He just nodded absently.
When we reached our destination he said, "Next time, go watch something more worthwhile with your friends,".
I guess he didn't really liked that movie either. And "your friends"? I watched that movie alone.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Jack Ass
"You had a hundred billion chances and ways to have avoided today. But you decided to spill my blood. You forced me into a corner and gave me only one option. The decision was yours. Now you have blood on your hands that will never wash off."
"Your Mercedes wasn't enough, you brats. Your golden necklaces weren't enough, you snobs. Your trust funds wasn't enough. Your vodka and cognac wasn't enough. All your debaucheries weren't enough. Those weren't enough to fulfill your hedonistic needs. You had everything."
Oh yeah, Mr Cho, you certainly made a point there. The point that you will be nothing more than the loser jack ass that you always were. I'm sorry if I sound harsh, but the whole shooting incident at Virginia Tech, Blacksburg is absurd. Not that I am insensitive to the people who lost their lives and those who were affected by it. What kind of world have we come to where self righteous nerds go around shooting fellow students just because they couldn't get over their own angst. Seriously, evaluate it yourself, and you will realise the whole incident was stupid and sad to say, those 32 people died a meaningless death. There was no point to prove and there is really nothing to learn from it.
Few million years of evolution and here we are, buffoons who give way to their emotions to kill. So perhaps we are no different from our cousins at the lower end of the gene pool. At least animals kill to survive. This dim wit here killed because he doesn't have what other people have. Oh God, fucking get over yourself. You certainly did the right thing by killing yourself after your stupid deed. You're a waste of resources. The only tragedy is those other people have to die with you.
*Update
Colleague: Hey look, they have pictures of the Virginia Tech shooter online (colleague is rather slow with international news).
Me: It's been on since yesterday.
Colleague: Shit. (apparently shocked at the pictures)
Me: I think he looks like an idiot.
Colleague: Yeah man...
Enough said.
"Your Mercedes wasn't enough, you brats. Your golden necklaces weren't enough, you snobs. Your trust funds wasn't enough. Your vodka and cognac wasn't enough. All your debaucheries weren't enough. Those weren't enough to fulfill your hedonistic needs. You had everything."
Oh yeah, Mr Cho, you certainly made a point there. The point that you will be nothing more than the loser jack ass that you always were. I'm sorry if I sound harsh, but the whole shooting incident at Virginia Tech, Blacksburg is absurd. Not that I am insensitive to the people who lost their lives and those who were affected by it. What kind of world have we come to where self righteous nerds go around shooting fellow students just because they couldn't get over their own angst. Seriously, evaluate it yourself, and you will realise the whole incident was stupid and sad to say, those 32 people died a meaningless death. There was no point to prove and there is really nothing to learn from it.
Few million years of evolution and here we are, buffoons who give way to their emotions to kill. So perhaps we are no different from our cousins at the lower end of the gene pool. At least animals kill to survive. This dim wit here killed because he doesn't have what other people have. Oh God, fucking get over yourself. You certainly did the right thing by killing yourself after your stupid deed. You're a waste of resources. The only tragedy is those other people have to die with you.
"Oooo... Lookit me, I am gonna blow my brains out because I can't be hedonistic like you!"
*Update
Colleague: Hey look, they have pictures of the Virginia Tech shooter online (colleague is rather slow with international news).
Me: It's been on since yesterday.
Colleague: Shit. (apparently shocked at the pictures)
Me: I think he looks like an idiot.
Colleague: Yeah man...
Enough said.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Awwwww...
Now normally I am not a fan of animal movies. Why? Because they all tend to be stereotypical and tend to have scenes designed specifically to not only pull at your heartstrings but to forcefully yank at them till you are reduced to a wide eyed chibi going "Awwwwww...". But due to unforeseen circumstances, my intended purchase Perfume: The Story of a Murderer turned out to be a horribly censored copy with skips, so I ended up exchanging it for Charlotte's Web.
"What a huge difference!" said Sean.
Yes, from a pseudo-art movie about an insane body-odour obsessed killer to a good old-fashioned family movie designed specifically to make you go "Awwwww...". From the moment I set eyes on the DVD cover, I knew I was trapped.
Even the normally annoying Dakota Fanning who makes you want to bash her squealing character in War of the Worlds looks so sweet she makes you go.... yes you guessed it:
And who would have thought a villainous husband stealer like Julia Roberts who was so convincingly bitchy in Erin Brokovich could give life to the selfless spider Charlotte with her voice?
And all of the rest of the farm animals, voiced by such a star-studded cast which includes, Oprah Winfrey, Kathy Bates, Reba McEntire, Robert Redford, Steve Buscemi and John Cleese, they were simply adorable.
As expected, the ending just simply makes your heart bleed at the sheer goodness of the whole movie. Down to the closing credits with the theme "Ordinary Miracle" by my favourite artist Sarah McLachlan totally makes me go...
"What a huge difference!" said Sean.
Yes, from a pseudo-art movie about an insane body-odour obsessed killer to a good old-fashioned family movie designed specifically to make you go "Awwwww...". From the moment I set eyes on the DVD cover, I knew I was trapped.
Awwwwww...
Even the normally annoying Dakota Fanning who makes you want to bash her squealing character in War of the Worlds looks so sweet she makes you go.... yes you guessed it:
Awwwwww...
And who would have thought a villainous husband stealer like Julia Roberts who was so convincingly bitchy in Erin Brokovich could give life to the selfless spider Charlotte with her voice?
Awwwwww...
And all of the rest of the farm animals, voiced by such a star-studded cast which includes, Oprah Winfrey, Kathy Bates, Reba McEntire, Robert Redford, Steve Buscemi and John Cleese, they were simply adorable.
Awwwwww...
As expected, the ending just simply makes your heart bleed at the sheer goodness of the whole movie. Down to the closing credits with the theme "Ordinary Miracle" by my favourite artist Sarah McLachlan totally makes me go...
Awwwwww...
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Play-Doh of God
"BASEL, Switzerland (Reuters) - Steel and coal from the Titanic have been transformed into a new line of luxury wristwatches that claim to capture the essence of the legendary oceanliner which sank in 1912."
Are crocodiles scary? Maybe. Are tigers dangerous? Perhaps. Are sharks really bloodthirsty killers? Could be (although scientists say otherwise). But I think God made a mistake when he created humans. Or maybe He is just a Great Child who fashioned us out of cosmic Play-Doh and then like all children tend to be with a new toy, lost interest in us after a while. Over time, His creations ran amok on evolution, and one day decided to make watches out of the remains of a tragedy. No doubt if this happened in 1917, people of that era would have viewed it in bad taste. It would be like making toilet bowls out of ground up rubble of the World Trade Centre. 95 years from now this might just come true, and people of the future would worship the long deceased author of this blog as the new Nostradmus. But it would feel luxurious wouldn't it, crapping on the recycled rubble of America's "Greatest Tragedy" which probably contains miniscule remnants of its victims.
Speaking of human remains, anyone read about the company which could turn human cremains (that's the word for the remains of a cremated body) into a diamond? Yes folks, what they do is take your late grandmother's ashes and subject her carbon to intense pressure to artificially create a diamond. I can imagine the conversation now:
Dream guy: Hey, I have been watching you all night and I think you're hot.
Me: Oh gosh... hehe...
Dream guy: My name is [insert hot name] by the way, and I am wearing my grandmother around my finger.
Me: Uh... *stares at diamond ring in disbelief*
Or worse:
Dream guy: Darling, we have been together for some time...
Me: Yes?
Dream guy: Would you marry me? *on bended knee presenting diamond ring*
Me: OH GOD! YES YES YES!!! Oh baby, it's beautiful!
Dream guy: *Puts ring on my finger* I'm so glad you like it! It's made out of my grandmother by the way. Grandma, you look over my baby now.
Me: ...
It's like meeting the man of my dreams, and then meeting his beautiful pressurized grandmother.
Humans... joy.
Are crocodiles scary? Maybe. Are tigers dangerous? Perhaps. Are sharks really bloodthirsty killers? Could be (although scientists say otherwise). But I think God made a mistake when he created humans. Or maybe He is just a Great Child who fashioned us out of cosmic Play-Doh and then like all children tend to be with a new toy, lost interest in us after a while. Over time, His creations ran amok on evolution, and one day decided to make watches out of the remains of a tragedy. No doubt if this happened in 1917, people of that era would have viewed it in bad taste. It would be like making toilet bowls out of ground up rubble of the World Trade Centre. 95 years from now this might just come true, and people of the future would worship the long deceased author of this blog as the new Nostradmus. But it would feel luxurious wouldn't it, crapping on the recycled rubble of America's "Greatest Tragedy" which probably contains miniscule remnants of its victims.
Speaking of human remains, anyone read about the company which could turn human cremains (that's the word for the remains of a cremated body) into a diamond? Yes folks, what they do is take your late grandmother's ashes and subject her carbon to intense pressure to artificially create a diamond. I can imagine the conversation now:
Dream guy: Hey, I have been watching you all night and I think you're hot.
Me: Oh gosh... hehe...
Dream guy: My name is [insert hot name] by the way, and I am wearing my grandmother around my finger.
Me: Uh... *stares at diamond ring in disbelief*
Or worse:
Dream guy: Darling, we have been together for some time...
Me: Yes?
Dream guy: Would you marry me? *on bended knee presenting diamond ring*
Me: OH GOD! YES YES YES!!! Oh baby, it's beautiful!
Dream guy: *Puts ring on my finger* I'm so glad you like it! It's made out of my grandmother by the way. Grandma, you look over my baby now.
Me: ...
It's like meeting the man of my dreams, and then meeting his beautiful pressurized grandmother.
Humans... joy.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Curse You Fetish Thieves
I seem to have lost my pants somewhere in the gym. It's the second time this have happened. And these are one of my favourite Nike 3/4 tights which cost me RM100+ which I bought after much consideration about over a year ago. Not that someone pinned me down and removed my pants forcefully of course, but apparently I seem to have left them in the shower last week but did not notice the loss until I put away my laundry yesterday night. A call to the gym reception revealed there were no pants of that description in the lost and found. Which can only mean some dishonest sodding thief conveniently claimed it for his own. It makes me wonder what disturbed person would take someone else's intimate belongings, sweat-soaked ones at that. I do believe my underwear was still in them. It's like stealing someone's used tampon and using it...
I mean I can understand if someone was to just take your mp3 player or handphone but soiled pants, shoes, or any article of clothing is just plain disgusting. So whoever took my pants, if you even venture to put it on, washed or otherwise, I curse your dick with an incurable rot which will spread slowly and soon engulf your entire genitalia causing it to fall off in tiny chunks. And that won't be the end, the rot will then spread slowly through your body inside out, causing your insides to decompose. Eventually your body will bloat up but you won't die yet you fetish thief, till your belly explodes in a hail of stinking liquified offal.
I mean I can understand if someone was to just take your mp3 player or handphone but soiled pants, shoes, or any article of clothing is just plain disgusting. So whoever took my pants, if you even venture to put it on, washed or otherwise, I curse your dick with an incurable rot which will spread slowly and soon engulf your entire genitalia causing it to fall off in tiny chunks. And that won't be the end, the rot will then spread slowly through your body inside out, causing your insides to decompose. Eventually your body will bloat up but you won't die yet you fetish thief, till your belly explodes in a hail of stinking liquified offal.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Gorillas in the Mass
Disclaimer: The entry below may contain contents offensive to certain readers. Read at your own discretion
Nickkiest: Let's go to church?
Me: Huh? What? Why all a sudden?
Nickkiest: Dunno? Just feel like going. Come la!
Me: Me? Go to church? Me? The heathen pagan sodomite?
That was exactly my reaction to Nickkiest's suggestion to go for Easter Mass. Don't be misled into thinking that I am one of those guys that used to be a good Catholic boy until the day I was corrupted by homosexual debaucheries. The fact is I was never an avid church goer because I was never a Christian in the first place - hence the heathen pagan part. Though I am not exactly a stranger in church, I never had pleasant memories of my visits. The last time I sat through a Sunday service, I left feeling disgusted at the priest's bigoted and narrow minded preaching. As much as I understood the Catholic Church's stand on homosexual relations, I was kind of flabbergasted when the priest mentioned "mixed marriages are bad". Though I might have misunderstood what he meant by that, it is that kind of clumsy statement that puts people off and throws the whole of Christianity into bad light. I have great respect for Christianity, just like any other religion, just not most of its hopelessly outdated human made ideologies.
Such was the case when Nickkiest led me into an Easter Sunday service last Saturday. The fact that I was not a Christian made me itch. Now I know exactly what the phrase "stood out like a sore thumb" meant. Not that the swarm of Catholics noticed a heathen in their midst, even if he was wearing a pagan symbol around his neck (I have a penchant for ankhs). I was also dealing with the reality that I was cooking underneath my denim jacket on a balmy Saturday evening among the throngs of Easter devotees. Not that I had a choice, because I didn't find it particularly respectful to be exposing too much flesh in a holy place since I was wearing a sleeveless underneath. It kind of left me cursing when I caught sight of a rather pasty flabby lala boy wearing a black tank top. Why me, the heathen even bothered with his dressing I had no idea.
Barely 15 minutes into the service, I was starting to get bored. Forgive me, but even though I am not a Christian I had hoped at least the service would have been inspiring. Unfortunately that wasn't the case. I will spare the details lest I offend my Christian friends. Let's just say I didn't get the divine revelations or cultural sights that I've hoped for. 40 minutes into it, Nickkiest began to have his doubts and regrets about coming. Our whispered criticisms didn't go unnoticed by an elderly woman in front of us who gave me a dirty look. Not that she heard what we said of course but she probably found our conversation unacceptable while the priest was talking. Like she even paid any attention - I could have sworn she dozed off a few times through the readings. Very soon we were devolved into speaking to each other via typed texts on our mobiles. I know, it was very rude behaviour, but we just couldn't help ourselves. Anything would have been less dangerous than nodding off.
Finally we just couldn't stand it anymore, so we left before the service was done - half guilt ridden for our unbecoming behaviour and half glad that we took flight. I had partially hoped that maybe a sudden bolt of lightning would strike me down for my sins of blasphemy. Even that might have been a divine revelation, albeit a painful and deadly one. I had always wanted to see what a Christmas mass is like but last Saturday's experience have kind of left me feeling doubtful of the idea. Lord save us.
Nickkiest: Let's go to church?
Me: Huh? What? Why all a sudden?
Nickkiest: Dunno? Just feel like going. Come la!
Me: Me? Go to church? Me? The heathen pagan sodomite?
That was exactly my reaction to Nickkiest's suggestion to go for Easter Mass. Don't be misled into thinking that I am one of those guys that used to be a good Catholic boy until the day I was corrupted by homosexual debaucheries. The fact is I was never an avid church goer because I was never a Christian in the first place - hence the heathen pagan part. Though I am not exactly a stranger in church, I never had pleasant memories of my visits. The last time I sat through a Sunday service, I left feeling disgusted at the priest's bigoted and narrow minded preaching. As much as I understood the Catholic Church's stand on homosexual relations, I was kind of flabbergasted when the priest mentioned "mixed marriages are bad". Though I might have misunderstood what he meant by that, it is that kind of clumsy statement that puts people off and throws the whole of Christianity into bad light. I have great respect for Christianity, just like any other religion, just not most of its hopelessly outdated human made ideologies.
Such was the case when Nickkiest led me into an Easter Sunday service last Saturday. The fact that I was not a Christian made me itch. Now I know exactly what the phrase "stood out like a sore thumb" meant. Not that the swarm of Catholics noticed a heathen in their midst, even if he was wearing a pagan symbol around his neck (I have a penchant for ankhs). I was also dealing with the reality that I was cooking underneath my denim jacket on a balmy Saturday evening among the throngs of Easter devotees. Not that I had a choice, because I didn't find it particularly respectful to be exposing too much flesh in a holy place since I was wearing a sleeveless underneath. It kind of left me cursing when I caught sight of a rather pasty flabby lala boy wearing a black tank top. Why me, the heathen even bothered with his dressing I had no idea.
Barely 15 minutes into the service, I was starting to get bored. Forgive me, but even though I am not a Christian I had hoped at least the service would have been inspiring. Unfortunately that wasn't the case. I will spare the details lest I offend my Christian friends. Let's just say I didn't get the divine revelations or cultural sights that I've hoped for. 40 minutes into it, Nickkiest began to have his doubts and regrets about coming. Our whispered criticisms didn't go unnoticed by an elderly woman in front of us who gave me a dirty look. Not that she heard what we said of course but she probably found our conversation unacceptable while the priest was talking. Like she even paid any attention - I could have sworn she dozed off a few times through the readings. Very soon we were devolved into speaking to each other via typed texts on our mobiles. I know, it was very rude behaviour, but we just couldn't help ourselves. Anything would have been less dangerous than nodding off.
Finally we just couldn't stand it anymore, so we left before the service was done - half guilt ridden for our unbecoming behaviour and half glad that we took flight. I had partially hoped that maybe a sudden bolt of lightning would strike me down for my sins of blasphemy. Even that might have been a divine revelation, albeit a painful and deadly one. I had always wanted to see what a Christmas mass is like but last Saturday's experience have kind of left me feeling doubtful of the idea. Lord save us.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Blood & Testosterone
That's what I thought would have been a better title for the movie "300", though I am sure the ingenious Malay translation of "300 Pahlawan Berani Mati" or something along that line was very good also. If I had to listen to Gerard Butler yell "SPARTANS!!" or "SPARTA!!" one more time I swear I will develop a rash, in my ear canal.
Yes, after much delaying and failure to procure tickets to this movie, I finally got around to watching it after three weeks since its Malaysian release. Accompanying me also was Sean, a fellow movie enthusiast who had also miraculously missed the early bird bandwagons to catch the much hyped movie. Though I have no choice but to agree that the generous show of muscular male physiques was very... ahem, impressive, the massive overdose of testosterone and male camaraderie was quite gagging. It's enough to make you want to put them on your lap and spank the manliness out of those well formed asses.
Who am I to say anyway, perhaps ancient Sparta was very much as Zack Snyder portrayed it. I have to admit, the whole over-the-top imagery was quite breathtaking (except the Oracle's suspiciously beer-commercial like trance sequence) . Nevermind that it was not 100% historically accurate (when was any movie anyway), so critics, Iranians, Persians, self-appointed-historians and whatevers can put a sock into it because movies are made for entertainment. Get it? EN-TER-TAIN-MENT. It often baffles me as to how world leaders can make an ass out of themselves over a work of fiction when ordinary citizens can just laugh about it in good nature.
Sean and I were having this this little exchange as we were coming out after the movie:
Sean: Sparta doesn't look like a very nice place to be born in, in those times, does it? (referring to their practice of abandoning weak/malformed/defective babies on Mt Taygetos to die).
Me: Oh well, I wasn't exactly born defective, maybe if I was born there I could have had those abs that I so badly wanted by now.
Sean: ...
I think Sean summed up 300 pretty nicely:
"Next time can we just go watch a good old fashion romantic comedy?"
For once, I had to agree. Now I have to suffer a few weeks of insecurity every time I take a look in the mirror. God damn it.
"SPARTAAAAAA!!!!"
Leonidas does his manly thing, and you wonder why their helmets are so thick.
Leonidas does his manly thing, and you wonder why their helmets are so thick.
Yes, after much delaying and failure to procure tickets to this movie, I finally got around to watching it after three weeks since its Malaysian release. Accompanying me also was Sean, a fellow movie enthusiast who had also miraculously missed the early bird bandwagons to catch the much hyped movie. Though I have no choice but to agree that the generous show of muscular male physiques was very... ahem, impressive, the massive overdose of testosterone and male camaraderie was quite gagging. It's enough to make you want to put them on your lap and spank the manliness out of those well formed asses.
"I am beautiful, no matter what you say... words can't bring me down~"
Leonidas does his not so manly thing. Queen Gorgo appears stunned.
Leonidas does his not so manly thing. Queen Gorgo appears stunned.
Who am I to say anyway, perhaps ancient Sparta was very much as Zack Snyder portrayed it. I have to admit, the whole over-the-top imagery was quite breathtaking (except the Oracle's suspiciously beer-commercial like trance sequence) . Nevermind that it was not 100% historically accurate (when was any movie anyway), so critics, Iranians, Persians, self-appointed-historians and whatevers can put a sock into it because movies are made for entertainment. Get it? EN-TER-TAIN-MENT. It often baffles me as to how world leaders can make an ass out of themselves over a work of fiction when ordinary citizens can just laugh about it in good nature.
"All you have to do, is just bend over... I mean, kneel before me..."
How they made hottie Rodrigo Santoro into this over-sized drag queen baffles me.
How they made hottie Rodrigo Santoro into this over-sized drag queen baffles me.
Sean and I were having this this little exchange as we were coming out after the movie:
Sean: Sparta doesn't look like a very nice place to be born in, in those times, does it? (referring to their practice of abandoning weak/malformed/defective babies on Mt Taygetos to die).
Me: Oh well, I wasn't exactly born defective, maybe if I was born there I could have had those abs that I so badly wanted by now.
Sean: ...
I think Sean summed up 300 pretty nicely:
"Next time can we just go watch a good old fashion romantic comedy?"
For once, I had to agree. Now I have to suffer a few weeks of insecurity every time I take a look in the mirror. God damn it.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Monday, April 02, 2007
Wanderlust
I suddenly developed this irresistible urge to travel to places where I have never been before. I want to see things I have never seen before, experience culture which I have never experienced, walk in foreign soil, breathe the different air and Sean will probably rejoice in this, taste the different food. My friends seem to regale tales of their travels all the time and I find myself wondering why I put myself off all the time from doing the same, traveling I mean. I think I can afford it though I am not exactly a very well-to-do person but for some reason I am just afraid to use the money which I had worked so hard for. Ok well, sometimes not so hard. Here are some of the places I hope to visit one day.
I think I get very frustrated sometimes with myself. Those who know me well enough will know I am not exactly a spendthrift. It is a habit I picked up from young. Ever since the day I stepped foot in a kindergarten right up till I was Form 6, I have never received a cent of pocket money. Not that my parents wouldn't give, just that I had never asked for it. I'd only ever asked for money whenever I required to buy something, which gave my parents direct control over what I bought. The things that I bought without my parents knowing, came from the money I saved over years of angpow money from Chinese New Years. Even that, the only things I ever was willing to spend on were books. Bear in my mind that my two elder brothers receive pocket money regularly, for some reason I seem to be excluded from the "payroll".
Which brings me now back to the present. My forced habit of being a miser has somewhat dulled my enthusiasm to spend on entertainment. When I eat, I think about venues that would give me the most by paying less, when I want to travel, I think about the dent it will cause in my accounts. Sometimes I wish I could just tell myself to screw it while I empty my account
Prince Edward Island, Canada
Florence, Italy
Cairo, Egypt
Athens, Greece
Provence, France
I think I get very frustrated sometimes with myself. Those who know me well enough will know I am not exactly a spendthrift. It is a habit I picked up from young. Ever since the day I stepped foot in a kindergarten right up till I was Form 6, I have never received a cent of pocket money. Not that my parents wouldn't give, just that I had never asked for it. I'd only ever asked for money whenever I required to buy something, which gave my parents direct control over what I bought. The things that I bought without my parents knowing, came from the money I saved over years of angpow money from Chinese New Years. Even that, the only things I ever was willing to spend on were books. Bear in my mind that my two elder brothers receive pocket money regularly, for some reason I seem to be excluded from the "payroll".
Which brings me now back to the present. My forced habit of being a miser has somewhat dulled my enthusiasm to spend on entertainment. When I eat, I think about venues that would give me the most by paying less, when I want to travel, I think about the dent it will cause in my accounts. Sometimes I wish I could just tell myself to screw it while I empty my account
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Procrastination
There are simple tasks in my everyday life which I could do as easily as just snapping my fingers, such as just spending one minute to record down my daily timesheet . Instead I put it off and spend 20 minutes on writing this pointless entry. I digress, my procrastination is beginning to cause me grief as a mountain of chores await me at home. The flat is in dire need of cleaning and I swear the never-ending army of spiders which regularly return to nest in my corners were having an sm party with some poor hapless moths last night.
Books are starting to pile all over my floor because of my uncontrollable reading habit and I have ran out of space to store them - also because I have been procrastinating on buying a new bookcase. And along with my book purchases are the plastic bags they came with. This together with the plastic bags I continuously bring home from packing my dirty laundry at gym is beginning to get really unsightly. I could easily just throw these away, but the environmentalist in me believes I should be sparing in unleashing these into the environment. It takes me weeks to fill up one average plastic bag with garbage, and I am bringing back one plastic bag everyday. You do the math. On a side note, whenever my mom comes to visit, she can somehow amazingly produce enough garbage to fill one plastic bag to the brim within less than 12 hours. Speaking of garbage, my bags of recyclables are way overdue for the recycling centre but yet I put this off week after week.
Despite my obsession in making my flat look pretty, I can be really apathetic sometimes when it comes to clearing things away. For instance, weeks back when Laynie and MRS OKABE came over. Now MRS OKABE is a chronic snacker. Not only is he a snacker, he also happens to be a picky snacker. He snubbed my mom's homemade chocolate coated cookies for sugar laden Cadbury candies which he conveniently helped himself to from my fridge. After satisfying himself, he just dumps the wrappers on my side table - which I only noticed ONE WEEK later. Actually this may be more due to the frequency I am at home but Sam, if you're reading this, I AM NOT PLEASED. I should have a cattle prod handy whenever he comes to visit.
Books are starting to pile all over my floor because of my uncontrollable reading habit and I have ran out of space to store them - also because I have been procrastinating on buying a new bookcase. And along with my book purchases are the plastic bags they came with. This together with the plastic bags I continuously bring home from packing my dirty laundry at gym is beginning to get really unsightly. I could easily just throw these away, but the environmentalist in me believes I should be sparing in unleashing these into the environment. It takes me weeks to fill up one average plastic bag with garbage, and I am bringing back one plastic bag everyday. You do the math. On a side note, whenever my mom comes to visit, she can somehow amazingly produce enough garbage to fill one plastic bag to the brim within less than 12 hours. Speaking of garbage, my bags of recyclables are way overdue for the recycling centre but yet I put this off week after week.
Despite my obsession in making my flat look pretty, I can be really apathetic sometimes when it comes to clearing things away. For instance, weeks back when Laynie and MRS OKABE came over. Now MRS OKABE is a chronic snacker. Not only is he a snacker, he also happens to be a picky snacker. He snubbed my mom's homemade chocolate coated cookies for sugar laden Cadbury candies which he conveniently helped himself to from my fridge. After satisfying himself, he just dumps the wrappers on my side table - which I only noticed ONE WEEK later. Actually this may be more due to the frequency I am at home but Sam, if you're reading this, I AM NOT PLEASED. I should have a cattle prod handy whenever he comes to visit.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Paradox
In this life, I have more dislikes than likes. I blame it on the cynical streak I'd probably inherited from my mother. More than often I get a heavier dose of dislikes than likes, which again like the vicious cycle that is my life reinforces the cynicism in me. Like for instance:
I hate being gay but there is just nothing one can really do about that, or is there? Turn straight? Get a girlfriend? Get married? Punch out a few kids? Hooray, sounds hopeful already. Maybe I am generalising but I feel there is nothing more annoying than gay people (next to stupid politicians), but look, I am one of them. So therefore I am annoyed at myself. It's karma.
I don't like not having any close friends. Perhaps it is the cynicism in me that prevents me from forming a close bond to anyone or maybe it is just that people are just natural hypocrites. I like communicating but I get easily frustrated when people do not understand me. And lo behold, most of my friends are gay, so therefore I must be annoyed at my friends too.
I hate being bored and alone. Okay, maybe sometimes I don't, the latter I mean. There are times when I would just daydream away about being filthy rich so I could entertain any whim which comes into my mind - I would never suffer from boredom. Jet off to any country like as if it is just a drive down to the convenience store. But since I am not, I will just have to suffer in silence and wallow in the rut.
I hate myself for not being born pretty. Prettiness rules the world because everybody likes pretty things. Pretty will get you anywhere just as long as you continue being pretty. It won't matter that you won't look so pretty when you hit 40, at least all the good things you collected in your 40 years of being pretty will last you through the next 40. Besides, I don't intend to live beyond 39. But I am not pretty, so I will have to continue to use my brains to get ahead. However, even being brainy will require you to have a pretty face for acceptance, otherwise everyone will just think you're being an arrogant bitter cunt, so why even bother.
I can't remember when was the last time when I passed through a day without some form self restraint and feeling like I want to sink my fist into someone's face. I can't remember when was the last time I felt at peace with myself and the world.
I hate being gay but there is just nothing one can really do about that, or is there? Turn straight? Get a girlfriend? Get married? Punch out a few kids? Hooray, sounds hopeful already. Maybe I am generalising but I feel there is nothing more annoying than gay people (next to stupid politicians), but look, I am one of them. So therefore I am annoyed at myself. It's karma.
I don't like not having any close friends. Perhaps it is the cynicism in me that prevents me from forming a close bond to anyone or maybe it is just that people are just natural hypocrites. I like communicating but I get easily frustrated when people do not understand me. And lo behold, most of my friends are gay, so therefore I must be annoyed at my friends too.
I hate being bored and alone. Okay, maybe sometimes I don't, the latter I mean. There are times when I would just daydream away about being filthy rich so I could entertain any whim which comes into my mind - I would never suffer from boredom. Jet off to any country like as if it is just a drive down to the convenience store. But since I am not, I will just have to suffer in silence and wallow in the rut.
I hate myself for not being born pretty. Prettiness rules the world because everybody likes pretty things. Pretty will get you anywhere just as long as you continue being pretty. It won't matter that you won't look so pretty when you hit 40, at least all the good things you collected in your 40 years of being pretty will last you through the next 40. Besides, I don't intend to live beyond 39. But I am not pretty, so I will have to continue to use my brains to get ahead. However, even being brainy will require you to have a pretty face for acceptance, otherwise everyone will just think you're being an arrogant bitter cunt, so why even bother.
I can't remember when was the last time when I passed through a day without some form self restraint and feeling like I want to sink my fist into someone's face. I can't remember when was the last time I felt at peace with myself and the world.
Silkworms
I feel like writing but no topic comes to my head. In truth, there are plenty of things in my head just that it is hard to sort them out now when I can hardly keep awake. It's another quiet day in the office and for once I find myself devoid of work in a long time. Can't say I am not thankful, just that I wish i didn't have to feel so bored all the time. Actually I feel bored whether there is work or not and it all culminates in a vicious cycle. I feel bored, therefore I do not feel inspired to work, and as a result my mind begins to wander, causing me to eventually get sleepy. While I am fighting to keep awake, I get frustrated because my work is getting delayed due to my inability to concentrate. For any designer, there can't be any worse situation to be in than to feel bored with his/her job.
Once upon a time, I would shirk off from my studies to indulge in art. Now I can't remember the last time when I felt any passion to indulge in anything art related. I blame it on responsibilities. That and passion simply don't mix. There were two stages in my life when I experienced how responsibility turned passion into a burden. When I was kid I had a voracious appetite for science - up till it became a subject in school. Then it became tiresome, and my breaking point came when I forced to study it in depth. I was interested in knowing factoids, not delve into formulas like E = mc2. What was the point? Just how many of us are going to make a life out of doing that? Especially not in this country too. So from there I went into my favourite pastime, art. The moment I stepped into university, I found my abilities stifled by rigid rules which lecturers claimed are the basic principles of art. I recalled once in painting class, the lecturer gave me a C+ because he said I wasn't expressing myself, merely illustrating. Jesus... so now people think they could psycho-analyse what I paint and draw. Maybe I would have got an A+ for sexual angst if I ejaculated and peed all over my canvas. Joining the creative industries didn't help expand my creativity either, rather the contrary. I found myself increasingly stifled by artistically-challenged clients and bosses who insisted I should think out of the box but yet at the same time confine me to their rules.
So I find myself now in the present. What do I do in my free time when I am not burdened with work? Surfing for totally useless factoids in Wikipedia, reading on things from how zhi gung practitioners view masturbation as "spiritual suicide" to how silkworms get massacred in their pupae so as not to damage their silk cocoons. Maybe we are all just like the silkworms, majority massacred prematurely for what we can do, not what we can potentially be, while the rest are bred to continue the vicious cycle. I miss the days of childhood when everyday seemed like a new discovery instead of this current jaded mockery of existence.
Once upon a time, I would shirk off from my studies to indulge in art. Now I can't remember the last time when I felt any passion to indulge in anything art related. I blame it on responsibilities. That and passion simply don't mix. There were two stages in my life when I experienced how responsibility turned passion into a burden. When I was kid I had a voracious appetite for science - up till it became a subject in school. Then it became tiresome, and my breaking point came when I forced to study it in depth. I was interested in knowing factoids, not delve into formulas like E = mc2. What was the point? Just how many of us are going to make a life out of doing that? Especially not in this country too. So from there I went into my favourite pastime, art. The moment I stepped into university, I found my abilities stifled by rigid rules which lecturers claimed are the basic principles of art. I recalled once in painting class, the lecturer gave me a C+ because he said I wasn't expressing myself, merely illustrating. Jesus... so now people think they could psycho-analyse what I paint and draw. Maybe I would have got an A+ for sexual angst if I ejaculated and peed all over my canvas. Joining the creative industries didn't help expand my creativity either, rather the contrary. I found myself increasingly stifled by artistically-challenged clients and bosses who insisted I should think out of the box but yet at the same time confine me to their rules.
So I find myself now in the present. What do I do in my free time when I am not burdened with work? Surfing for totally useless factoids in Wikipedia, reading on things from how zhi gung practitioners view masturbation as "spiritual suicide" to how silkworms get massacred in their pupae so as not to damage their silk cocoons. Maybe we are all just like the silkworms, majority massacred prematurely for what we can do, not what we can potentially be, while the rest are bred to continue the vicious cycle. I miss the days of childhood when everyday seemed like a new discovery instead of this current jaded mockery of existence.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Stray Leaders
It's rather appalling for me to read in the papers today of the Johor Housing and Local Government Committee casually stating that they are short of dog shooters and are promising to continue a systematic eradication of stray dogs. Seriously, like what the fuck? I am sure it is an added bonus to know that they are also systematically eradicating common sense as well. Surely there must be a rational and humane way of dealing with the problem? I mean all the harping about how Westerners should look into the root cause of terrorism instead of waging an all out war on so called terrorist sponsoring Middle Eastern countries, and they can't apply the same concept on some poor defenseless canines? What about educating the public and imposing heavier penalties on people who abandon and abuse their pets?
And why should dogs be singled out all the time. I am not about to make any big conclusion here but I am suspecting the harassment of canines comes from the fact that they are considered "unclean" by certain people. Have anyone ever seen local councils declaring "systematic eradication" of cats? Hell, have anyone ever even heard of anyone doing anything to stray cats other than the hypocritical SPCA (no offence, but I have a personal vendetta against SPCA) occasionally highlighting their plight.
Do cats also not have the possibility of carrying rabies? I am not discriminating cats or saying that the authorities should also start shooting cats just to be fair. Felines share just the same amount of abuse as their canine counterparts, though not the same amount of prejudice. What I am trying to highlight here is that the so called menace that the authorities would like us to believe exist with stray dogs is probably just as bogus their "beautification projects". There is simply no plausible excuse to state that stray dogs are dangerous. As far as I knew and experienced, stray cats have also been known to attack humans. Majority of time all strays, cats or dogs will flee at the sight of humans anyway, and I wonder why? Fear of stupid humans perhaps? If you don't shoot cats why do you have to shoot dogs?
Or why not a systematic eradication of rats which by the way can carry up to thirty different diseases dangerous to humans including the bubonic plague. There seems to be an abundance of these rodents hanging around in eateries that sighting them is as common as the morning jam. Go figure. Maybe we should do a systematic eradication of idiotic leaders instead. Yup, I say let us just shoot them on sight like dogs (pun intended).
And why should dogs be singled out all the time. I am not about to make any big conclusion here but I am suspecting the harassment of canines comes from the fact that they are considered "unclean" by certain people. Have anyone ever seen local councils declaring "systematic eradication" of cats? Hell, have anyone ever even heard of anyone doing anything to stray cats other than the hypocritical SPCA (no offence, but I have a personal vendetta against SPCA) occasionally highlighting their plight.
Do cats also not have the possibility of carrying rabies? I am not discriminating cats or saying that the authorities should also start shooting cats just to be fair. Felines share just the same amount of abuse as their canine counterparts, though not the same amount of prejudice. What I am trying to highlight here is that the so called menace that the authorities would like us to believe exist with stray dogs is probably just as bogus their "beautification projects". There is simply no plausible excuse to state that stray dogs are dangerous. As far as I knew and experienced, stray cats have also been known to attack humans. Majority of time all strays, cats or dogs will flee at the sight of humans anyway, and I wonder why? Fear of stupid humans perhaps? If you don't shoot cats why do you have to shoot dogs?
Or why not a systematic eradication of rats which by the way can carry up to thirty different diseases dangerous to humans including the bubonic plague. There seems to be an abundance of these rodents hanging around in eateries that sighting them is as common as the morning jam. Go figure. Maybe we should do a systematic eradication of idiotic leaders instead. Yup, I say let us just shoot them on sight like dogs (pun intended).
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Obsession
You will know you have a problem when you realise point-blank that you could possibly be doing something severely detrimental to yourself but you are still doing it. Such was my case yesterday, when I found myself struggling in the gym despite being just barely recovered from a case of fever and diarrhoea. Though I did have my class done by a replacement on the day the ailment struck, I was back to the routine again barely 24 hours later (yes, all this despite me complaining being bored of my routine life in my previous entry).
I was feeling the strain already right after my class and I knew my weakened body simply could not take the strain of a session at the weights section. But yet despite my body faltering, I was there. With each push at the bench press I could hear a voice in my head yelling at me that I was insane. My muscles were a chorus of tormented screams but yet I still managed to struggle through three exercises before I finally stopped. Not because I was finally giving in to my condition but more because I realised it was getting late. So why did I do it? Part vanity, part masochist - I simply refused to allow myself to be weak.
It can be a real pain when you are conditioned to believe that all things good come with a price...
I was feeling the strain already right after my class and I knew my weakened body simply could not take the strain of a session at the weights section. But yet despite my body faltering, I was there. With each push at the bench press I could hear a voice in my head yelling at me that I was insane. My muscles were a chorus of tormented screams but yet I still managed to struggle through three exercises before I finally stopped. Not because I was finally giving in to my condition but more because I realised it was getting late. So why did I do it? Part vanity, part masochist - I simply refused to allow myself to be weak.
It can be a real pain when you are conditioned to believe that all things good come with a price...
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Snagged
Bitter and dejected, that's how I felt last Friday night. I know I shouldn't be because I know it's none of my friends' fault, but still I couldn't contain the flood that was welling inside. I don't want to sound like I am glorifying myself yet again but I have always did what I could when friends needed me, albeit sometimes reluctantly but most people who know me understands I never begrudge anyone when it comes to rendering assistance. For some reason, last Friday night I just did not feel like I wanted to be alone after finishing work at the gym after 10pm so I started calling up friends in hopes I can at least have some company for dinner. However phone call after phone call left me feeling more and more angst. Calls were not answered or I was simply given a brush off. Maybe I shouldn't use the word "brush off" because technically my friends had no obligation to entertain me anyway at such short notice so they had every right to decline me and certainly no malice were meant. It was Friday night after all.
I think I became desperate enough to call up someone who lived totally out of the way and in a place I was not even familiar with, but of course, the reply was the same. In the end, I just went back to the McDonald's nearby my home and resigned myself to wallow over junk food. By that time, friends who were not answering my calls earlier had started calling back but I was no longer in a mood to talk and explain myself, so I just rejected all the calls. It's not that I was really angry or blaming them for anything.
The experience left me questioning about who I am really. Earlier in the day, a colleague of mine was discussing with me over lunch about the meaning of all our existence. It wasn't about the spiritual aspect, more towards what kind of lives are we all leading. Are we more than the routine we live everyday - wake up, traffic jam, office, work, work, work and more work. In the night, I practically force myself into an exercise routine which is both mixture of work and self-disciplining. Sometimes when I think about it, I feel like I am some kind of pet rodent to some higher being. At the end of the day, what does it all mean? I must admit, I never questioned myself over this other than the fact that I know I am bored with my routine life.
I think I became desperate enough to call up someone who lived totally out of the way and in a place I was not even familiar with, but of course, the reply was the same. In the end, I just went back to the McDonald's nearby my home and resigned myself to wallow over junk food. By that time, friends who were not answering my calls earlier had started calling back but I was no longer in a mood to talk and explain myself, so I just rejected all the calls. It's not that I was really angry or blaming them for anything.
The experience left me questioning about who I am really. Earlier in the day, a colleague of mine was discussing with me over lunch about the meaning of all our existence. It wasn't about the spiritual aspect, more towards what kind of lives are we all leading. Are we more than the routine we live everyday - wake up, traffic jam, office, work, work, work and more work. In the night, I practically force myself into an exercise routine which is both mixture of work and self-disciplining. Sometimes when I think about it, I feel like I am some kind of pet rodent to some higher being. At the end of the day, what does it all mean? I must admit, I never questioned myself over this other than the fact that I know I am bored with my routine life.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Longing For The Tuscan Sun
After lending my Under The Tuscan Sun DVD to a friend for months, I finally got it back over the weekend. And just out of a whim, I decided to watch it again last night. For obviously clear reasons, I simply love the movie for the plain feel-good theme. Generally I am not a sucker for romantic movies but I do like the genre. I am just not for the whole nauseating over-the-top Titanic kind of romance which just leaves you wishing both the protagonists would shut up and die horribly. Under The Tuscan Sun, though having a predictable happy ending was more about letting go and taking life by the horns.Very loosely based on the memoirs of Frances Mayes, the movie puts the author in a fictional setting as a depressed, recently divorced writer, Frances (Diane Lane) who is sent on a gay tour of Italy by her lesbian friend, Patti (Sandra Oh). Out of an impulse, she purchases a dilapidated villa in Tuscany and finds a new life in her new home. The best part of the movie has to be how they played around with how in one of her depressed state, Frances expresses her doubts in ever having a family to fill the home she just bought and that she wanted there to be a wedding. In the end, she gets her wish, though not in exactly the way she expected. Lindsay Duncan as the eccentric advice dispensing English expatriate, Katherine was a joy to watch.
The movie was also partly the reason why I am saving up so I could take a trip to Italy one day. Not so much as hoping that I can experience the same thing in the movie (what am I going to purchase a villa in Tuscany with?), but more to just see the same sights. As Sandra Oh's character said, "How can you say no to Italy?". Would be fun though if you can buy a nice little villa in some rural part of Italy and live a life without worry. Just take a look at the picture on the left. What I would do to wake up to a scene like this every morning rather than rows and rows of generic sterile flats and terrace houses on stripped earth and screwed up LDP traffic.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Dream Lover
One of the most common question I am asked, especially by people whom I know from the internet, is the one about what kind of guy is my type. Well ideally, he should look should look like this:
Don't even ask me who that is because I don't know. I don't even remember how this guy's picture came to be in my possession. I just recalled saving it into my Photobucket account so I could one day use it to illustrate on this topic. So if the person reading this is the person in the picture above, I apologise in advance but I did not intend to turn you into an object of my fevered fantasies. Just trying to illustrate a point here. That aside, you can now proceed to get in touch with me... just kidding.
I will not begin to even deny that I prefer a good looking guy. Years ago when I was still a idealistic teenager in denial I will probably say that looks don't matter. Now that I am old enough to be a little more shameless, I will say looks matters above all else when it comes to first impression. Whatever our intelligence or human superiority, we're just in the end biological creatures who will consciously or unconsciously desire a mate which is strong and physically attractive. But having said that, being gay renders that notion obsolete because technically we don't mate.
However that doesn't mean that I am all for being shallow. Personally I have settled for a lot less than my version of ideal. For what it is worth, I am not someone with looks that could launch a thousand ships anyway so I am not about to go about commenting who is good looking and who is ugly like the comical bunch in Hotshots (refer to Axcest) or Hotbods (refer to Trevvy) or declare I deserve someone who is physically attractive. And strangely, I had a dream once where Jacky Cheung was interested in pursuing me and I was pretty enamoured by the notion and by my standards, he is barely half of where the guy above is ranked. Perhaps it was how he was so charmingly likable when I chanced to have met him in person once. So I guess besides a pretty face, personality and chemistry accounts for a major part of acceptance.
When it comes to dating, I think I'm proud to say that I have dated a pretty wide variation of people of different age groups and physical appearances - younger and older, skinny and... the not so skinny. I have even dated a Malay guy once whom today I still have fond memories of (which is more than what I can say for most of my exes and past dates), so I can't be said to be racially discriminative either when it comes to preferences. Unfortunately I am not too proud by the numbers which rather paints a pathetic picture of the state of my love life, but that aside...
No, I guess I can't really describe my "type" because physical appearances hardly paint a whole picture of what a person is, though reluctantly I would agree that good looks certainly bypass a lot of my barriers. Having said that, a handsome guy would not necessarily find an easy path into my heart either. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) I never have to worry about that because I am never lucky enough to warrant such attention.
It is a kind of paradox since I usually never have good impression of good looking people in the sense I always find such types fickle, arrogant and well... above me. If there is one thing I find in common with these types are how they know of their physical attractiveness and are prone to psychological games to get more attention. The more appearance challenged are not exactly guiltless either and I have seen my fair share of such who feels, no BELIEVE, they deserve to be paired off with an Adonis (read: the comical bunch of commentators at Hotbods and Hotshots). Maybe it's the whole Cinderella complex, or something more associated with the ego or just plain denial.
We are all brought up to believe we deserve the best in life but reality would have it that only a handful will ever get to live their dreams. If anyone have seen that Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet movie, The Holiday, would have heard of how there are two sorts or role in life, the lead and the best friend. Like it or not, a majority of us would be spending a lifetime playing the best friend, including yours truly. But hey... one can always dream.
Don't even ask me who that is because I don't know. I don't even remember how this guy's picture came to be in my possession. I just recalled saving it into my Photobucket account so I could one day use it to illustrate on this topic. So if the person reading this is the person in the picture above, I apologise in advance but I did not intend to turn you into an object of my fevered fantasies. Just trying to illustrate a point here. That aside, you can now proceed to get in touch with me... just kidding.
I will not begin to even deny that I prefer a good looking guy. Years ago when I was still a idealistic teenager in denial I will probably say that looks don't matter. Now that I am old enough to be a little more shameless, I will say looks matters above all else when it comes to first impression. Whatever our intelligence or human superiority, we're just in the end biological creatures who will consciously or unconsciously desire a mate which is strong and physically attractive. But having said that, being gay renders that notion obsolete because technically we don't mate.
However that doesn't mean that I am all for being shallow. Personally I have settled for a lot less than my version of ideal. For what it is worth, I am not someone with looks that could launch a thousand ships anyway so I am not about to go about commenting who is good looking and who is ugly like the comical bunch in Hotshots (refer to Axcest) or Hotbods (refer to Trevvy) or declare I deserve someone who is physically attractive. And strangely, I had a dream once where Jacky Cheung was interested in pursuing me and I was pretty enamoured by the notion and by my standards, he is barely half of where the guy above is ranked. Perhaps it was how he was so charmingly likable when I chanced to have met him in person once. So I guess besides a pretty face, personality and chemistry accounts for a major part of acceptance.
When it comes to dating, I think I'm proud to say that I have dated a pretty wide variation of people of different age groups and physical appearances - younger and older, skinny and... the not so skinny. I have even dated a Malay guy once whom today I still have fond memories of (which is more than what I can say for most of my exes and past dates), so I can't be said to be racially discriminative either when it comes to preferences. Unfortunately I am not too proud by the numbers which rather paints a pathetic picture of the state of my love life, but that aside...
No, I guess I can't really describe my "type" because physical appearances hardly paint a whole picture of what a person is, though reluctantly I would agree that good looks certainly bypass a lot of my barriers. Having said that, a handsome guy would not necessarily find an easy path into my heart either. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) I never have to worry about that because I am never lucky enough to warrant such attention.
It is a kind of paradox since I usually never have good impression of good looking people in the sense I always find such types fickle, arrogant and well... above me. If there is one thing I find in common with these types are how they know of their physical attractiveness and are prone to psychological games to get more attention. The more appearance challenged are not exactly guiltless either and I have seen my fair share of such who feels, no BELIEVE, they deserve to be paired off with an Adonis (read: the comical bunch of commentators at Hotbods and Hotshots). Maybe it's the whole Cinderella complex, or something more associated with the ego or just plain denial.
We are all brought up to believe we deserve the best in life but reality would have it that only a handful will ever get to live their dreams. If anyone have seen that Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet movie, The Holiday, would have heard of how there are two sorts or role in life, the lead and the best friend. Like it or not, a majority of us would be spending a lifetime playing the best friend, including yours truly. But hey... one can always dream.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Starry Starry Night
There's nothing much to say really except it's Chinese New Year. I think I have said all there is to be said about this season of the year. The usual fare, annoying relatives asking the same old questions ("Where is your girlfriend?", "When is it your turn?", "When can I stop giving angpow to you?"), eat, sleep and watch TV. This time around I didn't even bother with trying to exercise so I will probably be paying for it. Four days of sedentary lifestyle and my body has begun to deteriorate. Seems there is no way I can go back to that life anymore. And oh yeah... driving home in a jam in the dead of the night is not a pleasant experience, especially if your companion is fast asleep and you're fighting fatigue. Starting at 11 pm and reaching home at around 5am is not funny.
Less than 6 hours later I was up and about again to run chores and do the ancestral worship thing. It begs to question, how is it I am doing this when it is more of the duty of the eldest son. After all, theoretically I am the one who has shamed the ancestors for abdicating my duties in continuing the family line. Besides I have a love-hate relationship with the columbarium. The cremains of my grandaunt is there and every year it seems there are more and more new additions among the old dead who grows more increasingly forgotten. The old wing especially seemed like a testimony to how death and decay makes anonymous beings of us all. Rows and rows of long deceased lined the walls. Their dusty, cobwebbed urns sometimes behind broken glass and missing name plates. Many have photographs staring out blankly among a jumble of the deceased's personal artifacts. Reminds me of a line from Don MacLean's Vincent.
"Starry, starry night, portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless heads on nameless walls, with eyes that watch the world and can't forget"
Old and young all together for an eternity which doesn't even seem permanent. In the central courtyard is a bodhi tree. Continued root growths have begun to tear up the cement floor while drain pipes clogged with its leaves sag and leak from the weight. Beneath the tree is where converted Christians abandon their pagan idols so they could alleviate their guilt that perhaps those who still believe will continue to honor their former gods. It's strange really, why even bother with this last act of belief if you have abandon your faith? On any other day, the columbarium looks even more sad with the lack of human life lingering around save maybe the distant drone of monks chanting. There's a certain allure to the sadness, but yet it is not something many of us would want to think about often.
Less than 6 hours later I was up and about again to run chores and do the ancestral worship thing. It begs to question, how is it I am doing this when it is more of the duty of the eldest son. After all, theoretically I am the one who has shamed the ancestors for abdicating my duties in continuing the family line. Besides I have a love-hate relationship with the columbarium. The cremains of my grandaunt is there and every year it seems there are more and more new additions among the old dead who grows more increasingly forgotten. The old wing especially seemed like a testimony to how death and decay makes anonymous beings of us all. Rows and rows of long deceased lined the walls. Their dusty, cobwebbed urns sometimes behind broken glass and missing name plates. Many have photographs staring out blankly among a jumble of the deceased's personal artifacts. Reminds me of a line from Don MacLean's Vincent.
"Starry, starry night, portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless heads on nameless walls, with eyes that watch the world and can't forget"
Old and young all together for an eternity which doesn't even seem permanent. In the central courtyard is a bodhi tree. Continued root growths have begun to tear up the cement floor while drain pipes clogged with its leaves sag and leak from the weight. Beneath the tree is where converted Christians abandon their pagan idols so they could alleviate their guilt that perhaps those who still believe will continue to honor their former gods. It's strange really, why even bother with this last act of belief if you have abandon your faith? On any other day, the columbarium looks even more sad with the lack of human life lingering around save maybe the distant drone of monks chanting. There's a certain allure to the sadness, but yet it is not something many of us would want to think about often.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Supernova
Few weeks ago I found myself watching one of those old Chinese New Year themed Hong Kong movies which starred the late Leslie Cheung. For some reason I found it highly depressing, though like all Chinese New Year themed movies, it was meant to be a feel-good comedy. I think part of it stemmed from the fact... well... that Leslie Cheung is dead. I mean of course it's no big deal right? We watch movies all the time with someone who is already dead in it, like Gladiator (the late Richard Harris was in it) which I watched over the weekend in a spanky Hilton KL penthouse suite, courtesy of Ben Tang from Singapore.
Anyway, coming back to the topic, the fact that I grew up around the same time Leslie Cheung rose to stardom made the movie kind of depressive. I saw him climb the ladder of success, watched his so-called retirement concert (on TV of course), observed him make a comeback on motion pictures, and just when you thought the guy had everything going for him, he goes and make a bloody mess of himself on a sidewalk. Perhaps it's not really fair that I describe his tragic death that way, after all none of us will really know what was going through his mind when he decided to call life quits. I guess one gets more easily affected by the tragic death of a star if you grew up in the latter's heydays, much like Princess Diana. I remembered being irrationally saddened by her rather dramatic exit, much like the most of the world I suppose. And of course what did she mean to me? Obviously I have never even set eyes on her in the flesh, much less know her.
I also find myself half-heartedly contemplating on Anna Nicole Smith's recent demise. By all means she was hardly what anyone would describe as an examplary star. Every single bit of her life was of questionable morals but it would be also fair to say she was a victim of her own fame. I remembered liking her so I could spite a friend of mine who was a fan of Pamela Anderson. I illustrated her once in this rather provocative pose for a school project on the subject, of all things, MORAL. The teacher was like, "Aiyoo~~ so gatal!". Hey, at least in Anna Nicole, you saw the real ups and downs of a celebrity. She had her fat days and tragedies, and I think in a way we all sympathised and loved her for it, gold-digger or not. She was real in a kooky sense of irony.
Above all, maybe who the celebrity or how they die doesn't really matter. Perhaps what we see in their demise is more of a milestone for the end of an era in our own lives. In their deaths we see our own growth and the innocence we had lost along the way. Perhaps in a way, it reflects on our own personal tragedies, on the choices that we made which has brought us here.
Perhaps it's just in human nature to be morbidly fascinated...
Anyway, coming back to the topic, the fact that I grew up around the same time Leslie Cheung rose to stardom made the movie kind of depressive. I saw him climb the ladder of success, watched his so-called retirement concert (on TV of course), observed him make a comeback on motion pictures, and just when you thought the guy had everything going for him, he goes and make a bloody mess of himself on a sidewalk. Perhaps it's not really fair that I describe his tragic death that way, after all none of us will really know what was going through his mind when he decided to call life quits. I guess one gets more easily affected by the tragic death of a star if you grew up in the latter's heydays, much like Princess Diana. I remembered being irrationally saddened by her rather dramatic exit, much like the most of the world I suppose. And of course what did she mean to me? Obviously I have never even set eyes on her in the flesh, much less know her.
I also find myself half-heartedly contemplating on Anna Nicole Smith's recent demise. By all means she was hardly what anyone would describe as an examplary star. Every single bit of her life was of questionable morals but it would be also fair to say she was a victim of her own fame. I remembered liking her so I could spite a friend of mine who was a fan of Pamela Anderson. I illustrated her once in this rather provocative pose for a school project on the subject, of all things, MORAL. The teacher was like, "Aiyoo~~ so gatal!". Hey, at least in Anna Nicole, you saw the real ups and downs of a celebrity. She had her fat days and tragedies, and I think in a way we all sympathised and loved her for it, gold-digger or not. She was real in a kooky sense of irony.
Above all, maybe who the celebrity or how they die doesn't really matter. Perhaps what we see in their demise is more of a milestone for the end of an era in our own lives. In their deaths we see our own growth and the innocence we had lost along the way. Perhaps in a way, it reflects on our own personal tragedies, on the choices that we made which has brought us here.
Perhaps it's just in human nature to be morbidly fascinated...
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
Grim Thoughts
Just some things that went through my mind as I was starting to end the day.
What if...
Every religion in the world were wrong. That there is no life after death. No immortal spirit to outlive this so called mortal coil. That when we face the final curtain and the moment the body shuts down, there is no darkness, no light at the end of the tunnel, no green meadows of the land of the thereafter, none of the gone before to greet us... just... NOTHING. There is no spiritual immortality, all there is left is your decomposing corpse which will spend eternity six feet under or cremains scattered or lodged in an urn. No glory of the Christian God to greet the righteous dead on Judgement Day, no forty virgins await the Muslim martyr in paradise, no karma waiting to be repaid in the Buddhist samsara, no reincarnation for the faithful Hindu. Millions of people live a life in preparing for a life beyond this one. Live a religious life, they say, and you will be rewarded in the afterlife... when in the end it's just a life lived in fear in preparation for NOTHING.
There comes a time when...
All of us are deserving of some form of suffering for something that we did. That no matter how much denial we put into it, it will not make it unjust. That we will be undeserving of the sympathetic words of friends and family. For deep down in our wicked hearts, we know we had done unto others what we do not want done unto us. And for the rest, despite their willingness to offer assistance and consolation, will know in their conscience, the guilty had received his/her comeuppance.
Perhaps...
All gay people are deserving of the ridicule which is served unto them by the general society. That perhaps we are all just wasting our time going from man to man, spilling our seed in an orgy of lust when in the end there is nothing more to a gay relationship than an attraction of flesh. And perhaps all that homosexuality is, is just nature's way of removing the corrupted from the gene pool. For all we will ever be willing to do is to push our organs up the wrong receptacle in a mock display of copulation.
What if...
Every religion in the world were wrong. That there is no life after death. No immortal spirit to outlive this so called mortal coil. That when we face the final curtain and the moment the body shuts down, there is no darkness, no light at the end of the tunnel, no green meadows of the land of the thereafter, none of the gone before to greet us... just... NOTHING. There is no spiritual immortality, all there is left is your decomposing corpse which will spend eternity six feet under or cremains scattered or lodged in an urn. No glory of the Christian God to greet the righteous dead on Judgement Day, no forty virgins await the Muslim martyr in paradise, no karma waiting to be repaid in the Buddhist samsara, no reincarnation for the faithful Hindu. Millions of people live a life in preparing for a life beyond this one. Live a religious life, they say, and you will be rewarded in the afterlife... when in the end it's just a life lived in fear in preparation for NOTHING.
There comes a time when...
All of us are deserving of some form of suffering for something that we did. That no matter how much denial we put into it, it will not make it unjust. That we will be undeserving of the sympathetic words of friends and family. For deep down in our wicked hearts, we know we had done unto others what we do not want done unto us. And for the rest, despite their willingness to offer assistance and consolation, will know in their conscience, the guilty had received his/her comeuppance.
Perhaps...
All gay people are deserving of the ridicule which is served unto them by the general society. That perhaps we are all just wasting our time going from man to man, spilling our seed in an orgy of lust when in the end there is nothing more to a gay relationship than an attraction of flesh. And perhaps all that homosexuality is, is just nature's way of removing the corrupted from the gene pool. For all we will ever be willing to do is to push our organs up the wrong receptacle in a mock display of copulation.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Thank You
I was about to teach class again as usual yesterday evening when I was approached by a a lady who looks to be around her forties. She was relatively new to my classes, and she had been trying to join as regularly as possible. As it was almost time for me to conduct my class, I had to excuse myself but before I went she said these words that really made my day.
"Just to let you know, I always enjoy your class. Always!"
For those who of you who think I'm doing this for the money, now you see the reason why. The money is just an added bonus, to be appreciated this way - that's the drive that gets me going. Give it up? I don't think so.
"Just to let you know, I always enjoy your class. Always!"
For those who of you who think I'm doing this for the money, now you see the reason why. The money is just an added bonus, to be appreciated this way - that's the drive that gets me going. Give it up? I don't think so.
Monday, January 22, 2007
The Stray
I find that I may be withholding decisions - for a single person. Perhaps he is the last one unsettled business that I needed to complete. A year and a half ago I set out to try to change a life. That is just me, always picking up lost souls and strays in hopes of making a difference that I myself could not bring to my own self. Not that my past endeavours were anywhere near successful and I find myself questioning if it is even within my right to play moral guardian.
Nevertheless, I tried not to be a warden, rather just a guide. I grew to like this 'stray', perhaps a little too much. For some time I toyed with the idea, but I did not think I was what he needed. I began to have doubts - maybe I was doing it all wrong. In the end, I chose to abandon my little crusade, and hoping for the best, that perhaps life could teach him what I couldn't.
But in light of recent revelations, perhaps I was wrong to abandon what I originally set out to do. He had gone down the path that I feared and foresaw he would take. But life has always been about personal choices, is it not? I showed him the choices but he chose his path, so why do I feel like I have betrayed him?
Nevertheless, I tried not to be a warden, rather just a guide. I grew to like this 'stray', perhaps a little too much. For some time I toyed with the idea, but I did not think I was what he needed. I began to have doubts - maybe I was doing it all wrong. In the end, I chose to abandon my little crusade, and hoping for the best, that perhaps life could teach him what I couldn't.
But in light of recent revelations, perhaps I was wrong to abandon what I originally set out to do. He had gone down the path that I feared and foresaw he would take. But life has always been about personal choices, is it not? I showed him the choices but he chose his path, so why do I feel like I have betrayed him?
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Of Birthdays & Birds
And so I am another year older. 27 years old and I am feeling every bit the age. I can't seem to do late nights anymore without nodding off in front of my workstation the next day. Hell, I can't even begin to try to do late nights without feeling the immediate effects. Pinky thinks all I need is a vacation. I think I need a generous retirement package from a well-to-do 'mature sponsor' (sugar daddy in laymen terms), though I fear at this age I am no longer qualified to apply. Or maybe it is because of the dual life I lead as a group exercise instructor. Supposedly I was told the ideal number of classes one should be doing is around four times a week. However I am doing seven. I can't help it if I enjoy that more than my day job, to hell with next day zombie-fications.
That aside, the birthday went by almost like any other day. For once I think I am too preoccupied with other thoughts to be even putting any consideration into its significance. Most of the ones who should remember, forgot, and the ones who weren't close remembered. Don't really know how I should feel about it. Not to say I wasn't being appreciative of the wishes, but somehow I felt I would have just rather went past the day without being reminded. I think it made me more and more depressed with each greeting. Not that I mind getting older, I just can't bear to see how significant I am in the lives of others. So the day went by just like any other routine day. Joanne, a fellow instructor thought I was nuts though to be still instructing on my birthday but what better way to spend it doing what you like best.
For those who are still waiting for an answer on my potential migration down south, there is still no solid answer yet, so stop the questioning! The percentage of possibility seems to fluctuate everyday. I can basically summarise it to this. I don't want to go but I can't find a reason to stay either. It was never really about the money, I am just not sure if a move is the right way to go. I don't want to be doing something I might regret later, and for me that always seems to be the case. Forget the pep talk, whatever everyone had said so far wouldn't be something I hadn't thought of before. I just need to get over it myself. I am greatly appreciative though of the welcome my Singaporean friends have been extending to me so far despite my current uncertainty and lack of motivation.
One thing is for sure, the thought of being stuck at the crossroads is beginning to make me restless. Saw a couple of beagle pups for sale yesterday at an affordable price. Everybody knows I have been wanting one for ages but with this current issue of not knowing whether to stay or to go just puts a damper on everything. CJ had this thing about some birds having wings but no feet (basically people who can't settle down), I feel like a caged bird who just had its doors opened but doesn't know how to fly.
That aside, the birthday went by almost like any other day. For once I think I am too preoccupied with other thoughts to be even putting any consideration into its significance. Most of the ones who should remember, forgot, and the ones who weren't close remembered. Don't really know how I should feel about it. Not to say I wasn't being appreciative of the wishes, but somehow I felt I would have just rather went past the day without being reminded. I think it made me more and more depressed with each greeting. Not that I mind getting older, I just can't bear to see how significant I am in the lives of others. So the day went by just like any other routine day. Joanne, a fellow instructor thought I was nuts though to be still instructing on my birthday but what better way to spend it doing what you like best.
For those who are still waiting for an answer on my potential migration down south, there is still no solid answer yet, so stop the questioning! The percentage of possibility seems to fluctuate everyday. I can basically summarise it to this. I don't want to go but I can't find a reason to stay either. It was never really about the money, I am just not sure if a move is the right way to go. I don't want to be doing something I might regret later, and for me that always seems to be the case. Forget the pep talk, whatever everyone had said so far wouldn't be something I hadn't thought of before. I just need to get over it myself. I am greatly appreciative though of the welcome my Singaporean friends have been extending to me so far despite my current uncertainty and lack of motivation.
One thing is for sure, the thought of being stuck at the crossroads is beginning to make me restless. Saw a couple of beagle pups for sale yesterday at an affordable price. Everybody knows I have been wanting one for ages but with this current issue of not knowing whether to stay or to go just puts a damper on everything. CJ had this thing about some birds having wings but no feet (basically people who can't settle down), I feel like a caged bird who just had its doors opened but doesn't know how to fly.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Sunday, January 07, 2007
A Change?
I know I haven't been blogging for some time, not because I was busy - more like because I just couldn't find the mood for it. It's hard to imagine that just last month, I was living in fear that I might potentially find myself being unemployed for a few months. December is not exactly a good month to be jobless, with most people waiting out for their bonuses before resigning. But yet, somehow, after several exasperating interviews I still manage to secure a job that isn't too shabby. The colleagues are way more livelier than the ones in the previous two jobs, and I don't know if this is a plus point or not - my immediate superior is not exactly into the opposite sex either... How am I sure of this? Let's just say like Shakira's hips, Fridae doesn't lie.
It's definitely does not feel like a funeral home, neither do I have to suffer daily anxiety about trusting my colleagues with anything. And despite going through the same experience several times, I just will never learn. Even before December ended, I began to find myself swamped with more opportunities than I can handle. It would always be like this - initially all would be silent despite attending dozens of interviews with patronising interviewers (and putting on a plastic personality to accomodate them). I think there were times when I just dropped the mask because I was just plain fed up of being patient. Just when you think all hope is lost, several of them comes forward at the same time with offers as if you are some rare antique in an auction. Two of them I had no difficulty declining because I had no desire to be working with bicycles for a few years and definitely no enthusiasm with working for a potentially Prada wearing Devil. Two more are still in an uncertain interview stage though both seem enthusiastic, one sends me back into the publication and editorial line and the other, well... something I am not too familiar but I wouldn't mind trying out.
But being the pragmatist that I am, I accepted an offer to return back to the line I was more familiar with for now. And just when I thought I could just lie back and settle down again, another offer comes along and I swear it has to be Satan as Liz Hurley herself making up the offer. I could potentially find myself down south, leaving everything here in KL behind for a new life. I don't doubt that it is a good offer to further my career but seven years of building my life in KL is not something I could so easily let go. Although I have voiced my honest feelings to my friends that I will probably miss them if I go, all of them were quite adamant that they should be rid of me...
The bastards...
I know they mean well and for all that they assumed, it's not so much as to whether the offer was sweet enough for me to say yes. I just need to find the courage and confidence to take the step. I know it's just less than 5 hours away, but the thought of having to start all over again from square one just scares the crap out of me. And of all the people, it seems only my mother is not enthusiastic about the idea. Really, I think I inherited my cynical streak from her...
Recently one of my towels went missing after one of my sessions in the gym, and the management did not find it. Perplexing as it was for me, it made me realise that not everything will stay the same always. Perhaps my days in KL are now numbered.
It's definitely does not feel like a funeral home, neither do I have to suffer daily anxiety about trusting my colleagues with anything. And despite going through the same experience several times, I just will never learn. Even before December ended, I began to find myself swamped with more opportunities than I can handle. It would always be like this - initially all would be silent despite attending dozens of interviews with patronising interviewers (and putting on a plastic personality to accomodate them). I think there were times when I just dropped the mask because I was just plain fed up of being patient. Just when you think all hope is lost, several of them comes forward at the same time with offers as if you are some rare antique in an auction. Two of them I had no difficulty declining because I had no desire to be working with bicycles for a few years and definitely no enthusiasm with working for a potentially Prada wearing Devil. Two more are still in an uncertain interview stage though both seem enthusiastic, one sends me back into the publication and editorial line and the other, well... something I am not too familiar but I wouldn't mind trying out.
But being the pragmatist that I am, I accepted an offer to return back to the line I was more familiar with for now. And just when I thought I could just lie back and settle down again, another offer comes along and I swear it has to be Satan as Liz Hurley herself making up the offer. I could potentially find myself down south, leaving everything here in KL behind for a new life. I don't doubt that it is a good offer to further my career but seven years of building my life in KL is not something I could so easily let go. Although I have voiced my honest feelings to my friends that I will probably miss them if I go, all of them were quite adamant that they should be rid of me...
The bastards...
I know they mean well and for all that they assumed, it's not so much as to whether the offer was sweet enough for me to say yes. I just need to find the courage and confidence to take the step. I know it's just less than 5 hours away, but the thought of having to start all over again from square one just scares the crap out of me. And of all the people, it seems only my mother is not enthusiastic about the idea. Really, I think I inherited my cynical streak from her...
Recently one of my towels went missing after one of my sessions in the gym, and the management did not find it. Perplexing as it was for me, it made me realise that not everything will stay the same always. Perhaps my days in KL are now numbered.
Monday, December 11, 2006
I Did Not Need To Know
For most of my life I seem to be learning lessons I don't really care to learn.
I did not need to know that the people you love or trust might eventually betray you.
I did not need to know that most of my "friends" will never be around when I need them.
I did not need to know that most people will never know when to say the right things.
I did not need to know that there is a heavy price to pay for freedom.
I did not need to know what it feels like to be bitter.
I did not need to know that it is always easier to feel bad than it is to feel good.
I did not need to know that a broken heart is not mendable.
I did not need to know innocence is as cheap as the toys you find in packets of junk food.
Most of all...
I did not need to know that I will know whether I wish it or not.
I did not need to know that the people you love or trust might eventually betray you.
I did not need to know that most of my "friends" will never be around when I need them.
I did not need to know that most people will never know when to say the right things.
I did not need to know that there is a heavy price to pay for freedom.
I did not need to know what it feels like to be bitter.
I did not need to know that it is always easier to feel bad than it is to feel good.
I did not need to know that a broken heart is not mendable.
I did not need to know innocence is as cheap as the toys you find in packets of junk food.
Most of all...
I did not need to know that I will know whether I wish it or not.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
The Human Virus
There is this public service annoucement that has been playing a lot recently on the Astro radio stations about the plight of the children of the world. About how every few seconds, a child dies from starvation or disease. I have no doubts that the statistics mentioned are not exaggerated but however tragic the facts may be, it leaves me wondering if it is altogether a bad thing that children die young under the circumstances they are born in. Don't get me wrong, I mean no insensitivity towards to suffering of the less fortunate but look at the state of the world we are in. I don't mean to sound like an advocate of doom. The human population of the world is at its highest ever in the history of the planet. At this rate, we are consuming resources faster than it can be renewed. The current path of humanity is a vicious cycle of deterioration. Every single thing we do in the name of improving the "quality of life" is edging the planet closer to exhaustion. As life expentancy improves, it can only mean the need for more living space and resources, something the planet obviously can no longer support. There are news reports everyday about how the world is teetering on the brink of collapse but nobody really cares. Why should we care when we don't feel its effects right? Twenty years ago there was no such thing as haze. Now we speak about it as "the annual haze problem", as if it is as common as Christmas.
So coming back to the plight of the children of the world, which I am sure I will be lambasted for what I am about to say. Perhaps it would be more humane and "natural" to let them die. And I don't mean just the poor and unfortunate living in third world countries, I am referring to the whole of humanity itself. Rich and powerful, ordinary or nobody, why should anyone be exempted from death? Of course, economically speaking it would have been impossible, but logically if the whole world is willing to put aside borders, there would have been no such thing as poverty if every country is willing to share resources. It's just a silly Utopian dream but it really is a very simple thing to do if we just think about it. Perhaps the most stupid thing humans ever invented are religions, governments and money. So the world turns, as governments wage war on other countries in the name of protecting their citizens whom probaby didn't need protecting if there were no borders to stunt our mentality, the rich spend millions on trinkets and frivolities which could have fed millions of hungry mouths and wannabe martyrs adopting poor children with the excuse of giving them homes when they instead could have shared their fortunes without separating them from their families (yes I am referring to Madonna).
So coming back to the plight of the children of the world, which I am sure I will be lambasted for what I am about to say. Perhaps it would be more humane and "natural" to let them die. And I don't mean just the poor and unfortunate living in third world countries, I am referring to the whole of humanity itself. Rich and powerful, ordinary or nobody, why should anyone be exempted from death? Of course, economically speaking it would have been impossible, but logically if the whole world is willing to put aside borders, there would have been no such thing as poverty if every country is willing to share resources. It's just a silly Utopian dream but it really is a very simple thing to do if we just think about it. Perhaps the most stupid thing humans ever invented are religions, governments and money. So the world turns, as governments wage war on other countries in the name of protecting their citizens whom probaby didn't need protecting if there were no borders to stunt our mentality, the rich spend millions on trinkets and frivolities which could have fed millions of hungry mouths and wannabe martyrs adopting poor children with the excuse of giving them homes when they instead could have shared their fortunes without separating them from their families (yes I am referring to Madonna).
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Much Ado About Nothing
Pinky: Oh my God... you've lost so much weight!
Me: I know. No thanks to BODYPUMP®.
Pinky: You look so thin... You look like a model.
*Swells with pride*
Me: Wait... male or female model?
Pinky: Female.
My first reaction to that? Proceed to the nearest KFC and ordered a three piece chicken set. Of course I don't really look like a stick-thin-anorexic female model now. That's just Pinky trying to be mean to me. And despite the fact my body is currently looking its best in all 26 years of my life and I could fit into size 29 pants again, I am still easily affected by comments on my weight. I practice a couldn't-care-less attitude when it comes to other physical appearances (I would be arrested by the gay fashion police if there was one) but a passing remark on the weight which doesn't agree with me and I will be bothered by it for at least a duration of time, although Pinky is way more obsessive on that compared to me.
Vanity doesn't really have much to do with the pyschological obsession. I blame being fat through my teenage years, and the endless jibes about it coming, not from my friends, but my FAMILY of all people. It got so bad that one day I saw myself in some photos taken during the high school's anniversary parade and I totally hated it. So came the diet which saw me lose 10kgs at least, and two years ago I finally went beyond my stingy self and paid to join the most superficial gym ever in KL, *censored* and a year later became one of their own. From there onwards I no longer had to worry about being fat. Unfortunately, now I have to worry about being too thin. It seems that I can never be truly free of the whole weight issue. Well at least I can eat KFC with no guilty thoughts now.
Anyway aside from that, thanks to Jay's rants, I went and got myself this:
I am so seriously hooked, well with the book anyway. Mine doesn't have this boring cover of course, but the one with the poster from the musical which looks exactly like this:
Don't think I will ever have a chance to catch the musical here in dowdy old KL, the city where you get plays like Sam & Jet 2 in the Panggung Bandaraya, with tawdry male-to-male sex scenes. Who says we're not a liberal society.
Me: I know. No thanks to BODYPUMP®.
Pinky: You look so thin... You look like a model.
*Swells with pride*
Me: Wait... male or female model?
Pinky: Female.
My first reaction to that? Proceed to the nearest KFC and ordered a three piece chicken set. Of course I don't really look like a stick-thin-anorexic female model now. That's just Pinky trying to be mean to me. And despite the fact my body is currently looking its best in all 26 years of my life and I could fit into size 29 pants again, I am still easily affected by comments on my weight. I practice a couldn't-care-less attitude when it comes to other physical appearances (I would be arrested by the gay fashion police if there was one) but a passing remark on the weight which doesn't agree with me and I will be bothered by it for at least a duration of time, although Pinky is way more obsessive on that compared to me.
Vanity doesn't really have much to do with the pyschological obsession. I blame being fat through my teenage years, and the endless jibes about it coming, not from my friends, but my FAMILY of all people. It got so bad that one day I saw myself in some photos taken during the high school's anniversary parade and I totally hated it. So came the diet which saw me lose 10kgs at least, and two years ago I finally went beyond my stingy self and paid to join the most superficial gym ever in KL, *censored* and a year later became one of their own. From there onwards I no longer had to worry about being fat. Unfortunately, now I have to worry about being too thin. It seems that I can never be truly free of the whole weight issue. Well at least I can eat KFC with no guilty thoughts now.
Anyway aside from that, thanks to Jay's rants, I went and got myself this:
I am so seriously hooked, well with the book anyway. Mine doesn't have this boring cover of course, but the one with the poster from the musical which looks exactly like this:
(Picture extracted from Jay's blog)
Don't think I will ever have a chance to catch the musical here in dowdy old KL, the city where you get plays like Sam & Jet 2 in the Panggung Bandaraya, with tawdry male-to-male sex scenes. Who says we're not a liberal society.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Pest Control
"Don't you ever feel lonely living alone?"
My mom asked me this question, two nights in a row during one of her, as usual, badly timed visits. The first time I couldn't even be be bothered to reply. The second time the question was beginning to get a tad bit too testy for my nerves and I told her I can't be bothered with that enquiry.
Honestly I haven't thought about that topic for some time. I am way too busy for it. Well ok the last time it crossed my mind about being lonely was when I was really sick two weeks ago but that can be easily overlooked. Every single person tend to feel miserable about being alone during such vulnerable times, don't they? I think I was more preoccupied with how to recover on time to do my classes and training. Yes, I admit it. I am addicted to gym. I have a love-hate relationship with exercise. I hate doing it but yet I can't seem to stop doing it. On the bright side, it keeps me sane and focused. I rather spend my nights in the gym than make time for some stupid relationship which is more likely to frazzle my nerves.
And as if it is some funny divine joke, someone I knew online seven years ago finally managed to pin me down during one of my rare forays back to mIRC and told me he had the hots for me all this while. Funny that should be the case because I can only recall that he usually pisses me off and elicit dry sarcasm from me. Mostly I think it's just desperation on his part. It's amazing how these things crawl out from the woodwork when you least expect it.
My mom asked me this question, two nights in a row during one of her, as usual, badly timed visits. The first time I couldn't even be be bothered to reply. The second time the question was beginning to get a tad bit too testy for my nerves and I told her I can't be bothered with that enquiry.
Honestly I haven't thought about that topic for some time. I am way too busy for it. Well ok the last time it crossed my mind about being lonely was when I was really sick two weeks ago but that can be easily overlooked. Every single person tend to feel miserable about being alone during such vulnerable times, don't they? I think I was more preoccupied with how to recover on time to do my classes and training. Yes, I admit it. I am addicted to gym. I have a love-hate relationship with exercise. I hate doing it but yet I can't seem to stop doing it. On the bright side, it keeps me sane and focused. I rather spend my nights in the gym than make time for some stupid relationship which is more likely to frazzle my nerves.
And as if it is some funny divine joke, someone I knew online seven years ago finally managed to pin me down during one of my rare forays back to mIRC and told me he had the hots for me all this while. Funny that should be the case because I can only recall that he usually pisses me off and elicit dry sarcasm from me. Mostly I think it's just desperation on his part. It's amazing how these things crawl out from the woodwork when you least expect it.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
I'm Back
Last week must be one of the worst weeks I've ever had. For several days I was down with what seemed to be one of the worst case of food poisoning I've ever had, with a complimentary fever to go with it. To top it off, if someone can actually have "wind" in the stomach, I must have had a hurricane. Whatever I took basically refused to stay in. Well actually it did, since I forcefully kept it down with much agony. So just to stop from suffering I stayed away from eating mostly, and as a result, I became much weaker than ever. I know most people will think I was a total idiot, but I still was doing my usual RPM™ class, with just one day of rest. Not that I was being suicidal, but there just wasn't any replacements at such short notice, and the blithering buffoon who was suppose to assist me that night did not show up, though I saw him stuffing his face at the gym vicinity.
And 3 days after, I was in training for BODYPUMP®. Three days worth of physical torment for my already bacteria ravaged body. Due to exhaustion, I woke up late on the second day. Screaming "SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!!!!", I scrambled out of bed, ignoring all hygiene routines and hunger, and arrived 15 minutes late. For some reason I performed exceptionally well with the first round of presentations, but the day was yet to be through with me. On an empty stomach I was subjected to what the trainer termed as BODYPUMP® Challenge - a 55 minutes circuit of unspeakable torture on the body. Best of all, you are required to inflict the torture upon yourself. I think I would have threw up at the end of it. The only problem was there was nothing to throw up. The result? A pair of almost useless legs which were constantly in pain for at least 3 days. The day right after, with useless legs and all, I was back on the stationary bike again for RPM™. The toll that kept me going for 3 days? At least 7 'biji' panadol. Insane does not describe me, retarded is more the case. I can still picture the look on everyone's faces whenever I told them how I was popping pills to survive the ordeal.
Somehow, I survived...
And soon I will be inflicting a different variety of torture upon gym goers. Be still my palpitating heart.
And 3 days after, I was in training for BODYPUMP®. Three days worth of physical torment for my already bacteria ravaged body. Due to exhaustion, I woke up late on the second day. Screaming "SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!!!!", I scrambled out of bed, ignoring all hygiene routines and hunger, and arrived 15 minutes late. For some reason I performed exceptionally well with the first round of presentations, but the day was yet to be through with me. On an empty stomach I was subjected to what the trainer termed as BODYPUMP® Challenge - a 55 minutes circuit of unspeakable torture on the body. Best of all, you are required to inflict the torture upon yourself. I think I would have threw up at the end of it. The only problem was there was nothing to throw up. The result? A pair of almost useless legs which were constantly in pain for at least 3 days. The day right after, with useless legs and all, I was back on the stationary bike again for RPM™. The toll that kept me going for 3 days? At least 7 'biji' panadol. Insane does not describe me, retarded is more the case. I can still picture the look on everyone's faces whenever I told them how I was popping pills to survive the ordeal.
Somehow, I survived...
And soon I will be inflicting a different variety of torture upon gym goers. Be still my palpitating heart.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
It's Just Another Farewell
I wrote about him before in my previous journal, the one whom I called the Fallen Angel. One of three guys who made a big influence in my life, well discounting my father. Prior to meeting him seven years ago, I was told by a friend that I would not help liking him because of his cheerful and perpetually smiling exterior. Well that friend was right, I couldn't help liking him. Little did I know he would also turn my life around. He would inspire me to be always true to myself. Perhaps what I am today, I still owe it to him, though he might not know the extent of his influence in my life.
Seven years sort of brought a rift between us. Nothing dramatic, it's just the way time tends to sunder most things. Though not close anymore, I still had great respect for this guy though he seemed somewhat changed from the person I used to know. Then again so have I. Recently I chanced to know he was moving overseas. At first I thought little about it. He didn't even tell me he was leaving. Out of a whim, I wished him all the best anyway, to which he seemed surprised because he hadn't expected a lot of people to know of his imminent departure. He thought little about it, to him it seemed like not too far a move, just that he will rarely be around.
Last Saturday we had a sort of informal farewell for him. There was nothing sad about it. It was almost like just a normal weekend getogether. When he put his arm around my shoulders in a brotherly gesture, that was when I realised despite the seven years rift and all, I was going to miss him. For a moment I thought I saw the same guy I used to know, the one who inspired me to be myself. Wish I had enough guts to tell him how much I love him, not so much as a lover, or a friend but as a genuine human being. One that I grew to admire and in some ways aspired to be. I believe everybody should have a friend like him in their lives. Perhaps some things are better left unsaid.
See you around B... and good tidings.
Seven years sort of brought a rift between us. Nothing dramatic, it's just the way time tends to sunder most things. Though not close anymore, I still had great respect for this guy though he seemed somewhat changed from the person I used to know. Then again so have I. Recently I chanced to know he was moving overseas. At first I thought little about it. He didn't even tell me he was leaving. Out of a whim, I wished him all the best anyway, to which he seemed surprised because he hadn't expected a lot of people to know of his imminent departure. He thought little about it, to him it seemed like not too far a move, just that he will rarely be around.
Last Saturday we had a sort of informal farewell for him. There was nothing sad about it. It was almost like just a normal weekend getogether. When he put his arm around my shoulders in a brotherly gesture, that was when I realised despite the seven years rift and all, I was going to miss him. For a moment I thought I saw the same guy I used to know, the one who inspired me to be myself. Wish I had enough guts to tell him how much I love him, not so much as a lover, or a friend but as a genuine human being. One that I grew to admire and in some ways aspired to be. I believe everybody should have a friend like him in their lives. Perhaps some things are better left unsaid.
See you around B... and good tidings.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
The Final Curtain
A friend's recent brush with a serious illness led to conversation about the value of friendship. And from there, somehow we ended up talking about whether or not any of my friends would know should I suddenly find myself on a trip back to meet the maker. In any case, they would eventually know but I think the emphasis here is how fast the news would travel. Now there are several scenarios of what will transpire. This might sound like a morbid topic but then again according to a monk I read about once, he actually keeps his homemade coffin around to remind himself of his own mortality, so heck, let's take a shot at this shall we?
Well first, we will consider the nature of my demise. Should I find myself kicking the bucket at home alone, probably from choking, electrocution, crushed from a falling shelf, etc., it will probably take at least over a week before the neighbours begin noticing the foul odour of my decomposing corpse. Of course by then, the gyms would have called my phone repeatedly over my class absence and the coordinators and members would be cursing me for my sudden lapse in responsibility. So let's say they discover my bloated corpse by the seventh day, my death would come to the attention of my family. Finally, the incessant calls from the gyms would eventually be answered by someone and they would be told of my tragic passing. The news begins to travel faster than the speed of premature ejaculation through the gym grapevine, which will eventually reach the ears of my friends. Shocked, they will wring their broken wrists in distress as they begin discussing about the feasibility of attending my funeral, only to realise this fact - they did not know where I came from, therefore would not know where my funeral would be held. They would be alternating between Ipoh and Sitiawan, both of which are not my hometown. Of course by the time they figured it out, I would have been already been cremated for at least three days.
Should I die in the presence of someone, news of my passing would of course travel faster. Someone in my family would either pick up a random call for me or decided to inform my friends via people recorded in handphone, half of which probably doesn't even remember who I am. However, once again they will probably hit the previous snag of not knowing where my funeral would be held which of course and the result will remain the same. Now let's say someone did remember where I come from, they will balk at the location and decide that I will understand that they couldn't attend. Among excuses that will probably be heard are, parents being superstitious of attending funerals and work commitments.
As gothic humour this may sound, it's a sad and possible truth that this may be what will transpire should I die suddenly. I anticipate that at least only two friends will make it to the funeral out of their own steam should they get wind of my demise quick enough. I think they know who they are. This post is not really about death in particular, but how well do we really know the people around us. Often we take their presence for granted, yet 'friends' we call them. I remembered a time when I went through great lengths to make sure I maintain my bond with the people that I know, but much like the over-rated issue of the Malaysia-Singapore crooked bridge, such things just don't just work one way. Few years down the road and my so called closest friend still think don't know for sure what I do for a living (he just assumes I am in IT). But that's not too bad, after all, at least it will take within a week for my gay friends to find out if I kicked the bucket. The others? I will consider it fortunate if they know about it within a year.
Well first, we will consider the nature of my demise. Should I find myself kicking the bucket at home alone, probably from choking, electrocution, crushed from a falling shelf, etc., it will probably take at least over a week before the neighbours begin noticing the foul odour of my decomposing corpse. Of course by then, the gyms would have called my phone repeatedly over my class absence and the coordinators and members would be cursing me for my sudden lapse in responsibility. So let's say they discover my bloated corpse by the seventh day, my death would come to the attention of my family. Finally, the incessant calls from the gyms would eventually be answered by someone and they would be told of my tragic passing. The news begins to travel faster than the speed of premature ejaculation through the gym grapevine, which will eventually reach the ears of my friends. Shocked, they will wring their broken wrists in distress as they begin discussing about the feasibility of attending my funeral, only to realise this fact - they did not know where I came from, therefore would not know where my funeral would be held. They would be alternating between Ipoh and Sitiawan, both of which are not my hometown. Of course by the time they figured it out, I would have been already been cremated for at least three days.
Should I die in the presence of someone, news of my passing would of course travel faster. Someone in my family would either pick up a random call for me or decided to inform my friends via people recorded in handphone, half of which probably doesn't even remember who I am. However, once again they will probably hit the previous snag of not knowing where my funeral would be held which of course and the result will remain the same. Now let's say someone did remember where I come from, they will balk at the location and decide that I will understand that they couldn't attend. Among excuses that will probably be heard are, parents being superstitious of attending funerals and work commitments.
As gothic humour this may sound, it's a sad and possible truth that this may be what will transpire should I die suddenly. I anticipate that at least only two friends will make it to the funeral out of their own steam should they get wind of my demise quick enough. I think they know who they are. This post is not really about death in particular, but how well do we really know the people around us. Often we take their presence for granted, yet 'friends' we call them. I remembered a time when I went through great lengths to make sure I maintain my bond with the people that I know, but much like the over-rated issue of the Malaysia-Singapore crooked bridge, such things just don't just work one way. Few years down the road and my so called closest friend still think don't know for sure what I do for a living (he just assumes I am in IT). But that's not too bad, after all, at least it will take within a week for my gay friends to find out if I kicked the bucket. The others? I will consider it fortunate if they know about it within a year.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Mid-Autumn Festival
In my earliest childhood memories of the impending Mid-Autumn Festival or sometimes more plainly known as the Mooncake Festival, I remember a coffee shop bedecked with wire framed glass paper lanterns for sale to celebrate the season. Even the market vendors would be vying for a piece of the pie at the morning market. Each year, if the lantern from last year did not survive storage or went up in smoke in a tragic candle mishap, my mom would bring me to this coffee shop to get a new one. I can still remember the delight of seeing so many different kinds lanterns in all hues of the rainbow casting their wondrous colours on the walkway. Rabbits, horses, goldfishes, ordinary animals to mythical beasts like the phoenix and dragon, you name it they had it.
During the season, the Rukun Tetangga would organise a lantern parade for the kids in the neighbourhood. Everyone would be comparing their lanterns in a kiasu attempt to outclass the other. Being kids, the bigger your lantern, the more awe and envy you would inspire. My mom of course would encourage no such thing, so yours truly's lantern was always somewhat lacking in size. I think at one point, my mom no longer encouraged the buying, she actually learnt to make them herself, but for some reason, she went no further than making star-shaped ones. I think this was one of my very first lessons in humility. After a while, I learnt not to mind that my lantern did not have all the fanciness of a bought lantern, it was special in its own way. Nobody had the same design.
During the last few years, when I had the chance to return home for the season, I noticed the same coffee shop no longer sold the lanterns which had become a cherished sight in my childhood. In fact, try as I might, no where could I find the same sight again. Market vendors have stopped selling the traditional wire framed ones. In their place were the cheap foldable paper ones. But even that is beginning to see a decline. What is becoming a fixed fashion are mass manufactured, battery operated plastic ones, in all garish designs, from ridiculous manga comic characters to David Beckham. Yes, you read right, DAVID BECKHAM. And God forbid, some of them could actually emit music. Maybe I am just nostalgic, but these current forms of lanterns did not appeal to me at all, though I remembered at one point of time in my childhood I had one (before my parents trusted me with real candles). They just did not hold the same feel for me.
For some reason recently, I had the urge to get one of those wire framed ones. Though a rare sight, you could still find some if you looked hard enough. However to my dismay, they look so poorly made, I couldn't bring myself to buy one. The original lantern makers took more pride in their trade, and I guess it went with them as time claimed them. Somehow that made the season look more like a time to reflect than to celebrate for me. To mourn for a past that was lost, to mourn for a tradition that is in its twilight. What I would give to see that familiar colourful sight again.
Paul had this image which inspired this post, it's not the same lanterns in my childhood memories, but the imagery comes close.
During the season, the Rukun Tetangga would organise a lantern parade for the kids in the neighbourhood. Everyone would be comparing their lanterns in a kiasu attempt to outclass the other. Being kids, the bigger your lantern, the more awe and envy you would inspire. My mom of course would encourage no such thing, so yours truly's lantern was always somewhat lacking in size. I think at one point, my mom no longer encouraged the buying, she actually learnt to make them herself, but for some reason, she went no further than making star-shaped ones. I think this was one of my very first lessons in humility. After a while, I learnt not to mind that my lantern did not have all the fanciness of a bought lantern, it was special in its own way. Nobody had the same design.
During the last few years, when I had the chance to return home for the season, I noticed the same coffee shop no longer sold the lanterns which had become a cherished sight in my childhood. In fact, try as I might, no where could I find the same sight again. Market vendors have stopped selling the traditional wire framed ones. In their place were the cheap foldable paper ones. But even that is beginning to see a decline. What is becoming a fixed fashion are mass manufactured, battery operated plastic ones, in all garish designs, from ridiculous manga comic characters to David Beckham. Yes, you read right, DAVID BECKHAM. And God forbid, some of them could actually emit music. Maybe I am just nostalgic, but these current forms of lanterns did not appeal to me at all, though I remembered at one point of time in my childhood I had one (before my parents trusted me with real candles). They just did not hold the same feel for me.
For some reason recently, I had the urge to get one of those wire framed ones. Though a rare sight, you could still find some if you looked hard enough. However to my dismay, they look so poorly made, I couldn't bring myself to buy one. The original lantern makers took more pride in their trade, and I guess it went with them as time claimed them. Somehow that made the season look more like a time to reflect than to celebrate for me. To mourn for a past that was lost, to mourn for a tradition that is in its twilight. What I would give to see that familiar colourful sight again.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
The Secrets We Keep
This is a continuation on the acquaintance who died in a road accident. Well sort of. A friend of mine told me his friends were trying to locate his ex and they had wanted him to be at his funeral. However the funeral came and went, and I guessed they failed in their little quest.
Yesterday, immersed in boredom, I casually harrassed a friend online.
Me: Sien sien sien!!! (Bored bored bored!!!)
Friend: A little bit la... How how how?
Me: I know... let's talk about you. Tell me about your dirty history!
Friend: Like what? My ex just died...
I think my jaw dropped. All this while they were looking for him and he was right under my nose. Turned out he knew of his passing but had on purpose avoided the funeral. The deceased's mother had knew about them and that the relationship had ended badly. He felt he didn't need to be there to further aggravate the situation. Pretty sensible of him though personally I felt it wouldn't have really mattered. Funerals are for the living. A message to tell us to keep living... well, until it's time to stop anyway.
It makes me wonder how many stories go untold in our lives. From what I can see when death comes, 50% of us live on in what other people know of us. Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle kept with different people, requiring them all to come together to see the whole picture. The other 50%... well, becomes pure speculation. We can write a memoir on our lives but it still will not fill in all the gaps. Just like how this journal is just going to be just a portion of the person who writes it. Just an interesting fact that I recently read, the dead outnumber the living. There are more dead people through the ages than there are currently alive. That's how many untold stories there are.
Yesterday, immersed in boredom, I casually harrassed a friend online.
Me: Sien sien sien!!! (Bored bored bored!!!)
Friend: A little bit la... How how how?
Me: I know... let's talk about you. Tell me about your dirty history!
Friend: Like what? My ex just died...
I think my jaw dropped. All this while they were looking for him and he was right under my nose. Turned out he knew of his passing but had on purpose avoided the funeral. The deceased's mother had knew about them and that the relationship had ended badly. He felt he didn't need to be there to further aggravate the situation. Pretty sensible of him though personally I felt it wouldn't have really mattered. Funerals are for the living. A message to tell us to keep living... well, until it's time to stop anyway.
It makes me wonder how many stories go untold in our lives. From what I can see when death comes, 50% of us live on in what other people know of us. Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle kept with different people, requiring them all to come together to see the whole picture. The other 50%... well, becomes pure speculation. We can write a memoir on our lives but it still will not fill in all the gaps. Just like how this journal is just going to be just a portion of the person who writes it. Just an interesting fact that I recently read, the dead outnumber the living. There are more dead people through the ages than there are currently alive. That's how many untold stories there are.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Space Filler
Just three things.
Firstly, an old acquiantance died recently in a road accident. From what I heard he was driving back from Penang with his boyfriend in the car with him. Car skidded from a busted tyre and the resulting crash fatally flung him from the vehicle, though the boyfriend survived. Don't know how much of it is dramatised by gossip queens, but it was said that he died in his boyfriend's arms. I must admit I can hardly remember how he looks like, having never seen him for a few years at least, though I recalled him being a rather boisterous, cheerful person. I can count myself as lucky because in all my 26 years of life, I have only lost two friends, both I can safely say are not close to me. Despite that, it didn't stop me from contemplating on his death but I guess being human, we're drawn to reminders of our own mortality. After watching all five seasons of Six Feet Under, it had sort of made death seem like a very common thing, which it is in fact. Rest in peace, Michael.
Solid stone, is just sand and water, and a million years gone by.
Secondly, after being 'conned' into getting my mug professionally shot and retouched, I uploaded the result in my profile site. Something which came as a relief for some of my close friends who had been badgering me into replacing my six year old picture. Incredibly my heart count quadrupled in less than a week's time, most of them from new people. I am half flattered and half disgusted, at how much importance gay men place importance on fleeting physical appearances. Making me even more disgusted are people I have known from the past were among those joining the fray, including a particular narcissistic buffoon who thought if he were given a chance to do me, would blow my mind and my entire perception on sex. Christ. I would keep him in mind if I ever consider sex with hairless simians. Of course this is nothing new. Still, it doesn't stop me from feeling bothered and dismayed. Oh well, for those who thought I was attractive to their eyes, thanks anyway. I would rather prefer it if they saw more than just that.
Thirdly, after a long time of resisting, I have finally caved in to being superficial. I went on diet just so I could work on getting those torturous 'six packs'. Not so much on vanity's sake, but just to prove I can do it. I did not set a particular time span in achieving this. It is however, beginning to become an irritation. Living alone doesn't give you much time in preparing your own food, and the difficulty in finding suitable food outside to sustain the diet is frustrating. I am pleased to say though, it is showing some results if not much. Good luck to me.
Firstly, an old acquiantance died recently in a road accident. From what I heard he was driving back from Penang with his boyfriend in the car with him. Car skidded from a busted tyre and the resulting crash fatally flung him from the vehicle, though the boyfriend survived. Don't know how much of it is dramatised by gossip queens, but it was said that he died in his boyfriend's arms. I must admit I can hardly remember how he looks like, having never seen him for a few years at least, though I recalled him being a rather boisterous, cheerful person. I can count myself as lucky because in all my 26 years of life, I have only lost two friends, both I can safely say are not close to me. Despite that, it didn't stop me from contemplating on his death but I guess being human, we're drawn to reminders of our own mortality. After watching all five seasons of Six Feet Under, it had sort of made death seem like a very common thing, which it is in fact. Rest in peace, Michael.
Solid stone, is just sand and water, and a million years gone by.
Secondly, after being 'conned' into getting my mug professionally shot and retouched, I uploaded the result in my profile site. Something which came as a relief for some of my close friends who had been badgering me into replacing my six year old picture. Incredibly my heart count quadrupled in less than a week's time, most of them from new people. I am half flattered and half disgusted, at how much importance gay men place importance on fleeting physical appearances. Making me even more disgusted are people I have known from the past were among those joining the fray, including a particular narcissistic buffoon who thought if he were given a chance to do me, would blow my mind and my entire perception on sex. Christ. I would keep him in mind if I ever consider sex with hairless simians. Of course this is nothing new. Still, it doesn't stop me from feeling bothered and dismayed. Oh well, for those who thought I was attractive to their eyes, thanks anyway. I would rather prefer it if they saw more than just that.
Thirdly, after a long time of resisting, I have finally caved in to being superficial. I went on diet just so I could work on getting those torturous 'six packs'. Not so much on vanity's sake, but just to prove I can do it. I did not set a particular time span in achieving this. It is however, beginning to become an irritation. Living alone doesn't give you much time in preparing your own food, and the difficulty in finding suitable food outside to sustain the diet is frustrating. I am pleased to say though, it is showing some results if not much. Good luck to me.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
These Streets
In case any of you are wondering, no, my blog has not turned into an obituary site. I can't help it if two significant personalities died within such a short period of time. And no, I am not joining the fray of some pointless hype of mourning someone I hardly know. Unlike what I used to do back in Livejournal, I am not even writing a short obituary for the deceased anymore. I respect Steve Irwin for his contributions as a conservationist, though I wouldn't quite agree to his crazy penchant for pissing off rather dangerous animals. I think he deserves to be remembered for his legacy of educating the younger generation on nature.
That aside, a snatch theft just happened right in front of my office just now, much to my horror. I kind of heard the commotion and then saw the two robbers fleeing past my window on their motorbike with a whole mob of angry men in pursuit on foot. Sad to say they didn't manage to apprehend them. It wouldn't be the first time I witnessed something of this sort. Despite that, it never fails to give me a chill every time. The one who made the snatch actually went at his victim with a knife. A stun tactic to get the victim to let go of their possessions. The victim, a lady who works next door was not really seriously hurt, just a minor cut but still, I just think these bastards are going too far. How many times have we heard about people dying after being seriously hurt by such robbers and I wonder if the police are doing enough to put a stop to this menace. It took the police more than half an hour to arrive at the scene. HALF AN HOUR! What were they thinking, that we need counselling services? Doesn't inspire much confidence either to see that over half of our police force look as if they spend their time eating instead of fighting crime.
Some smart alec suggested we should draft the territorial army to assist the police. Just the other day I saw several trucks carrying army personnel. Guess what? They were just as fat, if not fatter than our boys in blue. Seriously, in the event of a real war, these guys are practically walking target barrels. Meanwhile, I think I will feel a lot safer carrying a weapon in my pocket whenever I am on the streets. My boss was mumbling where was his shotgun when he needed it. Left me speechless.
That aside, a snatch theft just happened right in front of my office just now, much to my horror. I kind of heard the commotion and then saw the two robbers fleeing past my window on their motorbike with a whole mob of angry men in pursuit on foot. Sad to say they didn't manage to apprehend them. It wouldn't be the first time I witnessed something of this sort. Despite that, it never fails to give me a chill every time. The one who made the snatch actually went at his victim with a knife. A stun tactic to get the victim to let go of their possessions. The victim, a lady who works next door was not really seriously hurt, just a minor cut but still, I just think these bastards are going too far. How many times have we heard about people dying after being seriously hurt by such robbers and I wonder if the police are doing enough to put a stop to this menace. It took the police more than half an hour to arrive at the scene. HALF AN HOUR! What were they thinking, that we need counselling services? Doesn't inspire much confidence either to see that over half of our police force look as if they spend their time eating instead of fighting crime.
Some smart alec suggested we should draft the territorial army to assist the police. Just the other day I saw several trucks carrying army personnel. Guess what? They were just as fat, if not fatter than our boys in blue. Seriously, in the event of a real war, these guys are practically walking target barrels. Meanwhile, I think I will feel a lot safer carrying a weapon in my pocket whenever I am on the streets. My boss was mumbling where was his shotgun when he needed it. Left me speechless.
Monday, September 04, 2006
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