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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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).

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

In Memoriam

Anna Nicole Smith
1967 - 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.

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.

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?

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.

In Memoriam

Larry Stewart
1948 - 2007

In Memoriam

Iwao Takamoto
1925 - 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.

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.