What separates me from you

If you're good at something good, like good at saving lives, that's good.
Maths: positive multiplied by positive = positive.

If you're bad at something bad, like bad at being rude to people, that's good too.
Maths: negative multiplied by negative = positive.

If you're good at something bad, like good at killing innocent people, or bad at something good, like you're bad at helping people, that's bad.
Maths: negative/positive multiplied by positive/negative = negative.

Who knew maths would be so useful, eh?
Have you ever wondered how rich you would be if you did something useless? For example, wrote scripts for chick flicks.
What intelligence does it require?
None.
Why?
Every plot is so predictable!
Correct me if I'm wrong, I beg of you, because from what I've seen (I'm a fan of chick flicks which means I've seen a LOT), the story seems to be so consistent.
Girl (pretty in the girl-next-door way but a misfit of the group she will be thrown into) goes into a new situation, meets evil-pretty new girls (to avoid misinterpretation, I shall name them Biatches) who suck the life out of people yet the ground they walk on is miraculously worshiped by the majority. Girl meets handsome, charming guy who is most probably the IT guy of the community she has been introduced to. Girl is targeted by the leader of the Biatches who intentionally makes the other minion-Biatches misunderstand and subsequently "disown" girl. Girl meets new dorks/nerds (Rejects) and realizes inner beauty is more important. Girl starts a campaign against the evil regime of the Biatches and enlightens the previously foolish majority who have been living in the dark age. During campaign, Biatch leader pulls a trick to cause the Rejects group to misunderstand girl and leave her, albeit temporarily. Girl is also made to misunderstand Prince Charming by Biatch leader and breaks up/avoids him. Rejects group SOMEHOW realizes their mistake for not sticking by girl and goes back to her side and finally, the campaign to oust the evil regime is won! In most cases, minion-Biatches realized they have been tricked by the leader Biatch and rejects her from the group to turn to the path of good and holiness. Girl SOMEHOW finds out she was mistaken about Prince Charming and the two live happily ever after.
Or at least until the end of the flick.
According to this rule, all I need is to think of two sets of names, one that screams Rejects and another that screams the opposite. Of course the girl and Prince Charming's name will be in the "opposite" group because they have to be accepted by the majority at the very start of the flick. After that, I will proceed on thinking of a setting (college, high school, fashion world) and voila~ my job is done!
Can you imagine how much those script writers earn by just following a set of conditions that takes an IQ level of 20 to comprehend?
All the while, we're rotting and pondering over how we'll deal with bankruptcy after we go against our rational judgment to buy the prettiest clutch (for this season) in the world.

Whoever said all men are born equal is an ignoramus for two obvious reasons.
One, he should have used the politically correct and gender-unbiased term of "humans".
Two, if we were born equal then why is Nicole Kidman so hot, Keira Knightley so sexy and Britney Spears so freaking rich for doing exactly what I'm doing and have done?
In case you're wondering what I've been so diligently doing all this while, it's NOTHING.
Nothing at all.

Where do I sign up?

You know what I've suddenly realized?!
There are exactly 12 days left until the big day! I don't get why people celebrate their 21st birthday with such a bang when I feel the 20th birthday is more important cause you know... like it's the year you stop being seven, eight, nineTEEN and become a twenTY. It's like a serious transaction.
Our age changes from single digits to pre-teen and teen and now that we've become post-teen, it's like we've joined a whole new alliance. Isn't it strange how the first twenty years of our lives had so many phases to it but once we reach that 20year marker, it all becomes sort of monotonous? Like how we'll be twenTY, thirTY, forTY and so on. Like we went from one two three to eleven twelve which were exciting in their own way. Then suddenly we became thirTEEN and fourTEEN which was even more exciting (despite being a little depressing for me). But still, we were making progress. But now that we inch closer to joining the TY-ties (pronounced tee-tees), it all seems kind of bleak. No longer will we be able to excite ourselves by the way our age is written or pronounced. There will be no more profound changes in the years that mark our lives. From now on it's TY to the end.
It's as if whoever thought up this way of counting numbers just thought "Haha! In case you aren't depressed enough by the loss of your childhood, I'll make the future seem more dark and gloomy by making the rest of your years into TY-ties!"
Gosh, what cruelty.

22nd July 2003

I don't have most of the answers to a lot of questions, neither do I think I will find them all. But that doesn't mean I will give up searching. I don't believe in God but I do believe in karma. I don't believe in destiny but I honestly think there's a deeper meaning to our lives than we realize. I don't know what will happen next but I do know we are in complete control of our lives and anything that happens to us is a result of our actions. I believe if our life spins out of control we have only ourselves to blame for it.

Misery Business

What is love?
If somebody knows, please tell me. If you even have the faintest idea about what this is all about then I beg you to tell me.
What is it? Think about it for a while here.
I can tell you all the text book answers to it, but the question is, which one is true?
How can some people fall in love with different people so many times? How can some people fall in love with different people at the same time? And these aren't fake love as long as those people are concerned. I mean sure there are people out there who just say "Yes I love.." without actually thinking about it but there are also people who think about it and realise they're (were) in love with more than one person.
If yes, then how come such a thing is possible as this totally contradicts the theory of a soul mate. Isn't there supposed to be that one person out there who's supposed to be meant (made) for you? Or maybe there are soul mates. There are more than one?
Is that why some people fall in love more than once?
But what if there really is just one soul mate out there but he lives in Iraq and you live on Mount Everest? Is there like destiny and at one point in life you will definitely meet the soul mate regardless? However what if the your supposed soul mate doesn't believe in soul mates and when the time came he just took the best option available and hence when destiny really does come to play he won't be available anymore. I mean people who believe in destiny and soul mates have to believe in morality and know that cheating is not right. And you say so leave the non-soul mate and go with the soul mate?
But what if you can really love more than one person at the same time and you really love your wife so you can't leave her for the soul mate even if god himself came down and told you "That woman you just meant in the bar is the woman i created just for you. I'm sorry I couldn't bring the two of you to meet sooner but oh well.."
If any or all of what I just said is true, then what is love? If none of it is.... then does love even exist?
Is there even such a thing as a soul mate? Maybe it's just something someone made up to get the girl of his dreams to go all lovey dovey and say "I do" to him.
Maybe the so-called "soul mates" out there who last forever until they die till eternity bla bla bla aren't really soul mates, they just happen to be two people who met, felt the attraction, married had kids and worked through all the fights and quarrels and hurts and hates and one day died. Maybe they were supposed to break up / divorce but they died too early and hence that appointed date of separation never came to materialise?
If you have to work through all of it, is that really love? I mean that's a part of a relationship I get it but is that really love?
Scientifically speaking love is as simple as it gets : lust, attraction, attachment. It doesn't last forever and you can have as many as your heart desires. You meet someone you define as hot / pretty/ beautiful / phat /sexy and lust appears. You act on that lust and talk / date / have sex and get to know that person beyond physical matters and attraction comes to play. After spending intimate moments with that person you find yourself used to the idea of him / her and hence attachment begins. Biologically and evolutionarily speaking we have to mate and reproduce to ensure our existence on this planet so the attachment is the part where you have sex make babies and make it through until the infant can survive. After the baby is born all biology and evolutionary needs end (unless you want to make more with the same person) and you can either leave or raise it.
Lust last for maybe months. Attraction last for a few years... some say up to three. So the attachment part is the part we're all interested in. Attachment is the bonding which promotes relationships that last for many years, and even decades. Attachment is generally based on commitments such as marriage and children, or on mutual friendship based on things like shared interests.
But before marriage existed and people were told you have to raise your children responsibly so they won't turn up to be serial killers or Hitlers, what was there?
There was lust and attraction and chemicals in your brain that we know define as "love".
If science is correct then there's no such thing as soul mates, right? But then I believe in science with as much heart as a person can give it but some times, just some times, I start thinking.
I think about the times when I felt a pain so terrible I really thought "Oh my god, my heart is breaking". But scientifically, a heart can't actually break. Not unless you freeze it and smash it with a sledge hammer, no. It's an internal organ that pumps to distribute oxygenated and deoxygenated blood in your body. How can a piece of muscle tissue BREAK from emotions? But it just really feels like it's breaking, you know?
And what if, just what if, all those people out there who are in love.... Maybe they aren't?
Maybe they saw someone and the idea of love hit them at that time and so somehow they subconsciously talked themselves into love with the other person, but it isn't love at all. It's just self-hypnotisms. Right?
In an article from Wiki, it says love can't be universally explained because our thoughts exist in so many different languages that affects our beings and hence you can't but a definite definition to such an abstract thing. Some say it's easier to experience than to explain.
But if no one can explain what love is to you, how would you know that particular emotion you're feeling is love and not something else?
Some say love isn't a feeling, it is an activity. But how can any romanticist actually believe that?
In the end, we're left with that one question we started with. What is love?

Through The Looking Glass

Been a long time since I lasted posted. And this time, it has not been for a lack of material. I've been thinking, a lot. A whole lot. Just never really got the chance to put it into words. Now I'm just plain lazy to do so.
So let's talk about something recent. Everyday is an adventure, right? Well, here is another chance for you to get to know a little more about me. I can't tell a story for shit.
Like seriously.
I think I do quite good on paper (or webpage... If you insist on being sooo technical). But in words, I suck! And no, I'm not in one of those self-depreciating moods. It's just the truth.
It's not to say I suck at talking, because.... well, that would probably be the biggest lie of the millennium. My problem is story-telling or relaying or whatever. When I was in primary school I did the oh-so-big mistake of taking part in a story telling contest and I lie not when I say this. It was the most boring 4 minutes of the lives of anybody who cared to pay attention. As if that wasn't enough proof, I thought I might spice up my tutoring classes and get my young students to get interested in reading books so one day, I ventured down the long and dark path of trying to tell them a story from one of the books available.
My god, who terribly that turned out.
Once was enough for me to not to want to do it again..... NEVER!
Then the other day, my father asked about this movie and since the whole car was silent (me, my bro and parents were driving down to KL) so I thought, what the heck, even though this is usually my mom's territory, guess it won't hurt if I tried.
Again, how terribly that turned out.
The movie was The Painted Veil and it tells the story of this young married couple. They go to this very dirty place, the guy gets a disease and dies.
At least, according to me, that's what happened. Upon hearing my excellent account, my brother was baffled beyond his mind as to how horribly a person can tell a story. This is what Wikipedia had to say about it:
Kitty Garstin is a pretty, shallow young woman from a well-to-do London family, under pressure from her parents to find a husband. Soon after she meets him at a party, she marries Dr. Walter Fane , an earnest, socially awkward doctor on leave from China, even though she does not love him. The Fanes move to Shanghai, where Dr. Fane is stationed in a government lab studying infectious diseases. Soon bored, Kitty meets Charles Townsend , a married British diplomat who is a serial womanizer, and has an affair with him. When Walter finds out, he gives her an ultimatum: come with him to the Chinese interior to assist with a cholera epidemic relief effort for which he has volunteered, or face a divorce on the grounds of her adultery. Kitty turns to Townsend to persuade him to divorce his wife and marry her. When Townsend, to Kitty's surprise but not Walter's, refuses to leave his wife for Kitty, she chooses to travel inland with her husband. At first, Walter and Kitty barely speak to each other. Kitty is miserable, with nothing to do. She decides to volunteer at a local orphanage run by French nuns, which her husband visits often outside of his lab work. In this setting Kitty begins to see her apparently-cold husband in a new light, as she learns what a selfless and caring person he can be. The Fanes' marriage blossoms into love. She grows to care about the children at the orphanage, while Walter tends to the sick and looks for a way to stop the spread of the epidemic despite resistance from the populace and the local warlord in the politically torn China of the 1920s. After their reconciliation Kitty learns she is pregnant, but is unsure whether Charlie or Walter is the father. Just as the local cholera problem is coming under control, diseased refugees from elsewhere pour into the area, forcing Walter to set up a refugee camp outside town. Walter contracts cholera and dies, devastating Kitty, who returns to London. Five years later, walking with her young son Walter, Kitty runs into Townsend on the street. Townsend makes small talk with them both for a short while and begins to suggest a meeting with Kitty. However, Kitty rejects his overtures and walks away.
Anyway, my point is I can't tell a story but until then, I still didn't realise that for a fact. I just thought my brother was being awfully mean.
Then just now I was watching this Top 25 Celebrity bla bla bla and I was listening to this woman's recount of a near death experience she had and I just couldn't believe how hard that message hit home.
I can't tell a story for shit. Seriously.
I mean just the thought of having to give myself some intonations give me a fright. Like, you know. It's so freaking childish! You read a book because the book is interesting, NOT because the person who wrote it can read it very well. That's just superficial crap!
I try, oh I do try to do it. When I was trying to tell that story to my students not so long ago. Oh how I tried to make the terrifying parts sound scary and the good parts sound sweet. In the end I ended up telling them what's involved and how it ended and asked them to read it themselves.
Gosh, I'm like a handicap.

There's Your Trouble

Have you heard of the BET Awards?
If you haven't, let me accomplish my awe-inspiring job again. In case you missed what I said before, my job is to enlighten you tiny lil' chicks and lambs. Ya dig?
BET Awards stands for "Black Entertainment Awards". Well, everybody (who didn't come out of a politically-correct time warp) would probably know what "black" stands for. What we all (myself the almighty omniscient being included) don't get is why any self-respecting white / yellow / blue / rainbow coloured person isn't making a big fuss about it?
If I were living in the US of A, I would have let the whole shebang out already and tear these racist bastards and bitches (B&B) to pieces. I won't even mention the fact that these niggers are allowed to humiliate and degrade themselves by calling themselves all the names they won't allow others to call, yet are able to look you straight in the face and say it.
Isn't it ironic, don't you think?
After all the insults these B&B serve the whites with, now they're supposed to stand with an award show that caters only to blacks?
A little too ironic, yeah I really do think.
Why doesn't somebody rebel and make a WET Awards? I'm sure nobody in their sane mind would retaliate if they were aware of the B&Bs and BETs.
Seriously, am I the only one who sees an opportunity to sue some B&B ass off? Have the Americans lost their games? Aren't they supposed to be the gods of suing each other?
Seriously.
Here's my shout-out in support of a WET Awards taking place some time soon.



PS: I'm currently very sick which have reduced my brain to pulp which might not might not be affecting my brain function. I don't know. If I were smart enough to know this answer I probably wouldn't have to write this PS anyway.

Death Is But Another Release

I read this children's book titled "The Honey Bear Who Wanted A Friend" or something to that affect and I couldn't help but be amazed at how politically incorrect the whole affair is! And it's very clearly a children's book! Well, that is unless some very sick and twisted people have started publishing adult reads with colourful covers and pictures of cute little animals lining the pages. The whole thing was an insult to the innocence of childhood!
I've been using a lot of exclamation marks but I can't help it cause I'm just appalled by all this.
The book tells the story about this lonely Honey Bear who cried and cried about his loneliness and one day decided to go on a quest to find himself a friend. In the whole of the story, he met numerous animals whom he tried to help but in vain. Some because his size was merely too big for them (like the birds trying to build a nest) and some because they simply would not accept his help in fear of what ulterior motive he might have. There were the beavers who played with him but after a good day of fun, he realises he's different from them and simply could not fit in so he quits them. At the end of a story, like all children's stories, he finds a friend. But surprise, surprise. Who is the friend but another fellow bear, and a girl bear for that matter. Yes, they wrote it and even stressed the fact that it's a girl bear who will one day become Mama Bear to his little ones. Yes! THEY WROTE ALL THAT!
Seriously.
In case you stone-heads haven't realised the whole problem behind all this. Let me enlighten you (for is that not my job as the all-knowing one?).
First of all, it shows inability to be alone and to seek out companionship. Well, that's not a problem at all until kids who are so in need of attention and companionship turns to measures such as drugs and being useless A-holes.
Then, we reach the main insult of the whole book. That just because things are different you should not and CAN NOT accept them. This is proven in the numerous times he tried to make friends with the swans, the fawns or other animals. Those animals' fear of the well-meaning Honey Bear also teach kids that you should fear (and hence reject) anything that's different from you. Not different from what is right; Different from YOU! Are we still wondering why people always have racial / cultural / religious conflicts? I bet all the people out there trying to resolve these conflicts in peaceful terms never read this Honey Bear book when they were still at an impressionable age.
At the end of the story, there is the insult to the homosexuals out there and the very misplaced sex-education! Do these kids really need to know one day the guy sitting beside you is gonna F you and you're gonna go through 9months of pain and hardship as a result? And that book was probably meant for readers of 4-7 years of age! I call that totally inappropriate. Then there's the whole issue of stressing the fact that the new friend is a girl bear. Not another bear, not another boy bear, no no. They stressed that it was a GIRL bear. The girl bear that will soon be called Mama Bear.
While the maniacs out there are trying to purge discrimination by changing "Baa-baa Black Sheep" into "Baa-baa Colourful Sheep", readers of this book are being taught to not only discriminate blacks, but every other thing that differs from themselves. Does nobody see the irony?
The worse part of all this boo-haa being that "black sheep" is a very legitimate term describing a person who causes shame or embarrassment because of deviation from the accepted standards of his or her group. And this is true back in the time when bleach didn't exist because of course people would rather have white wool that looks clean when it's clean and black when it's dirty (hence reminding you to clean it). Really, who cares about this small issue when the cute ol' Honey Bear is out there doing more harm than all the nursery rhymes combined?
Seriously!

Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me

You know what I've observed lately? Nothing. Nothing at all.
Gosh my life is boring. I can't even think of something interesting to write. I've actually started writing a story that's ending up to be too long to be a story and too short to be a novel so its existence is currently under consideration. When I get something good I'll definitely post it up.
That said, it probably means this post is considerably dull. But who cares, I'm still gonna talk.
I've been going to the gym regularly recently. Seriously, you guys would be amazed by how dedicated I am towards my gym-regime if you choose to judge me by my figure. Someone really smart once said don't judge a book by it's cover and I'm gonna say "True that!". Don't let the flabs, bumps and soft-tissue fool you, my friend!
I go gyming like, 5 days a week, sometimes even every day of the week! However, the dismaying truth is I don't look anywhere near Madonna or Gwen! Or even Keira or Paris looking! The reason I chose to put these names in two different categories is because of the apparent similarity in the extra hot bods but the undeniable truth that the Hot Mamas a.k.a. Gwen and Madonna have the fittest body for hot mamas in the world. I would go trough ten times the labour pain the suffered if some almighty lord would grant me bods as hot as them... Note: I don't want the kids but I'm just trying to prove how much I'm willing to sacrifice. To be in this group you don't necessarily have to be a mama you just have to have a body worthy to be called babelicious. Like Jessica Alba.
The difference with the Paris (and Alley McBeal) group is that they're hot....but NOT hot. Get what I mean? It's like.... They're hot but they're so not fit! Look at them! People from Somalia look exactly like them minus the pretty face (an outcome of numerous cosmetic assistance, I'm sure). If you gave me a choice between obesity and Parisrexia (derivative of anorexia) then of course I'd choose the latter but come on! What is to be lusted after when all you can see is a bag of bones? The worse part is when the arch their back and you can see the whole spine just protruding out of their fragile skin. If I were I guy, I'd be too afraid I might break them to be able to get in any ass-spanking sex. And I seriously don't mean it in a dirty way, I'm just asking you the rationale behind all this craze for stick-thin figures that is chiefly driven by shallow tasteless men.
Some women might protest by saying they were born "petite" but ladies, sticking a finger down your throat after every meal DOES NOT in any way count as "born with". like, hello~! I know petite when I see one and petite definitely does not have scapula and clavicles sticking out of their shoulder. Seriously. And since anybody willing to put themselves through such pain to look a certain way *knock knock*OTHER PEOPLE dictate you should look must either be crazy, dumb or both, I think I should add in another pointer.
Sticking anything other than your finger down your throat to get the same effect does not count either.
I'm actually ashamed by how much these scheming weight-loss agencies what gained in the past decade. Not only does it show the ridiculous amount of food people gobble down, this also proves how much our intelligence have went down. I've heard these "weight gurus" at work and honestly, half a brain and a pass in your high school science subject is all it takes to look through the idiocy of it all. Fat that mysteriously disappears overnight?! Foreign enzymes that have no other affect in your body except burning all the unflattering fat away?! The magic wipe that melts you fat straight into your blood stream and gets flushed out of your body when you next crap!? If life were this simple, you'd die from a massive heart attack beforehand, caused by the almighty fat that you burned away from your waist and was transported to your heart. Idiots! Are you so altruistic that you've donated all your IQ to the smart burn-unsightly-fat-only enzyme?!
Wow, I actually managed to write quite a lot.

You Can't Tell Me It's Not Worth Dying For

I was observing the joys of childhood and youthfulness (traits that are extremely hard to avoid at my job) and I couldn't help but grieve my loss of it. However, I'm quite determined to never fall into the depths of that depression again so here's to my will power!
I really hope it does not fail me. So here I am, wishing that the movements of my fingers will cease the workings of my brain.
I don't have anything to write. My life is so mundane that it's a shame. Wow, the previous sentence rhymes! Anyway, I was thinking that I might indulge whoever cares to read my posts to venture farther and maybe read some wonderful writings that I enjoy. I know I sound really old but let's face it, I've long passed my days of youth.
Two of my favourite styles of writings are classic and chic lit. I know there cannot be anything quite as different as these two but believe me, there's a very good mix. It's like rap music and country, they are the perfect compliments and complement of each other. After the classics have left you serious and sober, there's nothing better than letting your brain go to waste on some chic lit that requires the lowest amount of thinking possible. For classics, I recommend books by the Bronte sisters and of course, no female can call themselves classical book readers and not read Jane Austen. I'm currently reading Emma and I can't believe how much I enjoy it. To be honest, I was expecting myself to read it only when I'm absolutely bored out of my bujeezers but I find myself actually feeling agitated when something or somebody distracts me from my read!
When the sun shines we shine together~ Told you I'll be here forever~ *can't help not singing, I'm listening to it now*
Oh, we can move on to my next favourite thing -- music! Honestly, I suck at it. I can't sing I can't play any instrument (yet) but I really think our lives will be wanting so much if it were not for music. The reason I put a "yet" there is because I'm learning drumming right now! Haha, I'm so proud of myself for finally acting on my desires. Just you wait guys, I'll be rocking next to Tommy Lee in no time. Well, not really.... I don't recall whether I've already said it here or not but to be honest, before going for my first lesson I was sooooo sure that the teacher will look at me with jaws dropped and say "Oh my god, you must be Mozart reincarnate!"
Unfortunately, unless Mozart really really really extremely unforgivably SUCKED at drumming, there's no way I can be his reincarnation or anywhere near his descendants. But you know.... Life's like that, right? Don't give up and don't back down. Since I fancy myself to be having a lot of free time (which I don't really cause of my work and my reading and my drumming and my having to decide which laptop I want to buy and my fixed time devoted to Ellen-ing), I've also taken up the task of trying to give myself the abs of Gwen. Oh, that can be my new tag line! Abs of Gwen! Unfortunately (again) that couldn't and wouldn't possibly happen anytime soon either. To give you a hint of why this is so, let my enlighten you on what I just ate for dinner an hour ago.
Butter naan with butter chicken and chicken briyani rice and apple cake and mangoes and yogurt drink and I really should end this sentence now.
So, while anybody else aspiring for the Abs of Gwen can fly ahead in their jets and Lambos, I'll just follow behind leisurely on my kap chai motorcycle.
To console myself, at least I don't suck so much at reading. On another note, please will you all pray that my job will no longer find my service necessary so that I can quit ASAP?

Put The Blame On.... Definitely Not Me

Hello fat pigs and goats~ the holly mama is back! I'm officially in the house!
Like duh~ how would I be writing this if I'm not sitting at my PC which (again) duh~ happens to be IN my house? Not like I have a laptop or something.
Did you just say laptop? Oh, NO (waving a disapproving finger) you did en't!
I just bummed my whole day today thinking bout laptops! Like seriously.
I had my whole day planned out before laptops came to mind! It was breezy and sunny (at least in my mind... the actual weather sucks) and I thought "Ah~ what a day! I should go running!" (because I ate soooo much last night that my guilt-processor is in hyper-drive) and since my mom has been bugging me to go back to KDU and grab my results slip, I thought well since it's a jolly day, I shall go there grab those annoying things and go catch a movie with Pat after that! So I sat around a little bit and got too lazy to go running which made me postpone my whole go gym then go KDU plan but alas, I did manage to do some running. Afterwards, it was way too late for me to go to the office but of course, that shouldn't stand in the way of me and my lovely arcade so there I was, ready to go on as planned but noooo~ Something called the PC Fair had to pop into my dad's brain and nooo~ we had to go there together hence making me car-less and officially pooping all my plans.
And believe you me, I wouldn't be complaining so much if the trip was in any way beneficial. Instead of coming home enlightened and determined, I came back with a headache and too much knowledge (which I don't appreciate) and even more greed! If things chose a day in my life to go wrong, it must have been today.
Seriously!
Do we really need laptops? Looking at all the things at PC Fair just now, I felt certain I must have dropped out of a time machine one way or another, konked my head on something, had amnesia and mysteriously got warped into this foreign life. Maybe that'll explain why i virtually have no childhood memories save the ones I see from pictures! Eureka! I knew I'm smart but sometimes, I even surprise myself man.
OK, it's officially. Watching Ellen DeGeneres on a daily basis is taking its toll on me. But I haven't felt this cheerful in a long time!
I seriously can't decide which to get. It's so confusing with all the numbers and shiny things and argh!!! At first I was dead set on Apple 'cause it looks oh so droolingly cool but then I see this HP Pavilion (the one I'm checking out is the DV6601TX, in case any of you are interested) and I thought wooooh! And the best part is, it has like 70% of the apple coolness in terms of looks. But of course the software from Apple kicks freedom ass. They might be monopolizing and all that shit but for what they offer, it's good.
However, the rational side of me is making it hard to ignore the fact that the HP I'm eyeing comes with a separate graphic card plus like 130GB of extra hard disk space and also more RAM than the Apple. Oh, the torments of life!
Plus there's also the fact that Slur uses Apple and as her namesake, she's slur! So you know, to actually be using something that Slur uses kinda like makes me feel I'm going slur too.
Decisions, decisions, decisions.

PS: The prices are similar so don't use that card on me.
PPS: Miss you to bits Slurrie!!

錯愛你 放棄你 太愛你 誰願意

woooo~ I played basketball yesterday for the first time in a very very long time! Haha, man I had the time of my life. Seriously.
OK, I actually did some warm up playing on Sunday morning but that can't really count as playing because some useless bugger stood me up and I ended up just shooting some hoops and not getting to play at all. But boy am I glad I went to warm up on Sunday because if I didn't, I really don't even want to imagine what my performance on the Monday (that thankfully didn't happen) would be. I'm so out of touch from the ball that I've loss the sense of it!
But still, we had a great game and we won!
And of course this time the bugger didn't stand me up. Which is fortunate for her because if she did then I'll have her head as an apology.
Anyway, like Saffron reminded me, our game yesterday was very much like the game we played last year. When we went into the match against TAR we were so freaking scared of the out come I was seriously nervous as though I was back in high school and we were going into our final against PCGHS. But of course, since their main players didn't play we ended up trashing them.
This time around, their main players did play but we still won by a respectable margin because HAHAHAHAHA our "sai lang" was so great!
Whoo hooo~ Thank god I took leave from my work to go play man. Hope another opportunity like this comes up again some time soon.

I've Got Too Much Life, Running Through My Veins, Going To Waste

Do you think every person is given a definite number of heartbeats for a lifetime?
Maybe a billion beats and your heart will stop. No, evolution is not done yet but at least it's inclusive. Maybe a billion beats each with a certain magnitude.
This would mean that for those athletes with a low resting pulse rate, they'll get to live longer because their hearts have to work less on normal times. But on the other hand, their hearts are subject to vigorous use during their training hours which would mean that... well, maybe the lower resting pulse rate compensates for the time they have to work hard hence they end up having an average life span as long as other factors don't come into the equation.
Which might also explain why healthy and fit footballers drop dead for no apparent reason at all. Maybe they've overused their share of heartbeats. Maybe they were unfortunate and were given a lower number of beats to begin with... life ain't always fair. In fact, it never is.
That would also mean people who meditate will eventually live longer. Which is kind of true. But then scientifically we don't know if they live longer because their hearts don't use up all the reserve beats or for other reasons. One thing we do know is that people with lower heartbeats tend to live longer although these two issues cannot be tied together as definite. There are too many reasons to die (and it seems as if there ain't enough reasons to live).
This also brings to mind the case of the periodic exercisers. These are people who exercise every once in a blue moon when they think a day of vigorous work out will be able to trick the weighing machine about their past ingestions. Does this mean that because they won't have a lower resting pulse rate at normal times AND they subject their hearts to hard pumping at other times, they'll eventually live shorter lives?
Could it be that if you're not gonna do exercise until you reach a point of lower resting pulse rate, you better off not exercising at all?
But with all due respect, I would much rather risk not definite the shorter life span than being 1) out of shape 2) obese 3) have high cholesterol levels in my blood which will DEFINITELY lead to heart attacks. So for those of you looking for reasons to not go to the gym, this isn't it.
I'm merely speculating.
On th case of the dying footballers, another speculation (from me so don't take it too seriously) is that their heart rhythms might have accidentally been affected during hard collisions. We know for a fact that their hearts are already working very hard during matches and that some times, the struggle for the ball might get a little rough so there is a possibility that one might get struck on the chest during the struggle. A hard blow to the correct (or incorrect) area might cause the already drained heart some confusion hence causing it to go into cardiac arrhythmia. This might not be apparent at first but when the body is asking for so much, even a minor alteration will seem significant and cause a heart attack. Could it be?
You might not bother about all this but why these people who seem to be the epitome of health can just fall dead is beyond me and it really bugs me.

First You Say You Won't. ThenYou Say You Will

I see a lot of blogs are really themed and I can't help but realize how much of a mess mine is. But I like it this way. It shows my true colours.
I don't normally say what I want to or feel face to face so this is probably one of the rare places where I'm free to speak my mind and be sure to not have an audience. Even so, I'm too paranoid to actually cut all the strings.
Have you ever wondered what would happen if for one day of your life you were allowed to say everything you wanted to say. Just let go of everything and blabber away. Gosh, that'd be so nice. I guess that's something that'll only happen in my dreams. No holds barred nothing to lose and nothing to gain situation. Like seriously, you aren't talking for anything except to get your heart out.
Chasing dreams.
I don't think closure is something I'll be able to achieve.

Dying Is The Day Worth Living For

Is there something wrong with me? Like seriously. And I don't count being paranoid or extremely lame as "something wrong"... Or are they?
I've been reading this book on the Clinical Years of studying medicine and I know it's a reallllly long way to go before I reach that (Clinicals start in year 3, for those of you who are less informed) but you know, my dad's friend gave the book to me as an unintended spur of the moment gift and I just finished my Roald Dahl book so I guess there's nothing in my way to stop me.
So OK, here's the thing. In the book, the first chapter is how to conduct an interview/consultation with the patient to access what's wrong or "not right" with him/her in an acceptable and respectable way. One of the tips they give is empathy and understanding. To get off on the right foot, we're advised to put ourselves in their shoes and try to remember the last time we had to visit the doctors because we had a "not right" situation ourselves.
That is the part that really gets me. I've never sat in a waiting room before, I've never been to the doctors (unless you consider wasting time in my dad's office because I forgot my house keys and can't find anyone to give me a set) and I most definitely have never felt the kind of anticipation and fear or palpitations in my palms as a result of it.
So does that make me "not right" by itself? Is it wrong to not have been subjected to such examination before?
More importantly, does my lack of that experience compromise my future ability to interact on that level? Like seriously, I'm not too well known for my empathetic skills and I highly doubt I could summon up a mysterious amount of empathy from thin air.
Am I weird?

It's A Shame There's No One To Blame For All The Pain That Life Brings

“How would you like to live forever?” asked Ski.

“I think it’s pretty ridiculous. What would you do for forever?”

“It seems cool. I would play basketball forever.”

I rolled my eyes. “Uh huh, so even when you’re 300 years old with creaking knees and no teeth at all, you’re still going to play basketball under the sun and run around chasing the ball? When will you retire from your job, assuming that someone would want to hire a 300-year-old grandma?”

Ski turned to face me, her facial expression hidden by the shadow of the leaves above our heads. From all the time we’ve spent together, I already know she’s going to once again start her lecture about being more optimistic and romantic and stop thinking about all the technical problems in dreaming. If time permitted, she would also go into her lecture about just enjoying life and not worry about careers or all the strains and pains of the adult world.

“Hei! What you guys waiting for? Come on! We need 2 more players to play 5-5!” came Link’s voice from the basketball court.

“Stop wasting time there and let’s play some ball, you guys!” shouted Bel, as if she was afraid Link’s voice wasn’t loud enough to wake up the whole world.

As I rushed to join them, I couldn’t help myself from smiling. I stopped for a while and looked up at the sky; the rays of sunlight were casting a warm glow on us as the clouds glided slowly with the wind.

This is my life. A large portion of it is spent with my 3 best friends as we talk about life, world news and everything under the sun, but mostly our conversation circles around who’s dating who and the weight of everyone we know. We play basketball to pass our time when the weather warranted. We’re high school students but we don’t seem to find a meaning in studying until the very last second before exam begins. In short, we are everything teenagers should be and everything parents wish their children won’t grow up to become.

George Bernard Shaw said “Youth is wasted on the young.” And I couldn’t agree more. But quite frankly, I couldn’t care less. We don’t have work; we don’t have a family to feed or deadlines to meet. Time is the only thing we could callously spend at our own desire. That was four months before I learned my first lesson on time. It was only four months later that I began my journey on discovering how a second in a person’s life could change the story of so many lives.

Xxxxx

People say that when you’re sixteen, you make your debut into society and finally dip your hands into the future you’re going to be living out. Indeed we had our future laid out before us, the possibilities only limited by our own abilities and desires.

July 17^th year 2004. It was a glorious Saturday morning unlike the other mornings we have been waking up to for the past couple of weeks. For once in so many days, my morning wasn’t accompanied by the roaring of thunders and the sound of raindrops splattering upon the windows. I found myself sitting once again under the same tree I sat four months ago, only this time I was alone, waiting for Ski and Link’s arrival. I took a glance at my watch. 23 minutes pass the time we agreed to meet up, at least another 7 minutes until the time when they would actually show up. Malaysian punctuality, something we could truly be proud of.

Just as leaned back to enjoy the occasional silence I was granted, Avril Lavigne’s voice jolted me back to reality. I picked up the phone to hear someone sobbing and an ambulance wailing in the background. I was ready to say “wrong number” and put the phone down when to my utter surprise, Link’s voice came from the other end of the line. “Niyi, it’s me. Look, we have an emergency here. Can you call your father and ask him to get the emergency room at his hospital ready for two patients?”

A little panicked and doubtful, I asked “What’s going on here? Why is there an ambulance?”

I would never forget the sights and sounds that followed that conversation in the next couple of hours. A few dazed actions later, I had my father waiting at the hospital as my mom fetched me there. Another glance at my watch, 16 minutes since Link called me. I can’t believe this is happening. We were only 16 years old.

As I stepped through the sliding doors at the hospital’s entrance, I couldn’t help but give a cold shiver as I remembered all the people crying along the corridors every time I came to find my father in his office. Having been here a great number of times, I found myself in the Emergency Ward with no trouble at all. I looked at the chairs at the beds, not a single familiar face. At that point, I didn’t know whether I should give out a sigh of relief or grief that my friends aren’t there yet. I paced up and down the white corridor when my phone rang again.

“Where are you? I’m at the X-ray department?” said Link.

“Coming. Be there in 2 minutes.”

I dashed down the corridors that seemed similar to each other until I finally arrived at where Link was, sitting nervously on the floor. To my horror, her basketball jersey was stained with blood. In fact, almost all clothing and bags lying beside her was stained a dark red colour. She looked up at me. That was the first time I’ve seen her cry since I met her years ago. Although the stench of blood was strong about her, I waved it away as I ran to give her a consoling hug. Until that point, I still had no idea how horrible the accident was.

Not too long after that, Ski came out of the X-Ray room lying on a bed. Her leg was all wrapped up but the only thing I could do was stare at her. Looking at her face that just looked back at me as if I was about to give an answer to life’s greatest mystery. Sadly, all I could do was look. And then she spoke. The line that broke the silence and also my heart.

“I could see my bone. It’s so white… but it was very red too.”

xxxxx

It has been 3 years since that incident occurred. Ski took a long time to recover and came back to accompany us at the basketball court briefly but when something like that happens, no amount of dreaming or laughing can really bring things back to normal. We no longer play together nowadays. I because the game seems to have lost its appeal and she because of the injuries she suffered that morning. Bel is too busy to play these days and she rarely even keeps in touch with the rest of us.

Isn’t it strange that so long after everything has happened, I finally want to live forever. No, I want to play with my friends forever the game that I love the most. And when I do finally die, I want to be all used up. I want to not be able to move a single muscle because I’ve lived to my heart’s content and have nothing left in me. We go through life trying to find ourselves and our true friends but in truth, life isn’t about finding it. It’s about creating it. We found ourselves on that court under the clear blue sky so many years ago. But nobody told us we could lose what we found and so we let go and now it’s gone. So what’s left now is for us to create a future that nobody can steal from us. We have to create ourselves.

You see things; and you say, 'Why?' But I dream things that never were; and I say, 'Why not?'

PS: I know this post would have been a lot better had I not deleted most of it but it was too hard for me to post such personal things here and I apologise.

I Do I Do

You know how my perfect and awesome brain always works and tinkers away at thoughts until finally I come up with very plausible (though unscientific nor useful) theories?
Well, I have a new one now! It's something that'll touch Farhan deeply and give an insight to what mankind has deemed a problem since the age of Caesar. Yes my dear audience, it started since the time when a knight stared into his shining shield and noticed the bald spot on his head.
This is a revolutionary theory about men's hair!
You know that theory by Einstein that about conservation of energy and how it cannot be made nor destroyed but merely transfered from one to another in the form of energy or mass?
Will, let's just say he made an incredible discovery without even realizing it as he stared into the mirror while contemplating how to comb his unruly hair. When men bald, where does all that hair go?
According to the law of conservation of energy, you can't destroy mass or energy, merely transfer it. So when you look at an aging male with a shining head, look closer and you'll know where the energy was transfered to. Look really really closely. Look at his ears and his nose and his arms and chest.
Lo and behold, the answer!
Why, when men get older, do they start getting hair growth in all the wrong places?
Had they always have these irregular growths but being young, chose to trim them for the sake of beauty? Or did these hair miraculous sprout up as the hair on top of their head reduced in number?
Well, you can't really blame the hair follicles for migrating because when you think about it, it's in their genes. Haven't it always been the innate nature to flee when the going gets tough?
Those hair up there probably woke up one day and thought "Hey, why should I work so hard under the sun when I can just up and leave?" and poof it goes.
Things have always been that way, haven't it? Going gets tough, the tough gets going.... and most of the men just sit at the sideline with beer cans on their beer bellies and shout "You go girl!".
So there you have it. My theory on why men get bald supported by the law of conservation of energy that says "Thou shat not be destroyed... but I won't stop thee from fleeing".

In An Ideal World Kids Would Keep Their Rooms Tidy

I've had enough of the females are fairer sex weaker beings lower life form bullshit already. What's so bad about being a female?!?
Sure we have our biological faults like having periods and all things evil associated with it and also the misfortune of having to (under some circumstances) carry another being in our body for 9 horrible months but let us consider the other facts too.
Let's start of with the good part of being female.
Guys have to open the door for us. Well, at least the guys that place a head which contains a brain (will get to this later) on top of their neck. Regardless of how feminist and what not I am, I believe that guys SHOULD open the door for girls. And my feminist feelings notwithstanding, guys should NEVER hit girls either. Run and shame yourself if you ever come across a psychotic woman but NEVER hit them unless you're trying to protect someone.
Then we are allowed to shop till we drop without being called a sissy cause it's just what we're supposed to do, right? And then we can eat our hearts out when we're feeling blue cause that's just our coping mechanism! It's not like we want to but it's in our genes! And let's not forget being able to lash out at others once a month and shrug it off by blaming it on PMS.
Now here are the less glorious but still true parts. For starters, when we're peeing using the sitting type of toilet bowls, we can tie our shoe laces at the same time! Or any other work that requires the use of our hands. Really, I'm serious! I know it doesn't really cure cancer or AIDS but think about it, you're in the loo and suddenly you notice your tie is messed up. If you're a woman you just go "Oh, there you go." and fix it. But if you're a guy you to finish peeing, wash your hands and then only fix it! And if you don't wash your hands after you pee then I hope nobody ever.... EVER! touches anything you did.
What else... Oh, and here comes our luck for NOT being the other sex!
First of all, some mysterious part of our gene does not dictate that crushing beer cans on our forehead and farting (and burping) extremely loudly and laughing at our antics while sniffing the fart is what civilized people would do. I mean seriously, being able to do so many retarded things at the very same time is a feat worthy of admiration but is that really what millions and billions of years of evolution have led to? Is this really the epitome of the intelligent being?!
And secondly, we females don't feel the need to constantly reach downwards and check that our genitals are still in place because god forbid that it might have ran away while we were busy sniffing other people's fart while struggling to open beer cans. While I was in Bali, I went to a temple filled with monkeys and one of them was just sitting there all high and mighty with that laid-back air to itself and just watching the people pass by and scratching his balls! At that very moment, I couldn't for the life of me deny the similarities between that monkey and its supposedly more intelligent big brother!
While I'm still on the subject of genitals, let me also rejoice in the fact that females do not feel the need to give names to their private parts like "My Little Brother" or stuffs along that line.
Oh, and speaking of peeing just now. We also should be happy that we don't have to constantly put up the seat just to pee. And I really don't get this next part. How can they be such sharp shooters in everything ranging from arcade games to sports and other stuffs but suck so terribly when it comes to trying to pee at the right place! And I'm not even gonna mention the type of men who just simply pee by the road as if he was some stray dog!
But I guess they just suck when it comes to taking care of their Lil' Bro which is inevitably proven by how prone they're to "miss aim" and stick their member into the wrong hole which we civilized people would much rather call having an affair instead of "sowing their wild oats" or "proving their manliness" or crappy shit like that. If they had tails I'm sure 50% of the male population would walk with it between their legs for fear of us females realizing how weak they really are and finally decide we've had enough of their shit.
So, are you still sad of being a female even after so much persuasion?

My Country Is Dying

I guess I've been whining for no reason at all lately. My problems and dilemmas are nothing compared to the plight of my people.
They beg on the street and live in fear of anything associated to authority. They hate, despise, loath..... Basically any word that describes a negative feeling of intense degree can be used to depict their feeling towards those who wield power over the nation. I refuse to call those bastards a "government" because clearly, they're nothing more than cruel wardens who promoted themselves to take charge of a prison filled with innocent convicts. The only kinds of emotion they evoke in me are those of hate and anger.
Any effort to overthrow such cruelty is met with a titanium fist hell-bent on keeping the country on its knees. Any brave soul who dares to show resilience risk having his entire family wiped off the face of earth overnight. Those who speak out dare not show themselves for fear of the stories whispered among our own people. For decades, my people have suffered under such oppression of human rights and freedom to live. The country that they love is existing on life-support and the machine is failing. For all the sufferings my people have endured... The world watches and waits.
For years I had a favorable opinion of Bush and was for the War in Iraq as I thought he initiated it in a justifiable effort to maintain peace. He invaded and took over such a violent and dangerous region with the force and power his country holds and I thought him to be a saint. But now I see they were right. He was really just after the petroleum. Anybody who was so concerned over world peace would not stand by with their arms crossed when they have the power to save my country with the snap of their fingers.
Burma is dying, and he looks.
It seems that in his world, the only fault my country ever did is to not produce the all valuable black gold. So monks get beaten up, disrobed and insulted to the highest degree as a consequence of the greed of the rest of the world. Protesters who only wish to love their country are shot down like crooks or animals, shipped away on trucks in the dead of night to be slaughtered after hours of torture. Those who escaped are welcomed by poverty and a serious absence of life's necessities. They don't face a shortage. They simply do not have any of it.
My heart aches as I watch the symbols of faith that I respect and honor used by the real villains as doormats but all I can do is keep on watching. I regret not being in a position which allows me to do something about this situation but I regret even more the people who can make all this turn around but refuse to do so. I love the monks and I love my religion, our religion. Their religion. Knowing that Burma is a Buddhist country, I can hardly believe what I see as I know those people wiping their feet on the monks' robes are Buddhists themselves. I don't normally curse people but I sure as hell don't wish those bastards well.
Politics and negotiations don't work in the land called Burma. The only thing the military bows to is stronger weapons. So the UN should just stopped sending envoys over and start making plans to take my country by storm if they're really sincere about wanting to help. All other effort is just for show and they know it too. They're just trying to trick the fortunate citizens of the world who aren't aware of the atrocities in Burma.
Every single one of you who reads this won't understand how this feels and you must all think I'm being a drama queen. But I do feel all the hate flow through me as every time I hear those monsters mentioned. None of you will understand what it feels like to not have a country, and identity. I don't live there nor was I born or raised there but that is the only place that will call me its own. That's my motherland.

Rock Yourself To Sleep

Kids do a lot of things to get some attention and unfortunately, they normally do really stupid stuffs. And then sometimes there are those people who are just so pathetic that they resort to unforgivable measures to get people as pathetic as them to give 'em a second glance. I guess it all boils down to your level of patheticness and maturity.
We should learn to sympathize with 'em.
Some people like to throw insults and unjustified remarks at others hoping it will stick. Rumors full of slander emerge as a result of their own incapability to get others to look at them for the right reasons.
On the other hand, they are others who resort to self-mutilation and other sorts of self-abuses. Say what you want about me but I seriously like this type a lot better. At least it has nothing to do with me. Besides, if they really do get physical injuries than it very beneficial to my future profession. I'm glad nobody has decided to ban inhumane people from applying to study medicine. But really, I ain't really that bad.
It's just a matter of opinion. In MY opinion (which is the subject we're discussing in this blog), I think this planet is suffering from a serious overpopulation of the human race and hence any effort to reduce the bottom rung on the ladder of the gene pool is an effort worthy to be considered for a peace prize. Of course, you'll only be nominated if you actually succeed.
We all know any species that try to compete for anything with us Homo sapiens are just looking for trouble and risking their existence on this planet. To most people, proving the human being's superiority over other species seems to be their raison d'etre and they couldn't really care less if others have to suffer for this. It's just stupid.
I think a penguin or a puppy has 100 times more reason to live than a junkie who goes around begging for food and money during daytime and go get high or rape kids during the night. And people who could do horrible things such as the monstrosity done towards Nurin are the perfect ingredient to be used for pig feed. Seriously, just grind 'em up and feed 'em to the dogs. Why else would the almighty (nonexistent) being sitting up there in the clouds send 'em to Earth?
Fuck 'em all.
Oh, and unfortunately, I wasn't really going through a period of "down"ness when I wrote the previous article. I was just giving a piece of my mind because that's how I feel. I feel like this most of the time so I doubt we can call it a "moment". It's more like a chronic disease. Well, at least I'm not dying from it.
Come to think about it. Maybe I'd feel better if I was actually DYING from it. Ironic.
I bet by the time I graduate, I'll already be asking myself when I stopped laughing like an idiot and started becoming an idiot.
Piece of advice to anybody who would care for one: Be rich and successful.
The way I see things, the people who hate you will hate you regardless but at least that way, they can only HATE you but wouldn't have the resource or the authority to do anything about it. And who said money didn't rule the world?


The devil in my pocket turned to god.

How Long Do You Wanna Be Loved?

I just realised something really profound! Do you get how much longer I have to live before I die?! Heck! We aren't supposed to die until we're 70 or something!
What the heck am I supposed to do with all this time? Call me an ass for not appreciating this life when kids around me are dropping dead by the minute but seriously, forever just ain't my style. It's just depressing! And they wonder why people get suicidal!
A generation is measured by 25 years each and on average, we're supposed to be able to live to play with our grandchildren, right? I'm not even over my generation yet and believe me, I feel like I've lived enough. So that means I have one fifth of my generation and another 2 more generations to go. Are you getting the numbers?
Can you hear me?
That's another 55 years. What can we possibly do to fill in all that time? How can anybody possibly say we just don't live long enough??! What else do you have to do?!
We live long enough. In fact, we live too long. It's the youth that doesn't last long enough. Look at me, I'm not even past my generation and yet I'm waiting for my death like some invalid lying on a bed underneath the dark gray sky. This is so wrong.
Evolution is ever evolving. Duh, it's called evolution for a reason! So maybe we aren't perfect yet. Maybe we will better ourselves to stop living so long. When are we ever gonna sleep our last? Maybe I should be a rock star or something cause according to some survey, I should die around 30+ that way, which, to me, is the right age to die.
To all of you out there dreading eternal damnation or waiting to living infinitely in Heaven with 99 virgins around you: Wake up!
One thing's for sure, that's not my cup of milk. So take your heaven and hell and go through those big pearly gates as you please but please just leave my mortal soul alone. Just like Death Cab For Cutie sang,
If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied;
Illuminate the "No"s on their Vacancy signs.
So here I sit. Depressed and darker than ever, counting down the days till I die.


Take me by the hand and tell me you would take me anywhere.

Forget Your Sorrows

Today I was mobbed by a group of 3 year olds. Literally!
First one boy called Elwin decided to be cute and come sit on my lap (we were all sitting on the floor) and when another girl saw this she just thought "Oh, this must be the cue to get on stage." and pushed Elwin aside and sat on my lap too. Of course, being 3 years old and all, nobody really taught Elwin the meaning of the word "gentleman" and besides, I was closer to him because I often accompany him while he waits for his mommy and so, he made a ruckus about it which attracted the attention of the remaining students.
It's not everyday kids get to sit on a teacher's lap so you can probably guess what happened next.
Of course, despite all my excess flesh and "insulation", there really isn't any space for ALL of them to sit so some kids started getting fresh and climbed on my back!
And so the back was occupied too but there was still one kid remaining and introducing the genius -- he clings to my arms like a monkey.
A little later the 4 year old kids came down and a few of them who I often play with saw all of this and that's probably when all hell broke lose.
Soon I was sitting one second then lying on the floor the other with 5 kids on top of me. And the next I would be rolled over and played with like a doll! They were practically hanging on to my hair for crying out loud.
Then some of them wanted me to tickle them and play with them so not only was I being treated as a doormat, I even had legs and arms being shoved into my face so that I would take notice and start tickling them! The audacity of them all!
Me being me, I didn't have the power to reject nor the strength to scold so there I sat being toyed with by kids who don't even reach my waist. Fortunately, salvation came in the form of another mean looking teacher with a wooden ruler in her hand.
But seriously, even I get creep-ed out by the Mean One. They should stop treating kids as punching bags of anger-venting-dolls!

Sometimes you sail through life without a storm cloud in sight and suddenly an ice-berg comes out of no where and sinks you like lead. All the time you've been keeping your eyes on the storm and preparing for it and it never happens but instead, you sink over an idiotic piece of ice! Just imagine how Titanic must have felt.
Sometimes you have these debilitating (mental) diseases and it all seems to have been cured and passed but suddenly you start seeing the signs and symptoms creep up on you like the shadow from Shakespeare's "Life's Brief Candle". You kick it 3 times in the shin and stomped on it and think "Well, that's the end of it." but no, it all comes back to haunt you.
Try as you might to keep the obvious harm out of your face, the even more obvious ones that we never care to notice often knock the wind out of you. Ironic.


Note to self: Don't go anywhere near Tao for the next one of two years.


And all his yesterdays have lighted fools,
Away to dusty death.

Wonder Why I Keep Opening Them...

You know all those stupid Friendster bulletins and chain-mails that claims stuff like it's so true and this and that? Well, I've done a lot of thinking... And I mean A LOT! Here are some questions I really hope someone will help me answer.
1) When you read those mails that say "Oh my god it really works etc etc" and go on to give examples of how this woman fell on her face and died or how a man choked to death on banana skin, don't you ever wonder who writes how they died after they disobeyed they mail IF they're really dead? I really don't want to touch the subject of (the non-existent) ghosts.
2) When the whole mail is filled with stories about all those examples, can you just delete those examples and forward the remaining parts because basically if everyone obeyed the chain-letter in the first place all those examples won't be there right?
3) Is there like a "Chain-Letter Handbook" that determines what parts can and can not be deleted? If it does exist then who wrote it?
4) Is there really anybody out there who seriously believes in chain-letters? Like seriously! Oh wait, so many people believe in ghosts that anything is possible... (=_=")
5) What if I'm a really slow reader and by the time I finish reading the whole mail, the given time period to forward those mails is already up? Does it count as I disobeyed or those the whatever all-mighty force guiding and giving punishments understand the difficulties of slow readers?
6) How do you press F6 back in the days when you don't have a computer or the internet? You know... those mails always say "Press F6 afterwards and the name of your crush will appear on the screen bla bla bla".
7) Those mails always say if you send it or don't send it, something good / bad will happen at midnight and shit like that. Well, to tell you the truth, I usually sleep at 10pm or maybe 11. What happens then? Does the crush that was supposed to confess to me suddenly get a light bulb moment and decide to call me at a more godly hour or do I miss the chance of my life?
Dang, I need some answers quick!

I'm Like A Cat!

I hate cats.....
Thoughts I'm having right now about going to uni.
What if I hate the people there?
What if I hang out with this group of people on arrival (you know how new schools are, you meet new people and get yourself into a clique bla bla) and realise later that I hate them?
By then it'd probably be too late to change groups, right?
What if nobody in my class likes playing DDR and Percussion Master?
What if my new friends don't appreciate lame jokes?
What if they're uptight I-only-wanna-study stereotypical medic students?
Oh my god, I already hate those people there. What if I hate the surrounding? I'll run all the way back to my house!

Can you imagine how much worse I'll be when it's actually time to go there?

Revelation!!!

I stole a box of cigs from Jac to make her quit smoking (partly helping her to cut down) and that box has been lying around in my room for quite some time so just now I was really really bored out of my boards so I thought why not take a drag? And I did. And here are a few things I found out.
First is that people say smoking takes your mind away from things because well, with one hand holding the death-machine and the other hand waving futilely to get the smoke out of your face, you don't really have much time to think about most stuffs.
Two, for the inexperienced nose, the smell of burning smoke smells exactly like a piece of paper that's burning.
Lastly, the only reason it relieves stress is because between the waving and the thinking how all that smoke is filling up your lungs and bringing you closer to death mile by mile, you kinda realise you're not that significant in this world after all.
So all I have to say is do what you want, just don't make me waste my energy waving your toxic release out of my face.

I Sailed My Ship of Safety Till I Sank It

Oh my god. This is depressing.
Everybody is going their ways doing what they should be doing and gaining new experiences and living their lives. What am I doing?
Waiting.
For what?
Nothing. Half a year from now I'd still be living in Malaysia and I'll still be the same as I was yesterday. Well, maybe I'd be a little more pessimistic and skeptic and depressed on the whole but nothing else will change. Can my insides get any more dark and twisty than they are now?



The less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine.

I Lost

I woke up on the morning of Sept 10th and felt there was something missing. I picked up my phone and realised it was a piece of my heart that I won't reunite with for another a year.
Tonight, I shall go to bed knowing full well that when I wake up tomorrow, another piece of my heart shall be halfway across the world.

We lose so much of ourselves each day that I'm amazed we're still breathing.... and when we put our palms over our chest, I'm surprised to feel something beating inside.
I started this page because I was heart broken that Mae left for Russia.
I still am. Yet at the same time, I'm not. Maybe this means I've grown up?
Isn't growing up a part of breaking hearts? Or is it the other way around?
Both occurrences happen so often that it's hard to differentiate one from the other. Do we leave because we love? Do we love because we leave? Do we hurt because love leaves? Do we hurt because love stays?

What now? Where do we go from here? Han's mom said that at our age, we're at a T-junction with a "No U-Turn" signs blinking in the neon-lit sky. We can turn left or right but we can't ever go back. Her words put me in an awkward position because she voiced the innermost fear I've had for the past few years.
What do we do when we can't go back? Not "if", because this is no longer a mater of probability. We're passed that stage 3 light years ago. Now we're like bed-ridden seniors lying on the bed just waiting for the inevitable death to arrive. Only we're the reverse of them. We're reluctant teenagers standing in line waiting for life to begin.

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day.  Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel.  None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch.  And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones.  And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

 -- Elizabeth Bishop

Choices?

It's unfortunate that not everyone can get the results they desire. It's even harder when your whole dream rest on whether those results are obtained or not.
Most people seem to be dumbstruck when such things happen. Lost with no knowledge of what to do.
It's ironic that they got those results because of a lack of knowledge in the first place.
All I want to say is that to me, there is no question on what to do if something you really really want doesn't miraculously materialize in your laps the very instant you wish for it.
You chase after it.
It's simple. It's easy. Really, it's a lot easier than you think it is. The only reason your dream seems so far away is because while everybody is moving forward with their own dreams, you're just sitting there thinking how nice it must be when you finally grasp it in your hands.
It's the greatest law Einstein ever made. It's all relative. When you aren't running to where you want to be, you seem to be moving backwards because the people around you are moving forward.
Get off your behind and get in front. Nothing ever comes without sacrifice. Even less things come when all you can do is regret.
To quote an insurance advert I just saw about this woman running a marathon:
The road can't stop me. The weather can't stop me. The other athletes can't stop me. The only thing that can stop me... is me.
Why are you wasting your time regretting when we all know it would be time better spent rectifying your past mistakes?
To quote Transformers which would definitely touch more hearts than my previous quotes:
No sacrifice, no victory.

Why, When The Invisble Man You Talk To Is Named God, You Are Called A Saint

Yet when the invisible person is named Bill, Tom or Jane, you're called a schizophrenic?
I've got an answer to it. It's called name-discrimination.
How else can you explain it, right?
Was not Joan of Arc and Mohammad just people who woke up one day and said their invisible "friend" told them they were "messengers" and had the political tact to spoon-feed the world into believing their every word?
But my post is not about this issue. That was just a lingering thought that I needed to expel.
My post is about a much deeper issue that boils beneath the surface.... Oh, it's deep. As deep as ancient history and voodoo worshiping goes. For those of you with an upset-able bowel or a weak heart... You have been warned!

It took place on a late August night, when the air was cool and the wind whispered names beyond the graves.... Today, we shall talk about paranoia.
Do you know how paranoia starts?
I do. Oh, yes. I do. And guess what? I'm gonna tell you.
It starts when crappy people constantly say crappy things around you. Easy and simple as that.
We're brought up to be children of science, and we have been taught to support whatever hypothesis we suggest with experiment based conclusions. So here's my experiment and the all so obvious and undeniable conclusion.
Apparatus used: Crappy friends, stupid stories, guinea pig.
Recommended guinea pig: Me.
Hypothesis: Paranoia is a result of the surrounding environment containing too much crap and idiots.
Procedures:

1. Find and collect a group of 3 crappy friends and a guinea pic. Allow to interact.
2. Make crappy friends tell stupid ghost stories animated with stupid noises and even stupider faces in front of guinea pig.
3. Repeat Step 2 a few times over a period of a few days.
4. On the 8th day of repeating Step 2, make guinea pig leave phone in a dark bedroom at night.
5. Guinea pig returns to bedroom a few minutes later.
6. Phone is ringing and the idiotic ringtone of the guinea pig's phone fills the dark dark room.
7. Guinea pig does not realise it's the phone and gets scared.
8. After eliminating the source of the weird noise, guinea pig absent-mindedly switches the radio on and leave room to get a drink downstairs.
9. When guinea pig steps into the dark kitchen, loud tribal music is clearly audible from a far-off distant. Guinea pig gets scared shitless again.
10. After confirming the source of the music to be a party held a few roads away, guinea pig returns to room at the exact moment the stupid Mix.FM is playing the song "I Love Rock 'n Roll".
11. Singer happens to be going into the shriek / moan part of the song.
12. Guinea pig does not realise the radio was previously turned on and, again, gets very VERY scared.
13. Guinea pig is now very paranoid.

Conclusion:
Hypothesis accepted. There is concrete proof to sustain the statement that crappy friends repeating idiotic ghost stories is a leading cause of paranoia.

Happy Days (Nights)

My god, I'm just soooo happy right now they should create a new phrase called "cloud 27" for me to be on.
It's a shame Slur and Shu and the rest of them didn't come cause even with just Han, MS and Mae, we were already laughing our heads off. I swear to god we're going for another buffet some other time before everybody gets on with their life.
And of course, we're doing it with or without you guys although we would prefer it to be "with".
Damn, that was just lovely!
Haha, this is one of the rare times I'm regretting this ain't a bimbo blog cause I soooo wanna post pics of it right now.