potatoboy

2012-01-29T21:59:00.003+08:00

all grown up!

I skyped my cousin recently; he's studying over in NSW, Australia, and I'm really proud of him. It must really be lonely at times there, though. Nevertheless, awkward happy picture!

photoception!

2012-01-24T20:57:00.002+08:00

trudging along

Happy Chinese New Year! This year, I got a chance to visit the house my mom, aunties and uncles grew up in. The flat belonged to my great-grandfather, and the folks spent their growing up years there. I felt the nostalgia they felt, as they narrated their whimsical childhood to us. They pointed out their hiding spots when grandma caned them, described how they climbed from ground floor to the second and into the balcony. How they had competitions on who could scale the door frames the highest.

There was this discoloured photograph of their entire family, and we had a fun time pointing out who's who. Mom was 16 in the photograph, and her brothers and sisters were even younger.

It really got me thinking about my own existence and the circle of life. It probably trigged when Disney channel played The Lion King last night. Free cable weekend for the win. As we went back to grandma's place for dinner, we stopped to look at the family portrait of our own family. Grandad's gone, and some of the smaller ones weren't even born yet. I need to take a photograph of that photograph and digitally store it somewhere.

photographception

2011-12-21T20:04:00.003+08:00

nom nom nom.

Today, I saw an old couple share a plate of chicken chop.
Pukes rainbows.

That was real sweet Mr. and Mrs. Wrinkles. Did you ever consider the chicken's feelings?

2011-12-11T16:41:00.002+08:00

ROD loh.

For men in Singapore, there's no other topic that transcends age, language, race, culture, and religion- than life in green. I was talking to a cabby yesterday, and he recounted his days as a rifleman in the army. The year was 1969. I don't think my parents even hit puberty yet.

He told me how their company would go on missions overnight, while pointing to the jungle next to the expressway, said they'd sleep for a couple of hours with no shelter before completing their mission. He used the AR-15, the predecessor to the M-16. Fire 200 rounds and the barrel turns red-hot and melts. He talked about getting walloped and doing ridiculous punishments by his officers and sergeants, in today's standards would result in a letter to the MP by some really flustered parents. Corporals were kings in those days. They'd polish their boots till their teeth showed in the reflection. Their drill boots had metal studs to make the sound of their marching more audible. The rubber soles of the boots these days have no standards!-he said.

Life was so different. But the thing that struck me throughout our conversation was that even he enjoyed his time and had fun, though most times were hard and miserable. I was fascinated at the his ability to remember life more than 40 years back. His stories so vivid, yet familiar. In 40 years, perhaps, it'll be my turn to share my stories and scare the socks out of a few kids.

These uncles deserve a medal.

2011-11-27T21:00:00.002+08:00

Approximately 60 years to go.

Wow. That's a pretty long time to consider if if I were to make it to 81. The year 2071. There'll be what, 30 billion people on the planet? Until then, I'd better find something meaningful to do. Trade 8-5 each weekday for a salary, pay the mortgage, car, insurance, and blow the rest on weekends. Save 10%. Oh right, tithe. Maybe next month.

Wait, I said meaningful, didn't I?

2011-11-15T20:00:00.002+08:00

Routine

Wake up.
Eat.
Work.
Eat.
Nap, secretly.
Wake up.
Work.
Wait for it...
It's five twenty nine, and FIFTY NINE SECONDS.....
FIVE THIRTY!
Eat.
Sleep.

One day, I'll wake up, and spread my wings, well, maybe not.
I'll buy an air-ticket.
But before that, I need to rob a bank.

Or, I could work for a while.

And nap secretly.

2011-10-20T21:47:00.002+08:00

3 years of procrastinating, 1 year of research, 50000 giant holes in my pants.

I F-INALLY settled on the most luxurious and beautiful toy that makes young prepubescent boys cry. As I cradle this black plasticky instrument in my hands, I feel as if one push of either of its 15 shiny buttons could activate some nuclear silo somewhere in the mountains of Russia. I believe the KGB should be shitting their pants right about now when an alarm goes off as I push... THIS BUTTON!

The magical, but mostly scientific wonders of the modern camera with interchangeable lenses. Camera manufacturers are demons. They induce sin in people by making them lust after their lenses. I MUST COLLECT THEM ALL!

30mm 1.4.
70-200mm 2.0.
50mm 1.2.
24-70mm 2.8.
300mm 2.0.
5200mm 14.

ALL MINEZ.

2011-09-08T23:12:00.004+08:00

This is it.

I had better write something down before I forget the experiences I went through the past few weeks become a blur within the neurons in my brain.

Thailand! The land of a thousand smiles. A place of tranquility. A tranquility we had to disturb in the name of training. The cows made good target practice, though. The melodic notes of charges exploding, propelling tubular-shaped metal objects one-and-a-half times the speed of sound through a pipe-organ looking thing, followed by the whizzing of the metal travelling supersonically through the air creates quite an atmosphere. Turn off the chirping birds and put some Rock 'n Roll on. That's better.

Tomorrow I embark on another journey to fulfill one of the many hedonistic dreams I have. I am only afraid that it will be a big disappointment, that the satisfaction of finally fulfilling it does not turn out to be as satisfying as I thought it would be. This is it.

Hello giant hole in the back of my jeans

2011-07-24T18:03:00.002+08:00

But time = money, no?

Money makes the world go round. Balls to that! It's the gravitational pull of the sun which causes the earth to revolve around it, at the same time adding rotation to its orbit. And the world's elliptical for goodness sake.

I'm wishing with a child-like slackness that I could have all the time in the world.

That's pretty much asking for all the money in the world. No?

Alright then, could I have at least some extra time pretty please, like in a football game?

I think, all you need is a solid, concrete plan. Like, paper kind of solid.

A chisel and slab of stone would be nice.

2011-07-03T13:17:00.002+08:00

time flies.

We should break its wings. I laugh at people who say life needs a rewind button. Absurdity. A pause button will do. But then there'll be an awkward silence in the universe.

Who decided on two day weekends and five day weekdays?

2011-06-17T21:53:00.002+08:00

Meet the parents

The time has come, a passage of rite, for every man to bring the missus home. Although she has secretly been hiding in a small dark corner of my living room, my parents have never really got acquainted with her until now. It seems like they've been getting along just fine; more fine than I am comfortable with, actually. So fine that I've barely got my chance to spend time with her anymore.

It's an achievement to be proud of, really. To see my mother turn her on, push her buttons correctly and get her to work. Perhaps one day my mom will beat me at some street-fighting game. For now, she's watching Korean dramas with the missus. But a greater call awaits me. I have to save my father from the dark side and the evil that is Korean dramas.

So much for meeting the parents.

2011-05-30T17:35:00.002+08:00

mediocrity.

It's a tough pill to swallow, but devolution is catching up. My only hopes of escaping this predicament is shuttle over to another planet in the Andromeda galaxy. I'll start an entirely new race there, perhaps bring the Amish with me.

I have all but stopped dreaming.

2011-05-02T19:27:00.002+08:00

fountain of youth

"I am a dreamer with not enough time." The complainer in me complains.

"That's because I'm always putting things aside to do later." The procrastinator admits.

"There's a thousand and one other things to do now which are, uh, semi-important." The bummer says.

"Well, prioritize and get organized!" The rational one replies.

"But there's just too many things going on right now!" The excuse giver sighs.

"So, should I stop dreaming now?" The dreamer asks.

2011-04-20T20:41:00.002+08:00

Adulterer

I'm seeing someone else. While a normal person might feel guilty or some sort, the thrill of living a secret double life can be quite addictive. I couldn't resist my new beau, not when her last name's slim.

She plays as well as my first wife, just that her expertise lies in a different area, if you know what I mean. Of course, you don't. I'm starting to think I'm spending too much time with my new mistress, but hey, anything to get these finger muscles going, if you know what I mean, again. Of course, you don't, again.

People say that two's a party, three's a crowd. My mother, however, feels that a matchmaking session is due for her only son. She's hooking me up with this chick in town; I think she comes from China. I'll know soon enough, otherwise I can always give DHL a call to see when she's arriving. Apparently, she has a beast of a cat in her. Rawr.

call you back.

2011-03-28T20:58:00.002+08:00

Return of the Jungle Man

I am finally home. My bed feels good, too good almost. After several nights of sleeping with the fishes, literally, it feels as if I've risen from the dead, figuratively. Like cannonball-ing into a pool on a hot day, stepping back into civilization never felt so refreshing.

Oh the food we have here in Singapore, is just awesome.

Oh I miss my wife too.

My fingers need some practice.

2011-03-06T21:07:00.002+08:00

The grass is greener on this side

It has come for me to become one with nature. To live, breathe and eat off the land, perhaps learn to speak Na'vi and paint myself blue. I'll grow a USB-cable ponytail and tame horses and monitor lizards, asking them politely to do my bidding.

I'll invent my own computer, with leaves, tree bark and branches. I'll give myself 3 days to establish wi-fi. If I don't manage to do it by myself, I can always give tech-support a quick call. They'll heli-drop into my location within minutes.

Who am I kidding. Goodbye wife and TV!

2011-02-27T10:32:00.002+08:00

becoming a jungle ~~boy~~ man

My life has come to a halt. In the past few weeks, I have stopped thinking about the troubles and worries of adulthood. The socially and financially "correct" need of furthering my studies are becoming like dying embers of a fireplace. My pursuit and desire for a degree has always been a lackluster effort; I'll attempt and apply another time, I keep telling myself. I am a little tired.

In the next few weeks, my main worries will be about rationing my food and water, enduring painful blisters and please-oh-God-I-beg-you-and-pray not foot-rot, dancing in the rain, building a Tarzan home, escaping death by mosquitoes and crocodiles, and keeping my fireplace going.

I am about to go back in time a few thousand years, to live like our forefathers did running around in circles to escape the jaws of dinosaurs and giant ants. I don't know if I'll make it out alive. Jurassic Park isn't exactly the friendliest of places to man.

Today, I shall enjoy the comforts of my home, my wife, and television, because the week after next shall worry about itself.

Soaking freaking wet boots.

2011-02-12T15:59:00.002+08:00

Bookworm wannabe.

I need to revive the good old habit of reading. It feels as if my brain is shrinking over time; the thought that my IQ is dropping makes me feel insecure. I've forgotten the joy of finishing a good story; my brain needs some stimulation. Perhaps I should crocodile clip my ears and connect them to a car battery.

That will turn me into Einstein, I'm sure. Even if I don't instantly turn smart, I'll get that Einstein look I've always wanted.

I sigh at my predicament. Even if I do have a good book to read, I won't have time to devour its content.

Oh pity me, world.

2011-02-02T15:27:00.002+08:00

MEDIC!

I should have been more careful. I should have secured her properly. I dropped her, onto the cold, hard and unforgiving floor. Now she's ruined, for good. She still plays as well, though. Someone said her scars give her character; she cannot stay young and flawless forever after all. Sooner or later, that polished body of hers must somehow become blotched and age with time. Her colours will fade, her vibrant paint become less so, but she'll sound sweeter as the years go by, I'm sure of it.

I wish I could age as gracefully.

2011-01-22T11:20:00.002+08:00

Devolution.

I had always thought that the people who tell us that our lives are but a slow (sometimes fast) and eventual journey toward death are a bunch of pessimists who should keep their morbid views on life to themselves. Recently, however, I found these words to hold some wisdom and weight. Perhaps it is wise to live like there is no tomorrow. I would then show some urgency and make the most out of my life.

I am afraid of the routines of life that will make living too comfortable for me to achieve any dreams of mine. A degree by 26, job hop several times and marriage by 28, settle down and purchase a house by 30, kids by 32, reaching the peak of my career by 38, in the meantime switching jobs here and there, mid-life crisis by 40, pay off my house by 46, watch my kids grow up and start university by 54, continue working till 60 as a security guard, retire and try my best to avoid thinking about death until 70, if I'm still not dead, join the chess club at the nearby community centre. In the case I reach a hundred years old, become a rock star and start touring the world, only to be killed by a doctor who gave me a lethal cocktail of painkillers.

Life isn't a roller coaster. It's a road trip where your kids are in the back of the car, singing annoying songs and asking, "Are we there yet?"

2011-01-13T01:18:00.003+08:00

Comfort in discomfort.

Perhaps the constant abuse of on my body has finally taken its toil. Like the straw that breaks a camel's back, too much exercise can too break my back. I like to tell myself that health matters more over many other things. Perhaps I am simply using it as an excuse to pity myself.

As the marching song goes: I don't want to lead an army life. I just want to lead a simple life!

2011-01-01T10:14:00.003+08:00

Welcome to the real world.

It feels as if I've just risen from the dead. After digging two foxholes in two nights, I cannot help but feel like a member of the living undead. Perhaps someone should invent a zombifying drug that immortalizes everyone, a possible side-effect being that we all turn into a mindless hominids hungry for human flesh. Then we can all forget about war. Wait, that sounded like a Will Smith movie. I've always wondered why in that movie the zombies didn't turn on each other and start cannibalizing on other zombies.

Other than being deprived of sleep, I've been living in my own filth for the past week. I smelt foul and reeked of pure nastiness. That's right, pure nastiness, like blue cheese. At least there was always mud nearby to roll around in; that helped keep my skin smooth and supple.

As the new year kicks off, I cannot help but feel left behind; as if trapped in a comatose state. Ah, the blissfulness of a zombified brain.

nggh.

2010-12-12T12:23:00.002+08:00

Audiophilic Ecstasy

They're alive!

My Porta Pros have been out of action for a couple of months; the jack came loose and my left driver stopped working. After trying to find a cheap soldering machine to no avail, I finally succumbed to sending it for day surgery. Aside from the almost unreasonable bill of 20 bucks, it was worth it. My lovely 1970s-era headphones play like new now, and my ears are breathing a sigh of relief. After weeks of gunfire, getting hollered at, and tolerating my computer's speakers, whose left speaker coincidentally decided to go on permanent vacation, the quality sound that's being pumped into my eardrums are sending me into a state of, dare I say it, orgasm.

Classical music can take back seat, for now.

2010-12-05T14:28:00.002+08:00

(g)

I'm fearing that my intelligence might slowly be degenerating as the weeks go by. While I do not observe any symptoms studipity in my general life, I feel as if I'm walking backwards into that monkey following closely behind me. The lack of proper brain stimulation coupled with mundane daily physical training and deprivation of sleep has got to have a bad effect on those precious braincells of mine.

As such, I've resorted to listening to classical music on the radio whenever I can. My room now sounds as if it's thrush into an ongoing Victorian Ball, with a few interruptions by a strange voice telling me every other minute that I'm listening to Popular Classics. What a spoiler. Aside from that, it feels nice to listen to strings, brass and wind instruments for a change.

As the music crescendos, I can feel my IQ rising back to normal levels! I'm alive-r!

Lest I forget, 22 Nov - 1 Dec 2010; Ten-day field camp.

2010-11-20T16:35:00.002+08:00

The fly that helped preserve my sanity

I had just finished a 7km endurance run and was feeling rather proud. I was also very tired. Somehow, a tiny six-legged, two-winged fly decided to invade my airspace around me. As I gasped for air to re-oxygenate my fatigued muscles, it decided that my face wasn't handsome worthy enough for its compound eyes and proceeded to choke me, kamikaze style. Flying directly into the back of my throat, I thought I was a goner. I coughed a couple of times to regurgitate the bugger, pun intended, before it crash landed onto my hand in a pool of spit. That's right Mr. Fly, wiggle in my ball of saliva while you can, you should be thankful my stomach juices didn't cause you an excruciating caustic death. Where's that mouth rinse.

All I can say is, thank you Mr. Fly, for helping me feel so alive.

2010-11-13T10:54:00.002+08:00

21 hours

9 hours of sleep;
12 hours staying awake;
so many things to do.

18...19...20... can I borrow your toe?
There! 21.

2010-11-06T11:03:00.004+08:00

look! I can see my eyebrows from here!

It has been three mind-numbing months since I've starting serving my time, not in prison, but as a tired soldier. I'm paying my debt to this country; my crime lies in the composition of my DNA. Thank you, Y chromosome. It is starting to feel like a heavy burden, like the interest on credit card bills that never seem to go away. It's a good thing I'm too young and ignorant to own credit cards. I use mom's.

As I stare at the long journey ahead, I know it will be an arduous one. It feels like a desert road that stretches for thousands of kilometers; there are eight more months to go. The road is sporadically dotted with rest-stops along the way; my weekends are 30 hours ~~long~~ short.

It feels as though I'm going through the Kübler-Ross model; NS feels like a death-experience. I thought that I had accepted and embraced the journey ahead. I thought wrong. My lamentations surely makes it easy to guess which stage I am at right now. Time to play doctor to myself.

I need to start splurging on myself.

2010-10-31T01:30:00.002+08:00

30 hours.

Hello bed, computer, television, guitar, and couch.

I terribly miss your presence in my life; my inner man yearns for peace, comfort and an environment of zen you provide. It is not that you, my worldly possessions, fill the voids in my heart, but you sure do hit the right spots.

Family is win, friends come in second. But for now, the real winner is the Z-monster.

Hello bed.

2010-10-25T20:36:00.002+08:00

The road to manhood: Week 3

It has been two weeks since I've last seen the outside world. I am stuck in a well-known military institution, for the right reasons of course. Security is tight, people are tense, and everything runs like clockwork. It feels as if I am living in a dystopia. The guys have the same hair-style, we eat the same food, we sleep in quarters that adhere to a strict layout shown and printed on a laminated card on our notice boards.

Blogging has become a tough decision right now; I was contemplating whether it was wise write things on the interwebs, what more with the spanking new laptop they've loaned to all of us. Big Brother is watching.

The road to officership is a dark, gloomy and depressing one. We live in two man bunks; sure there's more personal space to go around. But I miss the messy and lively 16 man bunk we used to have back in BMT. There is a huge pressure to perform; most want to secure high appointments and receive early recognition to become the best cadet in the cohort. I just miss my guitar. And family of course.

I press on towards the finish line; look up, look smart. But first, I press on towards book-out day!

It's hard to write in 3rd person anymore. Mind-Effed.

2010-10-10T23:07:00.002+08:00

Ten Ten Ten.

And so begins my journey as the lowest life form imaginable in the army: an officer cadet. They say things will only get tougher. Get ready to become scum of the earth, dirt between fingernails, grime under the kitchen sink, and mud between the grooves of my boots.

I think my self-psycho pep talks hasn't been working quite as well as the ones before BMT. I am truthfully not that excited for nine months of toughness, though the more immediate pain being three weeks of confinement. The honeymoon period of BMT really made me complacent to a certain extent. I belonged to one of the slackest companies which didn't bother doing our morning exercises for the last three weeks.

Nine months baby. And maybe Brunei; a magical ten days of gallivanting through the jungle. The countdown begins.

Ten ten one, ten ten two, ten ten three.

2010-10-05T13:50:00.002+08:00

Autopilot.

It has been three days since my 24km march through mainland Singapore, and I am still sore all over. The graduation parade on the floating platform made it worth it though. We were the first company and contingent to enter the parade grounds; I remembered marching out onto the astroturf and seeing 3078 recruits' relatives, a roughly 10,000 strong crowd, staring and cheering for the lot of us. I remembered saying to myself, "Holy shit!"

I think all of us marched our proudest that day. We are your men in green, raised to guard our nations shores. Our other names also include being the queen of the battlefield. I remembered my mom telling me there was this funny smell that filled the air when the entire parade marched in. That's the scent of manliness and 10 hours of marching, mother.

I've got a week off to recuperate before things get tougher in the army, but I feel as if my mind and body are struggling to get any better. My mind's blank most of the time; I remembered coming back home from breakfast, or was it lunch... and crossing the traffic junction without much of a thought. I didn't remember if the light was red or green, but I guess at times like these my thinking becomes peripheral. Everything I do feels like a primitive reaction to the stimuli around me.

I hungry. I get food. I cross road. Food eat. Blank. I sleepy.

I think my brain's already going into overdrive thinking about what to blog. I sleep now.

Critical Brain Juice Level! You should change your brain or switch to sleep mode immediately to keep from losing your mind.

2010-09-26T01:41:00.002+08:00

Gatsby.

My time as a recruit is almost over. The only obstacles that stand in my way is a week full of rehearsals for my graduation parade, and an arduous but epic 24km route march. Chicken feet.

Thereafter, I eagerly await my posting. Anything other than command school will be utterly disappointing; I wish to serve in the Air Force though. I write this with full knowledge that the Colonels who might be interviewing me have full access to the websites I frequent while surfing the net at home. Good day Sirs.

It has been a wild ride. They say a guy's time in Basic Military Training (BMT) will always be his most fun and memorable. I cannot say for sure, but it has been rather enjoyable. There have been tough and crazy times, but when mind triumphs over the body during these "hellish" periods, the adrenaline and endorphin highs that ensue usually make things worth it. Of course, anything I went through pales in comparison to what the Naval divers and Commandos go through during their BMT, nor can it be compared to future trainings in command school.

Things are definitely winding down for me; I will still be busy though, as I make it a point to unswervingly engage in the most time-consuming activity of all: growing out my hair. For now, I will take each day as it is, for tomorrow will worry about itself.

I stare at my tub of hair wax; it's time for us to reconcile.

2010-09-12T10:08:00.002+08:00

Arnold Schwarzeneggerism

It seems like my quest to muscle-hood is not going quite as I had planned. My initial goal was to attain a similar muscle mass comparable to that of California's governor by Christmas. While I cannot say that the training programme my own government volunteered me to sign up for has not been effective; it has after all made me feel fit and healthy, I had honestly thought that with all that training, muscles would have grown on me like mushrooms on a dead log.

Time to take up some serious weightlifting. Build those deltoids, biceps and triceps. Oh, and those juicy pectoral muscles. Not forgetting to chisel my abs out.

But I'm lazy. I think I'll just stick to training my finger muscles; on my guitar.

2010-08-29T10:28:00.002+08:00

Highlights of the week as Tarzan:

1. Grounded in a Basha.
I wasn't allowed to build my own tree house as I have hoped. I had to resign to sleeping on the ground under a small cloth pitched over my head.

2. Fire. Oooh. Touch. Hot! Bad fire!
Trip flares burning at many many candlelight brightness, smoke grenades, and mock artillery, or artery explosions. Fancy humans and their toys.

3. Jane, I had a vasectomy.
I fired blank rounds at other Tarzans in mock war exercises. Nobody got hurt. Or pregnant.

4. Fancy holes in the ground.
I slept in one, I shat in another.

5. Mud baths.
Apparently I wasn't allowed to swing from vine to vine anymore. At least all that leopard crawling left my skin smooth and supple.

6. Tree house sweet tree house.
Home is where this Tarzan belongs. My bed needs some me time.

Now where's that bottle of whiskey.

2010-08-21T15:31:00.002+08:00

Jungle boy.

I'm stuck in camp today. But advancements in technology allows me to continue being a nuiscance in my little bubble of the intewebs. As I lie in my bed of the guard rest room, I struggle to think over the careless banter of the other recruits, imprisoned on this island for a longer book-out by our own lack of attention to our rifles.

Next week I dine with wild boars and sandflies. I'll learn to embrace the earth and all its beauty, quite literally. I'll survive on less than 4 hours of rest a day, probably snapping at my platoon mates in the process, do tonnes of push-ups, and march distances I've never marched before, following that thinking why my shoulders ache more than my legs.

Tarzan for a week.

2010-08-14T23:32:00.002+08:00

Tingling taste buds.

It has been a long and arduous two weeks being stranded on a remote jungle island. My rescue came in the form of a miniature cruise ship. I guess they saw the smoke signals I made burning beached whales and sea monkeys. They burned a pretty pink flame. It was a shame though, that the rescue ship didn't have peanuts on board.

As I lay here in my air-conditioned room, I try to remember the exact details on how I arrived at the forsaken island in the first place. Ah, that's right. I was sent there in the first place to revive and give CPR to dying whales and to teach sea monkeys how to conquer the world. It all went wrong when on the fourth day my team and I accidentally swallowed some wild berries and started dancing in circles around a pretty pink flame. Whoops. I think I should go back and apologize to their relatives.

As I take a quick look at my biceps, I sigh a little. After all that running around in the jungle on my hands I had thought I would look like Arnold Schwarzenegger by now. At least I feel a little healthier with all that cardiovascular activity. Not really. I might have caught the jungle flu. Some of the sea monkeys' sense of hygiene is horrendous; they were coughing blatantly in each others' faces.

I guess I'm going back to the island tomorrow. There's whales to be saved somewhere out there.

They say freedom is sweet. I concur.

2010-07-28T16:36:00.002+08:00

Seven hundred.

This auspicious seven hundredth post marks yet another epic transition in my life.

As I metaphorically look back at the chapters I have gone through, I accept that my journey with boyhood has come to an end. There comes a time when every boy grows up into a mature, strong and beefed up male hominid of the human race. The time has come for me.

The carefree days, afternoon naps and happy-go-lucky times are pretty much over. I will sorely miss them. Ahead of me, early morning exercises, foot drills, sprawling in the mud and digging trenches await me. I stare hard work in his eyes and say, bring it.

As my body struggles and muscles turn sore, as my mind tells me to give up when the going gets tough, I tell myself, I already own those chin-ups baby. I will have a great time, I will enjoy myself. I will emerge a stronger person, I will emerge a man, but not that I am not already one, just a healthier, slightly buffer, and very fit version of the average man.

I am the man. Be the man. I will show manhood who's boss.

2010-07-14T22:00:00.002+08:00

Post-apocalyptic

It has been three days since the World Cup ended. As people return to living their normal lives, I too return to living off my parents. It is slightly depressing that the hype's over. I was flipping through the channels tonight and found nothing that fills the void inside my soft tender heart like angry testosterone laden football does. The only goal I have now, pun intended, is to restore my sleep cycles back to normal. I am hardly a nocturnal young chap. Bring on the sleep.

In other events, I was attending a church conference about quantum physics. It's not every day you hear about that subject, what more at a church eh? The speaker talked about how quantum physics, atoms and electrons are the languages and building blocks of creation. He said matter can be spoken to and even altered with one's will and intent. There's other stuff done by a Japanese scientist, Masara Emoto, about water and its memory. I'll talk less at let videos do the talking.

Says to self: I am awesome.

2010-07-06T22:20:00.002+08:00

Mt. Fuji.

I have a mountain of a chalazion on my bottom right eyelid. While I usually have few concerns about my facial complexion and the way my pretty face looks, Mt. Fuji here has made its presence more known and obvious than it should be.

Perhaps I should get a plastic bead and paste it on my other eyelid. At least it'll preserve the beautiful symmetry of my face. Now it just seems lopsided. Of course there's the other option of getting the bugger lanced. That requires an injection or two, then a small incision to drain the innards, and finally leaving behind a mean looking scar. Perhaps then I'll tattoo another scar on my other eye after the cut-up.

But I won't be going under the knife just yet. I figured that my vanity can hold out for another week or two while I go on another course of antibiotics. Yes, I am wimping out because of the needle and knife. Partially, too, because the doctor I saw gave very ambiguous comments about Mt. Fuji. He said,

"Oh, might need to cut it leh."

After I ask him whether he thinks there's pus inside or it's just an inflammation that might go away on its own, he said that he couldn't really tell. That pretty much sent alarm bells ringing in my metaphorical head. Wait, I didn't type that out right. That pretty much sent metaphorical alarm bells ringing in my very sane head.

Anyway, I'm on a stronger course of antibiotics. Apparently it's also used to treat UTI. I feel like I might be abusing some hardcore drugs. Aww, always wanted to say that. It's a five day wait. I hope Mt. Fuji erupts on it's own though.

It's a conversation piece.

2010-07-02T00:32:00.004+08:00

alkoholik.

As I sit still for a moment, a miracle on its own considering the semi-drunken stupor I am in, I try to think of something witty and interesting to write. It's a pity the miracle doesn't extend towards enhancing my state of mind and linguistic cabapilities while under the influence of alkohol.

I havr transcended my previous record of intoxication, but have yet to cross the line that separates soberness from drunkerd hoboness. This, however, is a new state of wooziness for me. By the way, I cannot believe the little squiggly red lines failed to appear under wooziness when I see so many other squiggly red lines under the other words in my posts which I purposely misspelled to comically emphasize my genuine state of intoxication.

Anyway, here's a shout-out to ONG XUAN who just turned twenty! Here's the definition of maturity, as requested from your Facebook status:

Maturity
Main Entry: ma·tu·ri·ty
Pronunciation: \mə-ˈtu̇r-ə-tē, -ˈtyu̇r- also -ˈchu̇r-\
Function: noun
Date: 15th century
1 : the quality or state of being mature; especially : full development
2 : termination of the period that an obligation has to run
3 : development of a higher alcohol tolerance and accepting the obligation of having more rounds of drinks (does not include orange juice)

Shoot, Shag, Marry.

2010-06-22T18:20:00.002+08:00

The thing bit me!

It was any ordinary night. I was heading down to the bus stop to catch a ride to Hendrick's, when I spotted a ball of fur lying on the pavement. It was a cat. It wasn't any ordinary cat, though. It was a fat cat.

As I took my seat at the bus stop, I made my trademark cat calls to incite it to come towards me. Surprisingly, the cat lifted its fat body off the ground, swaggered its way between my legs, jumped up onto the bench beside me, and sat down. I looked around for its owner, but found no-one. As people passed by, a few of them gave curious looks in my direction. I was slightly embarrassed to have the critter sitting beside me; its as if a stranger invaded my personal space. I happen to have a huge personal bubble.

Anyway, the cat stared at me for a moment, and I instinctively proceeded to pat the cat. It seemed to enjoy the attention for awhile, until it tried to grab my hand with its paws. I retracted my hand for a moment, hoping the cat hadn't gone crazy. It continued to stare at me with those Bambi eyes, and I couldn't resist giving it another pat. This time, it grabbed my hand and sunk its teeth into my palm. While I expected the viscous flurry of attack to continue, it didn't. It simply turned away and showed its tail and ass at me, before sitting down again.

I looked at my palm and saw a small flesh wound in the side. For a moment I hoped the cat didn't have rabies. Perhaps the wound would extend my lifeline instead. The fat cute cat sat with its back facing me, it obviously had its fun with me as its scratch toy. I wanted to cuss, that son-of-a-bitch, but it obviously hailed from a different species. Besides, the cat was female; I saw its ass.

My bus arrived eventually, and by that time the cat got scared off the bench by the sound of a leaf being stepped on by a passing stranger.

Once bitten, twice you wash your hands really well.

2010-06-15T00:03:00.003+08:00

Social Liability.

There's roughly one and a half months of freedom left before my glorious adventure begins in Tekong. It has been a rather busy wait the past few months actually. I've been kept from sitting my ass off by random activities here and there; they've been happening at a frequency enough for me to excuse myself from holding down a job, but random enough for me to still take life pretty easy for now.

The latest of the activities was to play at a wedding for a really sweet couple who packed a sweeter ang-pao for the band. Now there's an interesting career path to consider; seeing how my pastor who led the set actually did form a wedding band with his sister and some others some time back. But he said it was really tiring at times. But there's some cash to be earned, free food from the lunch reception, and you don't have to give the bride and groom any money because you're serving them!

Besides that, there's the World Cup to keep all of us happy. I am extremely tempted to try betting on one or two teams, like when North Korea faces off with Brazil in a few days time. The odds for the communist nation to beat the five time champion are around 30/1 on a betting website. That's a £300 win for a £10 bet if North Korea wins. But we know Brazil will most likely give them a good trashing and instigate a nuclear war. For now, I will enjoy the beautiful game for what it is.

You tackles my player, I push big red shiny button!

2010-06-07T17:35:00.003+08:00

30 points.

I failed my driving test.

It's amazing how a simple sentence can instill such humility in a person. It also parks a rain cloud over my head, and boy, is it raining. But that sentence exists because it is my stepping stone for me to become a world class speed demon!

I'm still puzzled at the demerit points that I was penalised with; I've had too many for not confirming safety or checking my blind spots. I honestly remembered checking; although perhaps sometimes I was lazy to because I was the only car on the road, but the amount of points I received was ludicrous. Of course my main downfall was hitting the ~~kerb~~ curb while parallel parking. I would have passed if not for that hefty mistake.

I feel that the system is inefficient at helping new drivers pass, and focus solely on failing the students. Staring at the test-sheet is the most depressing; it's either demerit points, or immediate failures. There are no redemption or bonus points. There should be stuff like:

1. Waving at other drivers on the road - 2 bonus points
2. Allowing another driver to enter your lane in front of you - 2 bonus points
3. Getting out and helping an elderly person cross the road - Immediate pass
4. Sharing your life story with the friendly truck driver while driving at 180 kmph - Epic win

It's a depressive one and a half months wait for the next test. The roads are peaceful, and the general public spared, for now. I will return with a vengeance, and cause terror on the roads with some 30 kmph road hogging!

Brake, Steer, E-brake, Gas

2010-05-30T23:40:00.005+08:00

IT'S ALIVE!!!

Tonight, I decided that it was finally time for me to find out if our computers are actually factories which housed slave gnomes, forced to do our eternal bidding. With my trusty screwdrivers and a print-out of select pages of my computer's maintenance and service guide, I proceeded to dissect the piece of aluminum, steel, and other alloy metals what have you, and maybe some plastic parts, of the computer before me.

The main reason I wanted to take the computer apart was to resolve the constant crashing I had with it while playing video games for too long. I knew it was an overheating problem, and I heard from my cousin that his computer had the same problem as well. He called the technician who disassembled his entire computer, removed a layer of dust from his processor's fan, and re-assembled the machine. It played like new after that.

With that knowledge in hand, as well as my disillusionment that I'm a technically gifted computer technician, I proceeded to take the dive, knowing well that I could cause permanent damage to the precious piece of aluminum, steel, and plasticky machine and render me unable to satisfy my gaming fixes for a few weeks. It didn't matter, my noble quest to free the slave gnomes overshadowed everything else.

In sum, I removed the Hardrive (Section 5.4), Mini Card compartment cover (5.8), Optical Drive (5.9), Keyboard (5.10), Switch Cover (5.11), Display Assembly (5.12), and the Top Cover (5.13).

After removing the last component, the Top Cover, I stared at the innards of my computer. There was the processor's fan, a little dusty, but it still spun when I blew at it. I didn't dare remove the key organs or take my operation any further. The advanced wires and connections were crazily complicated compared to the few wires I had to disconnect from the earlier components. In the end, I found no means of getting deeper without really destroying something. I didn't print out the other pages of the manual. I had wisely placed a limit to my adventuring; although it would have been even more fun to remove every single component.

With nothing else to do, and the gnomes nowhere in sight, I reassembled my computer. I reconnected every last wire I disconnected earlier, snapped the snappables into place, and screwed the screws back into their holes (although now I have 5 extra screws I have no idea where they should have gone). Pushing the power button and crossing my fingers, I hoped for the best.

Miraculously, after all my goofing around inside the computer, the machine actually booted, and this blog post testifies of my awesome computer skills. It kind of reminds me of the time I successfully repaired my electric socket.

5 loose screws.

2010-05-27T01:04:00.003+08:00

Mr. Bike.

This week marked the end of yet another chapter in my epic journey through space and time. I've officially graduated from my diploma course which spanned three long years. It's a ride I'll remember for years to come. Of course if in the near future faster-than-light travel is discovered, becomes commercialized and affordable, I would like travel back to three years before present time, remind the younger me that the social sciences is, as Sheldon Cooper puts it, largely hokum.

For now, another chapter awaits being written. In this one, my metamorphosis into a fully functional male hominid of the human race will reach its final stages, and I will emerge from the depths of the jungle of Tekong, a man. I do hope my sanity remains intact, and the imagineers dancing about in my brain don't go on permanent strike. The rite of passage to manhood can break so many things in the boy. And as the saying goes, sticks and stones may break my bones, but in Tekong, sticks and stones are aplenty.

In other news, my bike that's been sitting outside my house has been stolen. I've been lazy and complacent enough to not change the lock when my key broke inside it. But I still want to kill that son of a bitch who stole it. I really do. Okay maybe not kill the person. I'd like to hurt him badly though. But I guess I had it coming. Leaving it barely locked outside my house for a few months now, I can count myself lucky. Son of a bitch.

My feet cry a little.

2010-05-19T00:35:00.002+08:00

I feel... alive!

Tonight I drank straight from the milk carton. I feel like such a rebel.

In other unrelated news, I've been unfruitful in my quest for a complete and wholesome university education. That piece of paper is proving to be too elusive for me to acquire; I guess I'll have to settle for the road less traveled. Somewhere inside me the little boy jumps for joy, yet he shudders before the mountain that stands between him and his dreams.

I'm still learning how to draw. It seems it's said somewhere that drawing from photographs doesn't really improve one's perspective. So it's on to still life, drawing bananas and jars and pots of plants or anything that's lying around my house. I've had a mediocre go at a lemon, the remote control, some bamboo that's randomly growing in the living room, my pencil sharpener and a torchlight. It's a tough mountain to crack, but something tells me that there's going to be a fork in the road sooner or later, and that's when and where I have to make a decision.

We're all out of milk.

By the time I'm 70, I might have spent more 30 years sleeping.

2010-05-14T00:24:00.002+08:00

the love triangle.

I have never fully agreed with the concept, often the foundation of spastic romantic comedies. The triangle is simply the wrong shape to use to portray a series of people's affections in which the desired recipients fail to reciprocate the initial feelings in the direction it first came from.

Using the triangle is an oversimplification of the complications of the amusing state of relationships of three people which took a wrong turn a few junctions back (amusing, of course, when one is observing and gossiping about from a distance, and not caught up in the gooey entanglements). I fully comprehend the idea behind the concept, but it has to be renamed to something else.

The triangle's only flaw is that it denotes at least one person in the story to be gay. If guy A likes girl B, but girl B likes guy C, then most people would say that there's certainly a love triangle going on. But call me anal and shove a Don Quixote up my ass, I feel that basic geometry rules are crying foul over this arrangement. The love triangle, in order to be fully and legitimately triangle, forces guy C to be a gay guy and to like on guy A, thereby making a true love triangle.

If guy C doesn't fancy guy A, the concept should look like three dots, with a line connecting the first and the second, and the second to the third. It will probably look like a random angle drawn in space-time, but there is simply no triangle, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. Of course, if guy C likes someone else, there would be another dot, and his line could connect to the new one, thus forming a strange abstract series of dots and lines. Sooner or later, there would be a couple of dots that reciprocate each others' love, so I guess there would be another line drawn over the initial line, thereby making the lines between the two dots look bold. Of course, once there are two dots and a bold line between them, any other admirers' lines would look pale and risk looking like a third party dot.

I guess life and love is more complicated than a series of dots and lines. I'm sure there are legitimate triangles, rectangles and other abstract shapes what have you out there. But I think I've made my un-triangular point.

A tribute, to the line-less dots out there.

2010-05-07T00:39:00.002+08:00

Psst... Look up.

Me: What's goin- Woahh...

God: *smug*

Me: That's a crap load of stars up there. How many are there? 1.. 2.. 3..

God: Three thousand five hundred and sixty one. Well, the visible ones anyway.

Me: You counted them all?

God: Yep. There are a few sextillion more out there. But I guess you could start small.

Me: Uhhuh. 4...5...6...

God: *smug*

Me: *gives up* They're pretty.

God: I know. Thank you for noticing. *smug*

Me: Really really warm weather today huh.

Psst... turn your air-con on.

2010-04-30T01:03:00.002+08:00

Com'on right brain hemisphere, rise and shine!

I've recently started to pick up drawing, again. You know, pencil and paper? There's something about making marks on a piece of paper that brings out the zen in me. And when those marks suddenly, and sometimes unexpectedly, start to look like the picture and person I intended to draw in the first place, the little boy inside of me jumps a few feet into the air, before breathing a sigh of relief and accomplishment, and of course landing back onto the metaphorical ground somewhere in the alternate dimension of "inner me".

I wonder why I did so badly at art in school. I remembered a cringe inducing piece of work which I embarrassingly recall to be a metamorphosed samurai warrior with a hamster head and wings. I'd like to think that I have a wild, wild, wild imagination. Perhaps it is all good, that I begin embarking on my drawing journey now, without the comparisons against classmates which can get frustratingly stressful. I remembered thinking to myself, oh gosh I could never draw or colour or shade like this person or that person. Well, I'm starting afresh and alone, for now, although I'll surely appreciate the help and inspiration from gurus whom I might encounter on this walkabout.

Till then, its facebook stalking time! *downloads images* Yes, I'll be drawing you, in all your unglamorous splendor!

2B, 2H and Mr. Eraser

2010-04-21T18:36:00.004+08:00

Errant customer service consultants, system glitches, and that guy on TV.

1. Thank you for calling.
Two days ago, I called my cable operator to remove a channel group that I was not watching anymore. I decided that Scooby Dooby Doo and his Rugrats friends could not continue to fill the void inside me, now it's a deep and dark abysmal pit only shows with sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll can fill. Perhaps the void was smaller in the past when I was younger. Mindless cartoons sure did its job keeping me occupied and turning my brain into mosh.

Anyway, I decided that it was time for change. I rung up the consultant, after listening to jingly tunes and a sweet lady's voice telling me that my call was important to her, and asked him to put on World News. He told me to wait 24 hours before putting up the new channels, but it never happened. I rung up them up again, and this time, another guy helped put the channels on instantly. The strange thing was that after he checked the calls log, he told me that my call two days earlier was not recorded. There are two possibilities in this scenario: 1) The customer service consultant jacked me. and 2) I am completely out of my mind. While I won't deny the latter option as a possibility, I think it would take a significant amount of brain matter to disappear from my head for me to make a call that I did not make. World News did eventually come on, and my cartoons faded away into distant memory. Goodbye Spongebob, hello BBC.

2. Telepathic tests.
I completed and passed my Final Theory driving test last Friday, and it didn't register into the driving centre's system. I also almost panicked when the customer service lady told me the records showed that I was absent from my test. Thinking to myself, I must have gone completely schizophrenic, I went down to the traffic police department to get my test results. Apparently, my dopamine levels are fine, and the results were recorded in their system. The nice lady wrote me a handwritten note and gave me a stamp which endorsed my stellar test results. I took it to another nice lady on the third level who helped me book my practical test. I felt as if I was in the middle ages, getting a stamp from the governor for food rations or something. But all is well, and soon, there'll be another speed demon on the road. Curtsey.

3. Hey I've seen you on TV! Local TV, to say the least.
So I happened to think I saw an actor at the driving centre. He was converting his license into a Singaporean one. I can't really remember his name, but he spoke in ang-moh, or Acrolectal English. From his phone conversation, he's from Malaysia. That's why he was converting his license. Oh and also, he locked himself out of his house and was calling this person to save him. He should be living in a private apartment or the first story, because he regretted not locking his windows. Well good luck with that, Mr. Ninja.

*Edit: After searching the interwebs for the past five minutes, I've still been unable to identify him. He's one of the hunkier ones on local TV.

I look and nature and think to myself, my maker is the biggest creative genius ever.

2010-04-17T09:57:00.003+08:00

Mr. and Mrs. Fly

I met a lovely couple at dinner yesterday. Even though I couldn't understand their language, they were constantly trying to strike up a conversation with me. Trying to be polite, I waved at them sheepishly, hoping that they'll get the hint. For a moment or two, they did stop bugging me. Then they just stood there, glaring at me with their compound eyes. An awkward silence pursued as I continued to masticate my food. I sincerely hoped inside me that I had not offended them in any way. That is, until they proceeded to do a six-footed tango on the table. I toyed with the ideas of smacking them silly, or to leave them alone in their peculiar dance. I chose the latter, just because I felt that they were trying to be nice to me beforehand. I left slightly bemused, but I guess they never really noticed my departure as they looked like they were really getting into it.

What a sweet couple.

2010-04-14T20:50:00.002+08:00

Here kitty kitty.

It was any ordinary night. The rain had just stopped and I was on my way home after getting dinner from the zhi char stall. As I was walking, I noticed in the corner of my eye a pair of beady eyes staring at me. The beady eyes were attached to a furry head, and the head to a furry body. It was a cat. It wasn't any ordinary cat, but a little cat. I think they're called kittens.

Being the animal lover I am, I approached the furball which coiled itself up in the corner of the void deck. My guess is that it was wandering around away from its home or mother and got stuck there when it started to rain. As I neared the kitten, I made the instinctive animal call most other humans would do:

"Tscht tscht tscht"

The cat gave me a curious stare, and without a second thought skipped towards me, meowing with lots of happy. I thought to myself, what a friendly kitten, or perhaps I smelled like fish. I stuck to my previous assumption, and proceeded to pat the cat, giving it a good neck and cheek rub. It seemed to like me, and proceeded to harrass my legs with its body. Dammnit, not only do I have to wash my hands but my legs as well.

After a good while, my stomach beckoned me to return home or else it'll start abusing itself with its own gastric juices. As I got up and whispered goodbye to the kitten, it pounced on my legs, as if wanting me to stay. Look buddy, I'm going to have to start charging for my services; there's no such thing as a free fish in this world, got it?

I eased away, half thinking the kitten might pounce again. It followed me a little while, but got distracted by something else. I grabbed my chance for the great escape, and made my way back home.

Scrub scrub.

There kitty kitty.

2010-04-09T18:31:00.002+08:00

Attn Ivy: Withdrawal of application for Intergalactic Space Travel Agent position

Dear Ivy,

I am writing in to inform you of the withdrawal of my application from the aforementioned position at your company, Leap Light Years Pte Ltd. I am aware that the costs of training and preparation for space travel incurred during my internship period might amount up to billions of dollars, but I believe your capabilities in space-time travel will allow you recur the losses in no time at all. (It is possible to change the events of history to create an alternate future, right? I'm not really sure how the entire thing works, but I'm thinking this future along our time plane might still exist and you guys might still come back from the past and slap me silly with a giant law suit. Please don't do that. Please?)

I hope you find another candidate soon!

HoneyStars,
B. Awesome G.

P.S. I really enjoyed the zero-gravity flights and that giant spinning ride which made me puke all over myself.

2010-03-31T22:00:00.002+08:00

striped shirt and chinos pants.

Recently, I decided to go through my wardrobe just for fun's sake. As I rummaged through the mountain of T-shirts I've stopped wearing, shorts which have grown too small, and a pair of pajamas I've only used once, I felt myself going on a little guilt trip.

Why on earth did I grow out of these clothing! It's a darn waste. I should have stayed tiny and small so that I can still fit into them.

I'll bag them up and deliver it to the salvation army when I'm free. For now, they're sitting in two piles on the floor. A woody musty scent permeates my room, but I kinda like it. I'll get rid of them soon enough.

Turning twenty oddball.

2010-03-26T00:03:00.002+08:00

forty minute flights.

My trip to our fantastic neighbouring country's capitol taught me several lessons about the lovely place:

Service sucks balls.
There were too many occasions to count when I was utterly unsatisfied by the standard of service I was provided with. One time, I approached a sales staff to ask whether the shirt I wanted to buy had a bigger size. As our eyes met, there was an awkward silence for a moment or two. It seemed as if he was lost in thought, smitten by my alluring looks, admiring my pretty face for an inappropriately long period of time. Then, he raised his chin in a quick motion, beckoning me in the most disgusting and condescending fashion. This time, I was lost in thought, appalled by his servitude towards me. He told me there wasn't another size, and didn't even bother to check. I walked away, slightly sad, and reflected on what wonderful service we have in Singapore. I am truly appreciative of all the irritating sales people who bothered to ask if I needed any help even though I was just browsing. The contrast between here and there is easily felt. Ah well, I bought the shirt anyway. Service taboleh!

The twin towers look very twin.
I was kind of sad that we were given only fifteen minutes on the sky-bridge of the twin towers after waking up early and queuing up for almost an hour. I guess that the fact that the visit to the forty-first floor was free-of-charge made leaving so quickly less annoying. The 3D ~~propaganda~~ clip we had to watch before going up the towers was rather faggy though. The views from the middle of the towers (we were hardly at the top) were pretty darn stunning, although it would have been even more stunning if I saw my house from there. Then, I could say, "Hey! I can see my house from here!" But I couldn't. Overall, I enjoyed the quick trips up and down the elevators. They made my ears pop.

Ching Chow Chang.
What I meant to say was, there are many Cantonese speaking Chinese people. Speaking the dialect really helps you get around the place better and ordering food from the hawkers becomes a cinch. It also impresses non-speakers like myself, who can only spew a sentence or two of truly offensive phrases. My limited vocabulary wouldn't have helped me order a bowl of noodles or a cup of barley; I'd probably receive a knuckle sandwich instead.

There is no place like home.
I can sleep soundly at night in my own bed. I have had a great education. My parents are being paid in a pretty strong currency. I am given an allowance with a pretty strong currency. Taxi drivers don't always try to rip me off whenever they can. There are hardly any glitches with the train systems. The trains are clean and well air-conditioned. Our shopping districts look fabulous and clean. Our shopping centres are organised, huge enough, and bustling with an atmosphere of go-getting and aliveness. Our roads have proper stop lines. The air doesn't make me choke or want to buy an oxygen tank. The cars on our roads are shinier. I am unafraid of our friendly policemen. And finally, just because I want to say it, we have a capable government who made a tiny country (the view from the airplane is hilarious) like ours into what it is today.

Seriously, you beckon me with that motion?! I'll still buy your shirt because I want to, and also because I have Singapore dollars!

2010-03-19T23:38:00.003+08:00

Death defying day.

1. I boiled water in a microwave and made myself a cup of tea.
Some people will know that boiling water in a microwave spells disaster. Apparently, yours truly figured that it was worth the risk, and he also wanted to know if he's been spelling disaster correctly. However, the water didn't explode as expected (You should have seen the way I threw the teabag into the mug like a wimpy kid). I enjoyed the tea anyway.

2. I walked through rain.
It wasn't that bad. I had my trusty hoody with me to protect me from the armor piercing raindrops. I didn't know a piece of cloth had bullet-proofing powers. At least it shielded me from the rain; who knows what might happen if rainwater touches my skin!

3. I dodged an oncoming bus like Neo.
I was crossing the road at a fork, and thought the bus was moving into the other lane. At the last minute, it swerved right, into the road I was crossing. I found myself staring at the giant rectangle of steel speeding towards me at the speed of 30km/h. I intensified my stare and caused space and time to bend around me, preventing my premature demise.

4. I survived Butter Chicken Masala.
It was supper time. I ordered the butter chicken masala at the prodding of a friend who convinced me that it was very good. The first mouthful was incredible. Subsequent ones turned supper time into a grueling battle between my tender taste-buds and the unforgiving chilli peppers inside the gravy. Thankfully, I had a soothing cup of tea to quench the fires in my mouth. The naan did well to alleviate my sufferings as well.

5. I stopped a reversing mini-van, like Neo, again.
I was cross another road this time. Just as I was about to reach the safety of the roadside kerb, a van reversed toward me. I stretched out my hand, mainly to warn another lady who had her back turned on the careless driver, but I knew that it was I who once again bent space and time to stop the van in its track.

"The stars aren't aligned properly." I told death. Better luck next time.

2010-03-12T00:09:00.002+08:00

Drawing pencils.

I think there's a need for me to put on weight. Wait, I don't have to think that, I really do need to put on weight. My underweight status has plagued me on-and-off since I could remember, and it's about time I gained some ground in this battle.

It was only recently that I realised how exceptionally skinny I am. And it was also recently that friends have, albeit shockingly, commented on me losing weight. Me? Losing weight? I might as well become 2-dimensional then.

I've did some online research on what might be contributing to my nutritional deficit, and stuff like Celiac disease , irritable bowel syndrome and Parasitic worms came up. But when I read through the list of symptoms, I don't see myself fitting the descriptions. I am, after all, shitting well, eating well, and have grown taller over the years. I guess I'm not that much of a cyberchondriac after all.

My arms are like frigging bamboo sticks. I also hope my fingers are getting longer, because I'm starting to see a huge gap when I wrap them around my wrists. How on earth do you build muscles and fat onto your forearms? I don't think my bones can grow any bigger or denser anymore; there's probably a cut-off age for bone growth. I guess I missed a few servings of calcium when I was younger. When I look at my dad's arms, though, they look pretty tiny too, so I guess there's a lean gene in my gene pool. Nature nurture debate, again, anyone, over my tiny arms?

Lean muscles.

2010-03-01T19:47:00.002+08:00

The Singha beer uncle.

The day proceeded like any other ordinary day. I was about to enjoy a game of football with a group of friends but decided to stop by the supermarket first to get myself a drink. I walked into the drinks aisle; H-Two-O, 100-plus, sparkling H-Two-O... ah-ha! We have a winner: Sports-water! There were Japanese words written below the drink's name, and I thought to myself: Hmm.. Japanese, high-technology, superior thirst quenching drinks, definitely a winner.

I grabbed the bottle off the shelf in triumph, and proceeded towards the checkout counters. Ugh. Supermarket checkout queues. They're always a pain in the butt. I scanned the queues and any empty counters which might potentially open so that I can rush to it and be the first in line... No luck this time. Half-defeated, I joined the express counter and inched my way forward slowly.

A minute later, it was about to be my turn. The express counter lived up to its name, thankfully. But wait, what is this dark figure approaching from behind me! Sensing a disturbance in the cosmic forces, I turned my head to see an old uncle smiling cheekily at me. He had a Singha beer in one hand, and a two dollar note on the other. Handing me the can of beer, he gestured at me to help him pay for it together with my drink. He said to me in a dialect, or maybe it was Mandarin,

"Neh Ee Guan, Woh Yeh Ee Guan"

Again, he gave me that charmingly cheeky smile of his. I stood there at the counter, isotonic thirst quenching drink in one hand, a can of Singha beer in the other. I took a quick glance at the others in the queue behind me, hoping they wouldn't mind, and waited until the last items of the customer in front of me had been bagged. There was an awkward silence while I waited for the cashier to complete the transaction. I turned to smile at the old man, and he grinned back, repeating the earlier phrase,

"Neh Ee Guan, Woh Yeh Ee Guan"

Finally, it was my turn to pay for the drinks. The old man handed the cashier his two dollar note and thanked me for letting him cut my queue, and the queue of others. He smiled again and walked away to enjoy his beer.

As I exited the supermarket, I looked back at the weird incident and started thinking; I never would have tolerated queue cutting behaviour- I would have crucified the perpetrator in my head. Unless of course, an extremely pretty girl cuts right in front of me, and asks very politely, throwing in a coy smile perhaps. But there I was, letting a Singha beer uncle and his cheeky little smile overwhelm me into submission. I hope I gain some good karma out of this.

I'm going to learn how to smile like that uncle.

2010-02-24T20:58:00.003+08:00

Speed demon.

I've started taking my driving lessons. Not exactly the safest driver I envisioned myself to be. On my second lesson, I didn't know I was speeding until the instructor kept telling me to slow down. I have a heavy foot, I guess.

Being on the dangerous and vicious roads of Singapore where taxi drivers go out of their way to bully learner drivers like myself make me feel sort of, alive. The constant nagging of the instructors, the zooming past of motorcycles on steroids, having to turn the wheel frantically to get around sharp bends; the blood rush on some occasions is incredible. No Near Death Experiences (NDEs) yet, though.

It is rather exciting, fun, and amusing to be in the driver's seat for once. I just have to kick the habit of stoning while sitting in a car. No, I don't smoke weed. I simply often find myself having to remind myself to snap out of my daze because it has become a habit for me to do that while sitting in a moving vehicle while being driven around.

Driving school!

I'm still bouncing around, aren't I?

2010-02-16T23:26:00.002+08:00

One hundred and four.

I attended the mother of all family gatherings yesterday. We managed to rally the eight families born under my mother's grandfather, which resulted in a party of unfamiliar faces; cousins, aunties and uncles of my own aunties and uncles. Meeting second cousins, second aunties and uncles, and my grand-aunties and grand-uncles made me realise how extended my family can actually extend to. We even had Skype link-ups to a couple of families who've migrated overseas.

One hundred and four persons. Persons who married into the family, persons who were born into the family, persons who married to the persons who were born into the family, persons who were born to the persons who were born into the family. And the list will go on. All these persons a result of a lovely couple's marriage in the early 1900s. As a cousin on Skype puts it, "Wow, One hundred and four?"

We didn't really do much besides to eat and talk among ourselves. My parents' generations had more to talk about with each other. I hung out with my first cousins, as usual, and talked about how our other cousins were eating their longan jellos like apes. I think they've yet to grasp the concept of the fork and spoon. The other third generation kids seemed a little younger than us, I can't really use the generation gap as an excuse, when my real excuse is that I'm really just shy. Besides, I relate perfectly to my ape-ish younger cousins and their disgusting food-eating habits. Ah well. I'll try some small talk with them next time. It was heart-warming, though, to see my uncles and and aunties chat up with their own cousins like old friends. They must have been childhood playmates in the past, kind of like what my own cousins were to me growing up.

The gathering was alright for an impromptu and last minute event. I didn't really notice the lack of planning at all because I was too busy appreciating the megatitude of family members I had. And this was only my maternal grandfather's part of the family. I still had my maternal grandmother's family tree, as well as my paternal grandfather and paternal grandmother who had siblings who are God knows where they are.

At the end of the day, I was beaming like an idiot because of the large killing I made with the Ang-Pows! It was a good day.

home cooked food, buffet style- what more can I ask for.

2010-02-14T20:39:00.004+08:00

Me time.

It's the first day of the lunar new year, and there weren't any plans for my family to go visiting. Hence, I decided to do some adventuring alone and fulfill the promise I made to myself about getting some "Me time".

I can't remember the last time I spent the entire day by myself, besides my regular afternoon naps that already waste three hours a day, that is. But today, I managed to clock in an hour at the beach, an hour of snooker, two hours of bus rides, and another hour of shopping at a deserted mall.

I went to the beach with the primary purpose of clearing my head, getting some fresh air, and to reflect about my next move in life. I spent an hour or so on the breakwaters, weighing my options regarding university admissions; I'm still not fully decided though.

I had initially thought that the beach would be rather empty and serene on a public holiday. Yeah right- it was packed, rowdy, and practically chaotic. Tents were strewn everywhere, picnic mats punctuated every few square metres of grass, volleyball games were being played, and half naked guys chasing each other around on the beach- it really wasn't the zen afternoon I had pictured in my mind.

In the end, I marched to MacDonalds to grab myself a burger because the sun was really beating down on me. After that, I played snooker and felt really proud of myself because I still had some skill in me after all these years.

Finally, I shopped for a pair of Bermudas at Causeway Point. It felt like I was in post-apocalyptic times; a handful of people mooching around, the jewelry chain staff staring blankly into space, and yours truly scavenging for the cheapest bargains in deserted stalls. It was a very strange contrast to the usual hustle and bustle of the mall.

It was a good day.

I am my valentine.

2010-02-08T00:11:00.003+08:00

Day jobs.

Oh the dreaded term that befalls every unbridled teenager's ears who's about to turn into a sensible adult. I was reading through the comics some time back, and Non-Sequitur accurately describes what we're all doomed to go through. Say it with me: Sensible my ass.

There is hope, though; in recent news, New Zealand appears to be interested in Singapore immigrants and warmly welcomes them to work and stay in their country. I didn't read about what types of jobs are available and which area or specialty of work they require most, but I'm sure they could use some help of a shepherd boy. Ah. Watching sheep, watching sheep watch me. I could see myself doing that sort of work and enjoying life's simple pleasures.

Right. I'd probably collapse of boredom without my video games.

We can all dream about doing things out of the ordinary, taking the road less travelled, and embarking on epic journeys larger than life itself, but there's a distinct line between dreamers and dreamers who actually accomplish their dreams. Shall there come a time when I'll finally man up to my goals and stop bouncing around, leeching off my beloved parents, whom unfortunately and for my pitiful sake, been forced into torturous day jobs themselves, and actually start doing something with my life?

Only time will tell. And time is something that I'm starting to feel isn't as abundant as it used to be. I'm turning twenty this year, and the picture ahead makes me feel like an old man. Things are starting to become and will probably start becoming even more routine than before; from the twenties till late sixties or even seventies or God-forbid eighties (referring to retirement plans and policies of *ahem*), there will be this evil constant in everyone's lives... day jobs.

I need to know what my life is.

2010-01-29T00:08:00.002+08:00

Idle; I've not been.

So today marks the end of assignments as I'll know it. I've handed in the mother of all reports and am rather satisfied with it. That's been keeping me extra busy the past couple of weeks, but I think the busyness will dwindle down into idle territory, and by that I mean couch potato territory. Other than that, I'll work up some finger muscles and finally be able to shred like Dragonforce's lead guitarist.

Besides being epic-ly free while some poor souls I know slog out their final reports and mug for their papers, I've been searching for a suitable job that encompasses, key words: short flexible hours, unreasonably high salary like those of insurance company directors. I wonder why I haven't found any which fits the bill. Dare I ever use this excuse to explain to my mom and dad why I've not started working yet. Yet another disturbing excuse that I'm secretly hoping it will come true, "but ma, I'm going to marry this really really really really really rich girl I'm about to meet some unknown time in the future. We might be strangers and I've no idea who she is or where she'll come from, but I am!"

Don't we all have our dreams.

I need make some time for that epic reflection of 2009 I promised myself. Not to mention catching Avatar. Let the social hermitisation begin!

gaming console?

2010-01-15T23:49:00.003+08:00

because they haz skillz.

Lincoln Brewster talking about his wicked solo.

someone else improvising the song. awesomeness.

play moar gita!

2010-01-13T23:39:00.002+08:00

obsolete?

I guess the the blogging days are indeed over. I really should switch over to Facebook and start being active on my communities there; people might think I'm really anti-social, which is half-true.

I guess when it comes to blogging, I find this form of cyber-venting and expressing oneself more romantic and reflective. Sure, I could come up with witty status updates or comment nonsensical stuff on people's walls -and I occasionally do that-, but writing paragraphs and actually taking time to think about what to write next instead of blurting it out when it comes to mind feels more therapeutic. I think it's the years of writing academic essays that take days to complete but make less than a pinhead of sense that have conditioned me to write something once in a while lest I explode into a billion particles of myself one day.

I'll go against the point I made earlier; I think trusty old blogs are here to stay. They're too awesome.

old-school

2010-01-13T00:36:00.003+08:00

Ignorance is bliss; really, it is.

While in the train today, I saw a couple getting it on! But it wasn't any ordinary couple. No it wasn't. It was a couple in their mid-40s steeped in concentration, performing intricate actions that made up their mating signals toward each other. The man was skinny-ish and balding, and the woman slightly tipped the scales on the weighing machine. And when I said slightly, I meant DAMN.

The two proceeded to flirt rather openly with each other. The man touching a few parts here, a few parts there, resting his hand on her tummy, or the love handles if you would like to call them, since we're already in the mood. The girl would shy away coyly, obviously enjoying the attention, giggling whenever the guy whispers something -probably dirty- in her ear.

And here I was, sitting on the opposite side from where they were sitting, with plenty of other seats in the other cars and on the other side of the train. Yet I refused to budge, and allowed my eyes to witness the scaring episode that unfolded before me. At one point, the guy cheekily wriggled his hand into the woman's T-shirt from her sleeve, and I refuse to elaborate beyond this point because it embraresses me so.

Their hanky panky continued for three more stations before I alighted; salvation arrived in the form of "Ding-Dong; Woodlands". I never thought the announcer's words could bring so much relief.

We'll, it's not everyday that you get to act like teenagers lost in blissful love. If it works for them, hey, I'm not going to judge.

Lemon juice for the eyes.

2010-01-11T20:39:00.003+08:00

The final week.

I'm just glad to be alive.

breathing.

2010-01-04T22:12:00.004+08:00

I wish I had more time.

Gawd. There is just too much going on these few days. I can't wait for the next two-three weeks to end; because when it happens, it'll just bring on the good stuff.

Sleeping into the morning; catching up on television and movies; playing the guitar for the sake of playing the guitar; football on a weekday morning; I bitterly miss these things. I feel as if I'm clutching onto something that is slipping away from the grasp of my trembling hands. Please stay. I'll bake cookies!

The day will come when I'll find myself unable to bounce through life anymore. I think I'll swear when that day comes. And I don't swear very often.

Work life is horrible.

2009-12-31T18:45:00.002+08:00

two thousand and ten.

Wow, it's next week already? Alright then.

It's been a good year.

There, I said it. I'll reflect on this year another time. For past few and in the next couple of days, food, booze and most things merry beckon me away from reflecting on a year littered with good and bad things, but mostly good things.

See you next year!

2009-12-27T23:01:00.002+08:00

'Tis the season to be jolly

This Christmas has been rather tame. No fancy on-goings; rather boring but nonetheless awesome few days of eating; good times with friends and the extended family; no ambulances rushing to take a friend to the hospital.

~~It's been a good year~~ . Wait. I'll save this line for next week.

fa-la-la-la-laaa- la-laa laa-laaa

2009-12-20T21:35:00.003+08:00

one more month.

This has got to be the most inauspicious post ever. Not that I'm superstitious or anything, but the six hundred and sixty sixth post? I makes me edgy thinking about it.

On the brighter side of things, work will be over in one month. And after that, two weeks of school presentations coupled with report writing to end it all off. Wow. That's phase one of my tertiary education completed. I'm not sure if I'll make it over to the other phases or not, though. My decisions have been leaning towards me betting on the odds that I'll probably but not with certainty stop pursuing my current specialization and enter an entirely new field of study in university that's more difficult to get into, ~~just for kicks; I want to kick some elite butt~~. I really don't know if I can make it. Yay mediocre GPAs. And what if I don't get to study something that will guarantee me a spiffy office cubicle? Well, I'd really like that -no offices for the win!-, but it goes against every conditioned instinct of survival pertaining to adulthood that have been ingrained into this culture where work is life and life is work.

"If I don't work in an office, who am I?" -someone said that, or a variation of that.

I miss the question posed to all children when they are young,

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I wonder why no one continues to ask each other this question when they're already grown up. Perhaps grown ups are expected to know what they want, and there's a certain set of achievements one should have by the time they're of age, like settling down with a family, a steady career, a roof to live under, a college/university fund for their kids, and on goes the list. Maybe the bitter pill to swallow is that we all belong in office cubicles, be it a doctor's office (elite basterds; I'll regret this when I find myself holding the very antagonist I'm up against, whispering, "Doktor! save me!"), a newspaper department, with human resources, with admin and accounting, at sales, with banking, with psychology, with managerial work, and on goes the list, again.

My thoughts really are leaning towards me becoming a farmer huh.

If I do make it, I'll blame it on miracles.

2009-12-18T21:36:00.002+08:00

family.

I was having a nice chat with my dad in the car on the way back. Somehow, the conversation steered towards the topic on family, specifically about life in the 60s and the grandparents I never met.

Life in the 60s was simple. Dad lived a kampong lifestyle, sleeping under zinc roofs with chickens running free and wild. Up till primary school, he lived on ten cents every two days, or five cents a day, if you really need me to break it down for you.

Ten cents was big money then. There was one Christmas day, a group of British soldiers went into their kampong, banging on the sides of their trucks and simply celebrating Christmas. While the truck moved along, the soldiers would toss coins over the sides for the villagers to pick up. It was their way of giving in the Christmas spirit, I guess. Dad would run out with his brothers, half-naked in all their shameless glory, and pick up the precious coins as they fell to the ground. In subsequent years, my dad and his brothers would stare at the end of the road and hope for the same truck to come again during Christmases. They never did, though.

Grandma and granddad, both from mainland China, used to work for the British soldiers, cooking their breakfasts, roasting their coffees, and changing their bedsheets. When they left, ten thousand people, including the grandfellas, lost their jobs. I guess they relocated into a kampong and began farming somewhere in the vicinity of Jalan Kayu.

Grandma was a tough woman. She'd probably pick up her attitude from working for abusive British soldiers. They'd yell at her for taking so long to cook their eggs, because she'd oversleep some days. She'd yell back in profound Hainanese mandarin and come home later with a bad temper. Grandma was good in Hainanese, but couldn't speak mandarin well; even the local school teachers who enrolled my dad and his brothers couldn't understand her because she'd mix the dialect heavily into the mandarin language. But she was nevertheless good in reading mandarin, and would help neighbours translate difficult to read Chinese letters sent from families in china, and ask them to send back money when she found that their houses have been destroyed by an earthquake and they need cement or charcoal or other commodities. Why does my mandarin suck so bad? Don't know, can't care.

Anyway, dad said grandma was communist. I laughed when he said that. She resented the government and was pro-china. At one point in time, dad said she even hid a fugitive from one of the Chinese riots in their home. Grandma's hardcore!

Unfortunately, grandma died young before dad even met mom. Before she died though, she kept in contact with her cousin in New York, who faithfully sent money to her family every Christmas. They received twenty U.S. dollars each year, and that was huge money, enough to cover the household's expenses for one month. After she passed away, I guess granddad, dad and his brothers moved again, and never really kept in touch with them anymore. Dad said her cousin's surname was Lee. Wow, a Chinese grand-cousin. I'm going to treasure this heritage and maybe establish contact. Granddad, unlike crude grandma was humble and kind. It was probably the opposite polarities that brought them together. There's nothing exciting about him like grandma, except that he was hardworking and stoic. Grandpa died when I was five. I had little memory of him.

Sigh. I'd really like to know more about my heritage. I'm a half-blood Hainanese chinese! Apparently its quite a rare privilege and people of this decent are proud to hail from Hainan Island. Sadly I don't speak the dialect at all. Either way, I think its a real cosy feeling knowing you're part of this giant dialect group of the tiniest province in China. And I think my dark skin tone and uncommon features are attributed to the indigenous Hainan people; of whom mostly are farmers. Awesome! I feel special.

Rarity!

2009-12-12T11:17:00.004+08:00

tick-tock.

As adulthood slowly creeps up on me, I sigh at the depressing fact that hovers over my head: I might just turn into an ordinary, sensible, working adult. It feels like one of those rain clouds we see in cartoons, hovering over this character's head, thunder and lightning in tandem.

I hope I'm not mistaken. The concept of work is fine. A man's got to eat, right? But being ordinary and sensible isn't. Sometimes I wonder how adults stay sane and proper. There really shouldn't be that unspoken rule that adults should behave like adults. I mean, what is the definition of behaving like an adult anyway? Some adults behave like kids. I feel some kids are more grown-up than most "sensible" adults.

Maybe there's a reversal effect. We are born sensible, adult and innocent. When we grow up, all is lost, and we turn into destructive, manipulative and childish creatures. Of course this is all rather extreme and pessimistic thinking. There was, after all, a mother Teresa.

I've realised how much of a thinker I am. My mind does gymnastics inside my head, a prophetess once said. I think -there we go again- I need to focus on what lies outside and around me, instead of doing so much thinking all the time. In other words, I have to stop spacing out all the time. Dang, that was one of my hobbies.

I see myself in an office, grounded in reality, sitting and staring down reports and paperwork. I also see a fuzzy image of a radical me, in a thought bubble, doing something ridiculous and of biblically unimaginable proportions. I am still holding on to my dreams! Thank goodness.

So, go away rain cloud. Humanity isn't all lost to silly adulthood; and neither will I be.

Watch out world, here comes the big one, on baby steps.

2009-12-06T20:58:00.000+08:00

Skinny.

I need to put on weight.

Lardsticks.

2009-12-01T21:19:00.004+08:00

nu mun.

The silver ball hangs in the night sky, again. It beckons me to keep staring at it; as though it might bestow on me some special power if I stare long enough. The celestial object simply sits there, chilling in the cool evening; even though it's boiling hot on the rocky surface, and surrounding space is way below freezing.

The moon really knows how to take it easy, huh.

It's a powerful little giant, wielding the power to push and pull the waves on earth according to its orbital cycle. Its a shiny piece of rock, giving light to minions on earth at night. It's a romantic decor to the dark canvass, inspiring poems, literature, songs and this blog post. It's beautiful; the moon.

I'm mesmerized by its mysterious charm, seduced by its unyielding glare.

Alright alright! Give me my special power already! I've stared long enough!

2009-11-28T00:28:00.002+08:00

Old.

Today I walked through Toys "R' Us to idle the time away while waiting for a few friends to turn up. As I jostled through the crowd- fathers pushing trolleys full of toys, mothers pulling their children along, and of course the children negotiating with their parents about warez- I found myself lost in another man's world. The once coveted place to go to as a child now seemed so distant and unfamiliar.

I remember the times my cousins and I would gallivant through the store, drooling over power-ranger action figures, hot-wheels racing kits, and giant plastic machine guns that looked like they've been designed by some guy on acid. My cousins' parents would always buy them the coolest transforming power ranger toys, and I'd be so envious and jealous of them.

When we reached home, we would play for hours, those toys; transform! un-transform! fight-scene! transform again! Then the ultimate combination of power-ranger toys to form this mega-robot that has the power to send the entire universe spinning into oblivion!

Today, I walked past toys without much of a second glance. Except the toy telescopes and planetary-themed toys; those were cool stuff. Today, I felt over-aged to be in that store; there's probably an age limit to these places.

A sign should read: Admission to children under 12 only. Adults must be accompanied by their children. This store will not be responsible for any adults who turn depressed for feeling old.

Adulthood stands a few metres away, looking through a pair of binoculars, its beady eyes seem to be saying, "I'm coming for you."

2009-11-26T07:13:00.002+08:00

writing academically.

So I was trying to do up my report yesterday. This is an excerpt from my introduction.

Morale, a term coined by the French, means morality or good conduct. The word has evolved to mean confidence, and is now mainly and particularly used in military contexts. Civilian populations hardly ever use the term now, in fear of repercussive insults such as being labelled as someone who has paramilitary fantasies. The general trend is to now use terms such as satisfaction with life, team cohesion or if you’re not savvy enough, the easy English word: teamwork. So what the hell does morale entail? No one really knows, unless one is French. But being the French bastards they are, we wouldn’t get a serious answer even if we asked them. They’ll probably laugh at us for our incompetence and wave baguettes in our faces. “Kiss mai uncaring, vine-tasting buttoks,” they would sneer.

So what now, you wanna see my research? Is that it? You want fancy figures and tables that show correlations, pee-pee and gah-gah? Travesty! Alright alright they're found in the later sections. Mai morale is low nao. Sleep.

A for Academic nonsense.

2009-11-21T00:27:00.003+08:00

a friday night well spent.

It's 1230 on a Saturday morning, and I'm home already. I'm usually home during these hours, grinding those computer games I'm too old for. But the last few hours I spent with great company. We left early no doubt. We're growing too old for these late night getaways. A healthy party; where we don't wake up the next morning with a portion of our memory we cannot account for.

I think I will miss my youth; celebrating another friend's birthday got me thinking that I'm not that young anymore. I've never been a party animal; maybe I should have. I've never dared to try the many vices within reach; maybe I should have (I've already been acquainted with a new friend: booze, but I'm not used to his woozy ways, yet). I've never had a meaningful relationship with a girl I can cherish and love; maybe I should have.

I sigh a small sigh of regret mingled with contentment.

I'm not young anymore. We all aren't. I think I'm diving back into the reality of life too soon; I've not lived my immortal years to the fullest yet. It doesn't matter. I'll live the rest of my mortal years in the most fruitful of ways.

The booze is getting to me. Anyway, here's a shout-out to tanpeibao! happy birthday you.

the awesome saturday.

2009-11-16T13:31:00.002+08:00

it's a good week.

APEC is finally over. I've made more phone calls than I usually do in a month. Ate free lunches and dinners on alternate days, saving me tonnes of money. I mean, my wallet is so heavy I can do reps with it.

I got new pickups for my wife. she sounds so much better now. What subjective sentences.

I dropped my phone in the bus. Only after alighting did I realise it was missing. The guys I was with at that time told me that the bus was going to make a U-turn. I hurriedly crossed the road, flagged an boarded the bus, ~~conducted a frantic search like gollum who've just lost his precious,~~ searched my seat a couple of times before the guy who found it waved the phone in my face. Awesomes.

Let's swing around in office chairs and grow mushrooms while we're at it.

2009-11-11T14:01:00.003+08:00

pet spider.

So there's this little guy who've been sitting around on my kitchen counter. I see him everyday making my trips to the kitchen to fetch myself glasses of water. He's always there in the same area mooching around. Sometimes startled at my presence, he would "hop" a couple of times away, but only for a few centimeters, then pausing.

When he's relaxed and sure that I'm not going to turn him into a sonamabitch like my heroine mom did to that cockroach, he'll laze around again, and simply sit there as the hours tick by. Mr. Spider, you do know how to enjoy life don't you.

As far as I'm concerned, I'm not going to squish the little bugger. I don't know whether my family noticed him yet, but maybe we're affiliated to the Salticidae family, having some sort of a truce or something. You don't spider-shingz me, I don't spider-squish you. He's been there for at least 5 days now.

I just went to check on him; yep, still sitting there near the water jug. Maybe I can ask him to call his spider friends, and get them to weave a nice spider-silk shirt for me. That will be insanely cool. We'll let him laze there for now.

little bugger.

2009-11-10T20:53:00.009+08:00

zombies! yet another MJ reference.

So this is how mom and dad come home feeling each day after work.

wow.

2009-11-04T20:15:00.002+08:00

an MJ tribute. about time.

I've found a new sense of appreciation for Michael Jackson and his music. He is the King of Pop. His musicality is probably unmatchable. His dance moves revolutionary. I'm ashamed at myself for being influenced and succumbing to the negative media attention he received; at times gossiping and making crude jokes about the legend. It took his death for me to realise the amount of talent he possessed, and yet so freely shared it with the world. He had such a humble character, but was so misunderstood.

His gift of music, dance, and love lives on.

2009-10-29T20:55:00.002+08:00

HOLY SCHMOLY!

It has been 9 days without an update. epic phail on my part. Its been one of those weeks when I've been contemplating much about my future. My time with the company has opened up my eyes to finally see the dark and forsaken path that lay before me.

Do I want to do this or not?

Yes that's right, am I going to continue doing another three or four years of torturous essays, readings, articles, essays, and more essays? I was sure I made up my mind two days ago, when I told me sister that I was going to study business after this. Then I realised, I'll still have to study for another three years of something I have completely no experience in. Somehow, NUS accepts ALL diplomas into their BA courses.

I could stick to what I'm doing. Then again, the local universities don't seem to give this diploma no shite. There's no discounts of modules or credit points. One of the senior psychos I work with, however, told me I'll breeze through university. That means I'll be studying three more years of what I've been studying for the past three years!

I was just asking for a sign, to deter me from this dark and forsaken path. Then chiang had to come online, praise me for my previous post and encouraging me to write a novel, making me feel all proud and egoistic inside. Thanks bangz, by the way, for the comment.

I don't want to read and write reports all my life!

engineering it is. I believe I've nonchalantly chosen this even darker path sometime ago in this very same blog. I hope I don't jinx myself.

okay, I'll play safe.

Architecture! I choose you!

2009-10-20T22:11:00.002+08:00

scoreboard
mother: 1
cockroach: 0
son: -23057

I was ignorantly getting a glass of water from the kitchen; ignorant of who was watching, that is. A GIANT ~~6 feet~~ 6 cm cockroach laid on the counter, ready to ~~pounce~~ do its thing.

I watched it for a couple of seconds, trying to scare it away with a few bangs on the counter top. It did little than to make it scurry along into the corner, then stopping, and watching me again with those beady little eyes. Afraid it might come back to haunt me later, I reached for the cheat weapon: Baygon.

With a couple of inaccurate sprays, I watched the bugger scurry away even more quickly. Having seemingly lost its cockroach senses, it started to run up the wall, down it, and onto the rice cooker, where it made several revolutions around the pot. I laughed quietly to myself, thinking that the fumes must have got to him. Instead, the fiend seemed to be regaining consciousness and looked as it it was composed enough to make a great escape!

Never, and not on my watch!

I readied my battle stance, grabbed a couple of wads of newspaper, and prepared for its imminent doom. With a one-two smack, I laid all but waste to the demon. It was clearly injured, but was still able to crawl its way along the floor in the most spastic of fashions. I watched it hobble across the floor, ready to deal the final blow.

At this point, mother walked in lazily and asked,

"What's happening?"

"Cockroach!", I replied.

"Is it big or small?", she queried.

"Big!", I shamelessly said.

"Where is it?", she asked.

"Here!", I replied, unbeknown of what was about to happen next.

She promptly bent down, grabbed the crawler off its feet, took the bunch of newspapers in my hand dropped the roach into it, and started stompin' a mud-hole out of that sonamabitch.

I stood there speechless, in awe of my heroine, my mother before me. Before I could fully take in the events that have just happened, she then proceeded to do the unthinkable. She opened the wads of newspaper, and checked whether the bugger was alive. When it unexpectedly scurried out for sweet freedom, my mother grabbed it again, placed it sqaure on the newspaper, covered it with another piece of newspaper, and whammed the beast to hell. She unfolded the gooey mess of roach-juice, saw that it was good, and discarded it into the trash.

All I could say was, "Mommy, wash your hands. There was insecticide on it."

All she could say was, "Wha lew. cockroach only leh."

mother: levelup.

2009-10-15T20:02:00.002+08:00

ahead of schedule.

It's nearing the end of the week, it has been the most exciting one yet. I've finished formatting both my surveys and have just finished collecting data for the first batch of persons. I'll start data entry tomorrow. I'm three whole weeks ahead of schedule! That's also because my supervisor's pushing me to finish the report one month ahead of my original plans. It is all good though. I've sat through some interesting sessions and training courses and so far, they have been enlightening. It's interesting and certainly an eye-opening experience to see how psychological principles that I've learned in school being applied in an organizational context.

I've also experienced sitting in a cop car and cop van! How exciting and cool is that. My wacky colleagues even joked about turning on the siren and flashing the cop lights, but told me they'd have to write a report if they'd done so. Complicated details to such a simple procedure. It was fun, and certainly novel, to have had the chance to ride in those vehicles.

Yet another wayang post.
I really did enjoy the week while learning some new stuff. like uh. uh. uh.

Okay so I over emphasized my enthusiasm to make my documentation more appealing to read. I hope I don't suffer from any cognitive dissonance.

watered down drinks.

2009-10-12T22:38:00.002+08:00

I don't want to grow up, yet.

It is frustrating, when they behave like children whose innocence seemed to have been stripped away. Today, a colleague of mine, we'll call him X, got into a minor accident while backing up his car from the parking lot. He caused a few scratches on the victim's front bumper, but it was nothing serious. The victim made a large deal out of it, and thinking he was acting all "adult", told X to type out a confession letter, or he threatened to report this to the authorities and get insurance involved. Obviously trying to make X's life hard for him, and raise the premium of the insurance, he stubbornly refused to settle the accident privately, as most other "adults" would have.

In the end, X did type and sign out a confession letter thing at his nearby office, and the victim told him after going to the "official" workshop that the damages are around 500 dollars. I don't really know how the mechanics of car repairs work, but it seemed a little steep for a couple of scratches.

Adults.

Then, there are those wankers who take your creative ideas and lob them into the air as you helplessly watch them crash into the ground. What's left of your will to continue stimulating your imagination and churning those exciting aspirations is comparable to an empty glass of water. At least leave some water left in the glass. I don't mind a quarter full glass of water, as long as you give me some inspiration and encouragement.

I've lost hope for adults. But I'll give some hope to them. I know that there are those who are willing to teach, those who are willing to nurture and those who are willing to acknowledge young people and their ideas. I know that there are those who won't accept status quo and those who won't accept an order just because it's from a higher up and follow them just to cover their backsides.

Mrs. Chiang; I miss my primary school's form teacher;

2009-10-10T22:55:00.003+08:00

merlion.

This night, on the way back home on the train, I witnessed one poor fella shit all over himself. Technically, he vomited on himself and a few unlucky people who were in the proximity and line of fire. Still, it was partially digested food packaged with acidic stomach juices that came out of the front end of his alimentary canal. I'll call that shit.

Oh what embarrassment the guy must have felt. The worse part was that everyone started to shift away from the guy at the entrance, as if he was plagued or something; it's the only time Singaporeans want to pack themselves in the middle of the train. A kind lady offered our hero a piece of tissue paper, and he awkwardly got off at the next stop.

For the next few stations, I caught myself staring at the orange mess, observing people's reactions as they entered the train cars. It was slightly amusing watching the frowning faces and them instinctively covering their mouths and noses. I honestly smelt nothing, though.

I do hope the guy's alright and he didn't suffer from anything serious.

nuke puke.

2009-10-09T17:52:00.003+08:00

epic win.

Scott Henderson - Melodic Phrasing

Scott Henderson; He's coming to Singapore on the 21st of October.

I want.

2009-10-08T21:57:00.005+08:00

nine two five.

The second week's about over. There were some productive days and some not so productive days in the week. But one thing's for sure, I'm certainly catching up on my reading. I got to sit in for a real counselling case today. It was really interesting, and I thought my supervisor was pretty admirable for being so fluent with building rapport, probing for answers and applying her polished micro-counselling skills.

I'm really ahead of schedule, partially because my supervisor's rushing me to complete the report by mid December. It's all good, though.

Appreciating it.

2009-10-02T22:33:00.002+08:00

road block.

My quest in search for an answer to what I am going to do after graduating has driven me up a metaphorical wall. Not that driving up the wall was a side-quest or anything; I don't even have my driver's license.

I am searching desperately for answers; answers that will lead to my future. The problem lies therein the most simple of questions that even five-year olds can answer.

What do I want to become when I grow up.

And I've run out of time for growing up already. Actually, I've answered this question several times in the past months already.

full time self-employed hobbyist; a musician

The first is a joke. But my latter aspiration I dream about constantly. After all that day-dreaming, however, I'm pulled back by my own insecurities; not being good enough, not being skilled enough among my peers, not being able to sustain myself through a trade less well-traveled and not to mention, merciless to those who aren't talented enough. I think pragmatism is the devil in disguise.

Do I really need to fall back onto a piece of paper stating I've graduated from a university with a set of skills which will guarantee me a few thousand dollars a month for the rest of my life?

I don't want a cushy job that's meaningless at the end of the day. Because at the end of the day, we're all doing it for the money. But at the back of my mind, I do want to lead a cushy life with a cushy job and a cushy payslip. I'm such a wanker.

Can I survive on a minimum amount that puts food on the table and lets me do something I want to do? I feel like the protagonist of that Japanese show- The Departed; only differences are: I can't play the cello, can't read notes, and don't know music theory.

Should have taken those hardcore piano lessons when I was five.

2009-09-30T19:47:00.002+08:00

eight thirty two six.

It's three days into the working life. My body is still trying to adjust to the early mornings and it has been a struggle. It looks promising, however, that the upcoming months will be enriching and fulfilling. ~~I'm just saying this because I'll use the this post to gain credits with the reflection criteria.~~ A huge disappointment is that the office doesn't allow interns to use its internet facilities. My supervisor told me they will incur extra costs if we do. This makes researching a chore; I'll have to find articles at home and bring them to the office to read; thanks Elix for lending me some to begin with. The office has a rad library though. It is every bookworm's dream to have access to so many interesting books, journals and research articles. I'll definitely find something useful. As for assimilating nicely into the environment, the staff has been really friendly and approachable. I'm still suspicious about the reporting times though; most staff don't appear untill 9am. I have a cheeky intention to come around that time too, but my supervisor clearly stated to report at 8.30am. Oh well.

I've survived three full days without using the internet! Partially because I left my computer in the office as I had to carry my bulky guitar around for night practice on Tuesday. It's good to be back on the web.

Thereby ends my three day caveman act.

2009-09-27T19:30:00.002+08:00

It's good.

I've turned nineteen! I'm glad I got to spend some time with some of my friends. This birthday, I learned that:

-I cannot bowl for nuts,
-I enjoyed drinking martinis while eating peanuts,
-and I still love hanging around the die-hard gang of crack nuts.

Attachment starts tomorrow. I am apprehensive.

Bedtime at 11pm.

2009-09-23T21:41:00.002+08:00

Short relief.

My presentation's over. The past couple of days were worth it, I think. It was worth 5% of the entire grade, though. I was expecting it to have a heavier weightage.

Time to relax before working life kicks in. I think computer games are win.

I love my argyle socks.

2009-09-18T22:22:00.003+08:00

Awsum supapowa!

I was standing in line, waiting for my favourite mee-goreng to be cooked from the zhi-cha stall (oh, the irony), when I spaced out for a few seconds, and found myself with a new superpower!

I was fiddling around with the five-dollar note I was about to pay the cashier with, when after spacing out, I felt another piece of paper in between my fingers. I knew I brought down seven dollars and a few twenty-cent coins down with me, so I knew I had the purple two-dollar note somewhere. However, I specifically remembered that the two-dollar note was still in my right pocket.

At this moment, I thought to myself, hey! maybe you've just willed money to appear out of thin air. Or maybe I took the five out with the two and didn't realise it.

Then, I checked my right pocket, to find another two-dollar note in my hands. I stood there, slightly dumbfounded, with seven dollars in my left hand, and two dollars in my right. It appears, however, that I had to face a bigger problem than my resolved money woes (hey! I can make money appear now. I have no more financial worry!)

Do I pay the cashier $4.60 and wait for a 10 cent change, or do I give her the five-dollar note and receive 50 cents back?

I realised that I didn't want to appear too cheep for the 10 cents, and I didn't want to say keep the change, so receiving 50 cents back in change was the more reasonable option. I paid with the five-dollar note.

It was fun while it lasted.

2009-09-16T20:14:00.003+08:00

ARGYLE SOCKS FOR THE WIN.

Mom gave me 150 bucks of Takashimaya vouchers to get long-sleeved shirts for work, and I spent it happily just now. She won it at her company's D&D the other time, doing some mime with a group of friends. I managed to make good use of the money and got myself one miserable but discounted shirt, one pair of yummy pants, and ARGYLE SOCKS! 6 pairs for 22 dollars for the epic win.

As I trotted around the department store, I peeked into the Burberry outlet and stepped into checkered haven. I was just about to fall in love with the shirts when a quick glance at the nearby price tag made my skin crawl off my body. It'll be ages before I'll ever comfortably afford buying them. Maybe I'll cheat my feelings when I get my first car; I'll set aside a hundred plus Ks and pretend to want to get a mini-cooper. Then, I'll tell myself if I downgrade to a Toyota, I can afford as many Burberry items as I want. Let the shopping spree begin!

Who am I kidding. At least I still have the Burberry cologne the guys got for my birthday two years ago, and my argyle socks.

I want to make friends with John Peace, Angela Ahrendts, and Christopher Bailey.

2009-09-15T19:41:00.002+08:00

What a weekend.

The ministry camp/retreat/advance is finally over. And it was good. I was really encouraged by so many people during the short period of three days. I believe many others were as well.

Moving on in life, I am totally unprepared for work. I have no idea what I'm doing, I don't know what I'll be doing, and I shouldn't be procrastinating what I should be doing: research for my project.

Using a figment of my imagination to run in circles.

2009-09-09T23:32:00.000+08:00

I want to become...

...a musician.

I really do.

2009-09-07T01:33:00.002+08:00

See you in five, ten, or thirty?

Class reunions have always been the bringer of a plethora of emotions and mixed feelings within such a short period of time; the anticipation of seeing someone whom you've not met for months or years, the headaches that comes with the oh-so-real problem of how do I look swanky to impress my ex-classmates, the inferiority complex that comes with comparing our current lives, the shock of seeing such drastic changes in some people, the nostalgia of seeing how others remain completely unchanged, and of course more headaches with the nagging question we ask ourselves and others,

"Who the hell is going?!"

My synapses are buzzing.

At the end of the day, it is the company that makes it all worth it. To be able to re-enter the period of time that was once frozen in history, and relive and reminiscence old times makes the moment so warm and fuzzy. To be able to gossip about our teachers and tease one another about what happened years ago; such a pleasant interruption to the routines of life.

We shall come back in five, ten, or thirty years, take a day off from our then family and working lives, and relive these memorable times once again. With our beer bellies and ugly tummies, and maybe kids in tow, we'll laugh ourselves silly at our childish idiosyncrasies. We'll then plan what's next for our future reunions, and soon cringe at the thought of turning fifty! But that's for the future us to worry about. We'll say our goodbyes, a sad face here and there, and return to our own lives for now.

See you in five, ten and thirty.

2009-08-30T00:02:00.000+08:00

life of a one-legged man.

It's strange.

I've always dreamed of living a life that's slower paced. With a sprained ankle, I guess I got what I asked for. An overambitious tackle I made during soccer this morning resulted in this new adventure I now embark on: The journey of the one-legged man. Life is moving along unpleasantly slowly. I can hardly walk without cringing; limping around best describes my movements around the house.

Being in this state got me thinking about the other people in worse conditions than I am. I read recently about this paraplegic who lost the use of his legs to polio at age three. He went on to become a physician and neurosurgeon. Currently, he battles leukemia. Shit happens to the most amazing of people, it seems. I do wish that guy well. His story of resilience, perseverance and determination to make full use of his abilities and whatever time he has left simply puts me to shame.

Perhaps the next couple of weeks of slow-walking will wake me up a bit.

Armchair emperor.

2009-08-28T12:52:00.001+08:00

a healthy dose of schizo.

"Bro. what do you want to do with your life, man?"

"gee, I don't really know. I'm thinking of doing something really noble. Like, feed the poor or something."

"Nah, don't do that. The fast-food restaurants have got that covered already. Don't think of giving them jobs too. Those sneaker companies beat you to it. They're making a killing as well; cheap production costs, expensive shoes."

"I'd really like to make lots of money also."

"What about becoming a lawyer or a doctor? The downside is that the former job lands you in hell, and the latter makes the next 10 years of your life a living hell."

"Banking?"

"It's an option. But you'll disregard what you've learned for the past three years. There's no connection with your past education and this sector."

"Damn. That means I'll probably make a meager living doing social work; helping those who are making meager livings as well."

"Hey, that's what the rest of us are doing, aren't we?"

I'll become a full-time self-employed hobbyist.