In Continuum.

Samantha in Demand

I was watching VHI's specials on Goo Goo Dolls on the net just now,and they had a dozen of interviews done with Johnny Rzeznik and the rest of the band.He talked about him being a songwriter,and a performer on stage,how they started out as this garage trash metal band,and how they evolved to where they are now.

A certain part of the interview interested me,how Johnny spoke about writer's block,and i think it made sense.He mentioned that there is a common misconception with the term "Writer's Block".He said that it's not that you cant write anything within that period of time,but rather everything that you do write,seems to suck.

As mentioned,i hate writing tunes to songs and stuff.I have a lot of materials written in the past,begging for me to add some tunes to them,later recorded to become full songs.But i never got over that part of the songwriting process,always stuck after the tune is written or the point before i am about to record it.They always sound shallow,or unoriginal in so many ways.Despite putting effort in crafting the lyrics,i always find the beauty of them destroyed by the tunes i conjure.I've always appreciated the raw beauty of the lyrics,but dreamed of a great melody that goes along with them.

This is when Samantha comes in.So if you are terribly bored,or having trouble coming up with lyrics to suit that beautiful tune running around in your head,please try to fit those to the materials i've written below.Feel free to add or remove stuff from them,and if you do me that favour you get a free treat to the Beans.;)

(Something i edited from Corinna's poem last night.She wrote a poem,and i attempted to change it to suit a song.But as usual,the tune sucked and the song's kinda hanging in the middle of nowhere now)

Wasnt it easy
To cancel me out
Write me off the stage of your life
In fluid blue strokes upon white

Wasnt it simple
To strike out our lines
Coming clean,falsities and lies
Remains the bloody deeds,lonelily lies

So perform your final swan song to the crowd
When the curtain calls and the audience shouts
We'll prance and sing
And act and blink
To the blinding lights and music
That covers up my heart crushed in bits

(Below is a song i attempted just this afternoon.Similarly i hated the tune to it,but i thought the lyrics worked as a poem instead.But feel free to transform this into a song)

It is never gonna to be the same thing with her
You're not boxes you write off on calendars
As you start to disappear with each passing day
The pain only deeper with fading shades

Are you ever gonna pick me up where i fell
Are you ever gonna come back to me at all
No you wont,no you wont,and baby dont
Pretend that we still talk on the phone

It is never gonna be the same thing with her
You're not dolls forgotten,for other prefered
I remember the time when i looked around in the lost and found
Memories like ropes,down on the chair i'm bound

Am i ever gonna be able to let this go
Stop that bloody song going on on radio
No i cant,no i cant,baby i'm bent
Around the heart,remembering the princess the angels sent

Another You

It's really over
You made your stand
You got me cryin
As was your plan

Oh my loneliness is through
Im gonna find another you

You take your sweaters
You take your time
You might have your reasons
But you will never have my lines

I'm gonna sing my way away from blue
I'm gonna find another you

When I was your lover
No one else would do
If I'm forced to find another
I hope she looks like you
And shes nicer too

So go on baby
Make your little getaway
My pride will keep me company
And you just gave yours all away
Oh, now im gonna dress myself for two
One's for me one's for someone new
I'm gonna do some things you wouldnt let me do
I'm gonna find another you...

Raincoat Boy and the Pink Dress Girl


Puddle by puddle he jumped,
Towers of clouds before the sun.
In his yellow raincoat,chewing on his bun,
On this gloomy morning,he had lots of fun.

Puddle by puddle he leaped,
Pebbles and stones he bent to pick.
In his muddy yellow boots,he ran and kicked,
On this misty morning,into a hole he peeked.

Step by step she hopped,
Bubbles!Bubbles!And she popped!
In her pink coloured dress she danced and stopped!
For she saw an eye from beyond the wall!

Step by step she retreated,
Her eyes gimmered.Something shimmered.
In her white ballet shoes,she softly whimpered,
For she was afraid,and fear flickered.

Bit by bit he backed away,
He smiled to the girl,and somehow she stayed.
In his small palms,beautiful pebbles arrayed,
On this rainy morning,timidly he said:

"Forgive me for looking,
For in my eyes an Angel was dancing.
Here,the pebbles i was picking,
I give them to you,so please stop crying."

One by one she took them all,
With a blink and a wink,he was gone.
She ran after him,who was now beside the pond,
For she did not want to lose him,before long.

Inch by inch she handed out,
Puzzled he was."What is this about?"
In her tiny little palms,an umbrella she took out,
Like the sun she smiled,and said this aloud:

"Forgive me for saying this,
But if you dont mind,can i give you a kiss?
For when you smiled everything eased,
And you are the boy,i dont want to miss."

So the pink dress girl and the raincoat boy,
Fell for each other,and was full of joy.
On this raining morning,within the soil,
Was a seed of love,and it sizzled and boiled!

I came across this poem i wrote long ago on my old blog.I remember writing miserable poems back then when i was bored or depressed.Not,because they were bad but because they were about depressing issues.So Yilin,a friend of mine wanted me to write something more cheery,perhaps less gloomy than the other works that ive done.

And this poem is probably one of my few works,that actually sounded decent enough to be revealed to the public that doesnt sound like a drunken old man from a lunatic asylum.

A Day in the Life of Me Part IV: Patricia

My first real memory of Patricia,was back in the school days after my own participation in Synergy.She was in the Dance Club back then,and i in the Guitar Club.Being close friends with XinYu,and strangely Mr. Wong i had the chance to speak to her on a couple of occasions,though never anywhere beyond skin deep.

She had her hair typed back back then,and as Mr. Wong described,she looked like the Predator from the movies.I remember after our Synergy performance,the lot of us headed down to Cafe Cartel for supper,and she joined us afterwards for the celebration.

She has always hit me as a comfortable person to be with,even if it means that she is just sitting next to you,at the same table amongst so many other people around.

There's no infatuation here or whatever,but pure admiration for people like her.I mean,i love everything about her,and thank God i am not stupid or foolish enough to fall for somebody i barely know about.I mean,the way she carries herself,the way she dress,the way she smiles and the way she speaks.Everything,spells a perfect female right there,every moment and in every action.

Seeing her again today was a pleasent surprise for me i guess.I must hereby emphasize again that there is no affection involved here.It is sort of like,loving a character from a book.You know that you are never going to fall for that person,because after all she is merely a character in text form.Patricia is nowhere near being a character from a book.In fact,she is quite real after all.But i guess in a way,figuratively,she is in a way the character of a book.I am probably never in my life going to know her more than the way i do now,being XinYu ultimate best friend,who hangs out with her and at the same time,with us occasionally.

I was describing to Ahmad and Valerie as we waited for the late bus home at the bus stop at Gardens.I was telling them how i liked people like Patricia,the way they put themselves out there,her being the perfect mold for the perfect being,for me anyway.I liked the way she dressed.A simple pink top with a simple denim skirt.Simple,everything.I described to Valerie,that kind of fashion sense being "Wildly Conservative",in which i think is the most sexy of all.

You dont need to wrap yourself up like a freakin' chinese dumpling,or throw yourself out on the street nude to gain people's appeal.Just simple tops,a simple skirt or pants,simple stuff,anything.I am a true believer of the quote "Less is More",and Patricia being the ultimate personification of that quote,in my opinion.Everything about her is so subtle,in the most beautiful way concievable.

A Day in the Life of Me Part III: NaziYang Junior College

After the audition ended,Ahmad told me about the Synergy that was happening later in the evening at 7.30pm.The time was fitting,and since XinYu invited Valerie along,she was kind enough to ask the two of us to join them as well.

Problem,we didnt have the tickets.According to Patricia(The ever beautiful dancer)the tickets were sold out,even the extra ones.I figured that we could as Mr. Wong to sneak us into the show,or simply pay the people there without actually getting the tickets,since it is the money they really want and not exactly the act of givng out tickets that interests them.

I settled that over the phone as we made our way from Kovan back to school.It was a familiar route for myself and Ahmad,the same HDB path from the bus stop to the backgate of the school.The days spent walking down the covered walkway to the hawker centre and enjoying a meal of fried fish noodle was a fond memory indeed.But i thought to myself,then,that NYJC doesnt hold much fond memories for me.I didnt like the school,not a tad bit.The people aside,it was perhaps a part of my life i'd rather not have had.You know,like how some people wish to have a part of their childhood left out of their lives,it is the same logic.

Anyway,we made our way across the running tracks in the dark,and in the distance on the grand state the two of us saw a bunch of shadows near the base of it.I couldnt see proper in the dark,but as we got closer we realised it was a bunch of students in pushup positions,holding it there with two other counsellors sat a couple of steps above them,scolding them.They were saying something like "Do you think this is harsh?Do you think we are being unfair?Do you think you can lead the students if you cant even tolerate this?I have nothing to say about you all anymore".

Wow,i said to Ahmad.THIS sort of SHIT happens in SCHOOL?For some reason the sight of this sort of thing eluded me when i was back in school.Ahmad told me that it is a sort of tradition to do this sort of things,but i started to wonder what is the value in doing this,in SCHOOL?I mean you are not fighting a war for the school or anything,which requires discipline of some level.And you thought this sort of shit only happens in army camps,they have infiltrated schools!

As i walked up the steps,i heard the guy going "You think this is tough?This is nothing!" I was really pissed off by him,the way he said it as if he has been through a hell lot of shit.Let's face it you KLIM smelling fuck.You are eighteen years old,you are still in school.You are leaving with your parents,and you probably havent earned your first pay yet,and still collecting weekly allowance from your mom.Let me tell you what the hell is tough,real TOUGH.

You've never crawled through mud smelling like wild boar shit.
You've never walked through swamps smelling like old dirty socks.
You've never went on in outfield three days straight without any sleep.
You've never done SOC in your life.
You've never went through the physical and mental torture of army yet,and NCC is peanuts compared to the army.

So dont you even START talking about TOUGH in front of me,especially when you knocked those poor juniors down on the running tracks.What did they do to deserve such a thing?They are merely seventeen years old,fresh out of Secondary School.They are your peers,only a year younger than you.What gives you the right to talk about TOUGH,in front of them?You bloody schmuck,dont even speak about what is harsh or what is tough in front of me.Because i swear if i was holding something else other than Josephine in my hands i wouldve smashed your bloody head against the grand stand and make Bloody Mary with the pulp of your face.

The Synergy was a pleasent surprise in my opinion.I guess it probably is due to the fact that ive been away,but i thought the performances were great,in fact better than my year.But you cant blame my year for being less superior,considering the fact that it was the first year NYJC doing such a thing.After some sweet talks with the counsellor at the door,Ahmad and I got into the LT and watched the show,for free.How sweet was that?

Lesson #1: The person whom you decide to ask for free stuff,be it discounts or free entry to certain events,always choose somebody significantly shorter than yourself.You gain grounds like that,and you throw pressure on him or her.

Lesson #2: Shower him or her with questions after questions,and after awhile he or she would probably be too irritated to be bothered with you,and then let you through.

Lesson #3: Always provide a plan that will benefit both parties.

As the guitar club were about to come on,the emcees introduced the pieces that was going to be played.When it came to the conductor,i was expecting Tomas' name to pop up.But instead of him,the old conductor,it was some dude called Frankie.Who the hell is Frankie?Where is Tomas?

Apparently,according to Mr. Wong,Tomas was fired because he didnt get the club the GOLD for SYF.As i heard that,i shouted "WHAT THE FUCK" in the middle of the crowd.Because seriously,that was totally ridiculous,outrageous!

NYJC has officially transformed into a Nazi state.I mean,i didnt like Ho Woon Ho's rule of the school when i was around.She was old,she was old-fashioned,and most of all she was OLD.But she was like a old grandmother,the naggy person in your family,always reminding you to do this and that,taking care of your every step.I didnt see the fact of this new principal,but i half expect his face to look like Hitler's.I felt NYJC was like Poland under Germany's rule all of a sudden,with the sight of the juniors in pushup positions,and the news of Tomas being fired because he didnt get gold for the guitar club.I have,therefore,decided that NYJC should no longer be known as NanYang Junior College,but rather NaziYang Junior College,with the new principal as the emperor.

After a pleasent chat with Mr. Wong,and (What do you know)Samuel with his girlfriend Hannah,i headed off to Gardens with Valerie,Ahmad,Xinyu and Patricia for a late dinner.Very,late dinner.

PS.Nirmala looked fat when i spotted her.She was holding a baby,and for a moment i thought some crazy nincompoop decided to marry her.But it turned out that the baby belonged to somebody she brought along with her,and she was like before,single.HA.The sight of her scrambling off alone towards the back of the school was particularly pleasing,in a very sadistic way i must say.

A Day in the Life of Me Part II: The Audition

As mentioned in a couple of entries ago,i was slated to have an audtion last Saturday with the White Tangerine.But due to the rain,strangely,it was cancelled and it was postponed to this week.

I dragged Josephine to town,and then cabbed to Ahmad's place for rehearsals.We did find,and tied down on a couple of stuff this afternoon.I thought the stuff we chose were great,and the sound turned out to be really fantastic.Okay,maybe it wasnt FANTASTIC,but i thought it was decently brought out.I liked the sound of the playing,and felt confident with the audition afterwards.

Im not sure if somebody prayed too much to the wall,but just as we were about to cross the road to the White Tangerine it started raining,again.I dread Singapore's weather with a passion.I mean,however much i love rain,i appreciate the comfort of home while enjoying it from the inside.Not when i am carrying Josephine around in the middle of my way to an audition held outdoors.It really is a pain in the ass,really.

We dashed across the road anyway,and met up with Edmund(The boss)soon after.He resembled Richard back in the school days,and we were told that this wedding celebration was going on at the cafe and he couldnt give us an audtion.Besides,it was raining and the gig slated was cancelled as well.But we did,however,have a mini-audition inside the cafe itself,and in the presence of a vocal instructor(A friend of Edmund).

Ahmad and I did Cannonball for the first track,and Edmund requested for Daughters for John Mayer,which i dreaded because of the nature of the song.I hate playing guitar singing to a mid-range song.The sound of the strumming totally drowns the vocals out,and it's totally not my kind of thing.I thought we did pretty well,with the people at the other tables turning their heads around and stuff.Edmund was all over the place,organising the little wedding party and listening to our pieces.The music instructor,whom i failed to catch the name,was a really nice dude who shared with us some of his experiences and stuff.

Apparently he stayed in Taiwan for three full years for some singing lessons.You wouldnt expect somebody like him to be a vocal instructor,though.He had a strangely dyed hair,and he probably weighed anywhere above a hundred kilograms.He was a big guy,wearing a white top with the top buttons opened,revealing a scorpion shaped necklace.He told us about stage presence,and the important thing about playing a gig unplugged.He was a professional and stuff,and thought me the trick to doing falsettos,which i appreciate lots.

Edmund came in and talked to us about another audition two weeks from now,requiring us to prepare a full setpiece.Now,that's really a headache inducing issue,because right now half my mind is drifting off to giving up this opportunity.Im not exactly sure why i jumped at the chance to jam at the cafe,but right now i am regretting it in a way.

I mean,it is a great experience,a good exposure to it sure.They always say that it is the passion in music that really matters,but if you really think about it it is really so much more than just going out there and sing your lungs out.You dont go up there as a singer,but you go up there as an entertainer.You dont just please yourself with your songs,but you got to please the audience as well,and that really sucks.The genre is way too limited,the way they play only oldiers and a couple of radio-friendly stuff.As cliche as it sounds,that is exactly the kinda stuff they require you to do if you decide to jam there.

The length is never the issue,as i revealed to Edmund.It was the variety of songs that bothered me,as well as the ability to take requests.However much you desire to please the audience,to satisfy their hunger for a good performance,i think it is practically impossible to have enough songs stashed up in our library to please all requests.Besides,i happen to play stuff that is really not mainstream,the stuff you dont usually hear on the radio.

It sort of takes away the fun of doing this sort of gigs doesnt it?I mean,all i wanted at the very beginning was the opportunity to do just a few gigs to the public,to present ourselves out there and play some good comfortable tracks to them.I never really thought about the requests,the variety,the limited genres and all sorts of problems associated with pleasing the audience.Dont they complicate things in a way?How it diminishes the fun and enjoyment in doing such gigs?I dont know,i guess in a way if you are so mindful of entertaining the audience,to please them,then half the fun is taken out of this whole exposure,this experience.

We left the cafe as it was still raining,thinking about if we really should go ahead with the plan.I am on the verge of quitting right now,to be totally honest with you.I guess music is still very much a hobby for me,instead of a passion.I guess i wanted it to be a passion so much i forgot that perhaps i am,and never will be ready enough to do such gigs like the real professionals.

Guess i shall stick with what i do best right now,and that is compositions.Songs,novels and blog entries.I love the art of words,the way they speak in so many languages,and like music so internationally understood.Oh well,hobbies are hobbies,passions and passions.Guess i shouldve seen that distinction a little earlier.

A Day in the Life of Me Part I: Satisfied Hunter

As mentioned before,being an avid fan of books i dont think there is a more persistent book hunter out there other than me.Because really,how many people out there is stupid enough to look at the same section over ten times when they cant find their desired book?

A sudden urge struck me this morning when i woke up from my dreams at 9am.I had an urge to shop for books,to top up my stash before it finally goes out.Ive figured that books are like drugs,to me anyway.Just imagine yourself for a moment,that you are a drug addict.You have a belt tied around your upper arm and needle holes all along your right arm.You wanted to stop and go to sleep,or down a cup of vodka afterwards.But you convinced yourself to have one more injection before doing anything further.You pull open your drawer,and to your horror you only had one packet of 'stuff' left.

That's kinda how i see my books.If i have one book left to read after my current reading,i would go nuts and become uncomfortable and anxious while reading my current book.It's a strange mentality,and some might call it a class of insanity.But hell,i cant help it,the way books are finished at my rate.I think i am at a point whereby i dont care what books i buy,as long as there is something waiting for me after my current reading,i am satisfied.

Anyhow,i am a satisfied hunter today.A shopping trip down in town was fulfilling,with two books bought and a Dvd at hand as well.I finally got my hands on Michael Cunningham's "The Hours",and the other book being F.Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby".I first read about F.Scott Fitzgerald in Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveler's Wife,and fell in love with an abstract of his book.I dont know why i bought the book anyway,though i suspect it is the awesome picture of a woman in the front cover in one of those classy 30s hairstyle.I love antiques like that,even if they are pictures of women back in the past.

Besides that i got Al Pacino's "Dog Day Afternoon" Dvd.All right,it is thirty bloody years old,but who cares really.It is Al Pacino,and that i guess is good enough for me.Who cares if it has homosexual themes related,i am going to watch it because i am a Pacino fan,gay or straight.

Killing Off a Poet

Leonard Woolf,"Why does someone has to die?"
Virginia Woolf,"Leonard?"
Leonard Woolf,"In your book,you said someone has to die."
Virginia Woolf,"Mmm-hmm."
Leonard Woolf,"Why?Was that a stupid question?"
Virginia Woolf,"No."
Leonard Woolf,"I imagine my question to be stupid."
Virginia Woolf,"Not at all."
Leonard Woolf,"Well?"
Virginia Woolf,"Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more. It's contrast."
Leonard Woolf,"And who will die?Tell me."
Virginia Woolf,"The poet will die.The visionary."

We are all writers of our lives,authors of our destiny,historians of our own future.Quoting Ahmad's ridiculous line,"I choose,by choice,of choosing the chosen choices choicingly".In a nutshell,it means that the choices we make in life,the ones that matter,they are really up to us,and the consequences are the burden we have to bear afterwards.

People that appear in your lives,the ones that make impressions.They are like characters,arent they?Strolling in the plot you've written,the ultimate play for the opening night,every night.The people are like characters,the forgettable ones are props.They fill your stage with items,and you are the main character,the writer of the screenplay,and most of all the director of this whole play itself.You,then,have the power to decide who gets to live in this play,who gets to kill somebody else in this play,and ultimately who gets to die,in this play.The play of life.

Being a writer,myself,both figuratively and literally,i understand the importance of character development,even if you decide to get rid of this character in the next chapter.You cannot build up the hype for this character,create a bond for this character between him and yourself,then get rid of him in the next page by saying,"This character from this page henceforth,is dead".You cannot do that,to any character,no matter how hateful,how sinful,how utterly fucked up he is.Because you dont do that in a plot,a good plot,a brilliant play,especially when the play you are writing is life,itself.

Wasnt i a character in your play as well,somebody introduced not too long ago?Being the main character of this play,the dancer,the princess,your characters seem to be strangely attracted to you.This one character,the poet,articulate and musically inclined,had all the connections in the world detached in order to feel connected only to you.Didnt the poet give his all,to write the perfect poem,the most dramatic poem of all,for you because he desired you,because he longed for you,because he,loved you?

How could you,then,cancel him off the script like that.How could you,with a rip of the pages,remove this character from your plot,thinking that hopefully the actor wouldnt know that the poet has been removed from the play altogether?

Everyday,you live your life the way you usually do.Being the director of the play,you arrive at the theatre promptly for rehearsals,and ultimately the show.New characters and new props arrive everyday,and this character whom you kicked off the play remains outside the theatre,desperate to enter so bad.Being without a role,not being the poet anymore,being killed off by the screen writer,you wander the streets alone at night,filling yourself with pints after pints of beer,thinking what he did wrong in his role during the rehearsals.He couldnt think of anything wrong,any steps he missed or any lines he forgot,because he memorized them all so well.

He wants to ask the director,why he was killed by the princess in the story,why he was left out of the rest of the story,despite him being such a pivotal role in the story,for a moment anyway.He wanted to,as he paced back and forth outside the gate of the theatre.But the director never came out,and he never got in.Through the gaps between the doors,he could see the bright lights from the stage,the props and all the characters,new and old.He sees the princess in her dancing dress,graceful as she danced across the stage.She had a new character,a boy,an ordinary boy from the streets.He wanted to ask her,what he did wrong,what he did wrong,but the play was going on,and the audience was laughing.They couldnt stop laughing,she couldnt stop dancing,he couldnt stop asking.

It is so easy,isnt it.To leave me out of your life,our of your picture,out of your play,out of your film.It is so easy,isnt it.To cut me loose,to leave me hanging on a hook behind your door,like a forgotten wardrobe.It is so easy,isnt it.To kill off the character,the boy,the actor,the poet.

How do you live with yourself,dancing upon your stage in that dancing dress.How do you feel,when from where you are,you see the shadow at the doors.You see from under the doors,where the lights creep in from the gap,you see a curious shadow wandering back and forth.You recognise the shadow,you recognise it to be you.You know that you never gave a good explanation as to why the poet disappeared from your play.The audience never minded the absence,surely the boy from the streets couldnt care less.But you had a responsibility,didnt you?You ought to have had an explanation,because everything just has to have one.

Or is it because,somebody always have to die in a story?

Was i dispensable to you?How cheap was i to you,when you hired me.When i turned up for the audition?Just what am i to you,tell me princess true.I am shouting over the orchestra,can you hear?Through the gap,above the music and the laughter,can you hear the sound?

It is so easy,isnt it.To kill the poet.It is so easy,because after all,choices are up to you.You are the director,the screenwriter,the actress,the dancer,the princess,the boss.I was the boy,the actor,the poet.

Identities

My friend QinYou,or rather the Chimp as he is more commonly known in camp nowadays,was blabbering about how cool his character is in a certain online game he is playing right now.He was describing how amazing the effects were when he casted certain spells,the way the enemy was blown up into pieces and the items he collected afterwards.Jonathan loves to pour a bucket of cold water over whoever deemed stupid by him,and that was the optimal moment for him to do so.

He leaned over to me in the cookhouse while the chimp was talking to somebody else,and quietly asked me,"Five bucks that QinYou wont grow up in the next five years".I chuckled,and with food still in my mouth i whispered back,"I will up that by a hundred bucks".

The truth is,chimp is twenty bloody years old and he is still acting like a twelve year old kid,obsessed over video games and girls,whom by the way is something in this world he is probably never going to own if he decided to continue living his life the way he does,with his childish mindset and hair.Yes,chimp.Shave.Please.For the love of God,or what the residents of Limerick Ireland would say,"Sweet St Mary and St Joseph!"

Anyway,my point is that chimp probably doesnt realise the importance of everybody's identities,something each of us have.Let's imagine yourself being a game freak like chimp,with the objective of every single book out to up a couple of levels in the game you are playing,earning some quick golds and killing some enemies to get some items off the corpses.That is the only purpose you book out for,and besides the time that you eat,that you sleep,that you fantasize about girls,you play games and only games.

What do you feel,when you feel tired and turns off the computer?Who are you,what is your identity then?

No matter how powerful your character is on the computer,no matter how strong your weapon is against a certain enemy is against some enemy you are never going to bring that out of the game into real life,are you?The moment you turn off that computer,the moment you are using your own name and not your username,you are back to your old self,that unshaven loser with your hair still in a mess and the lunch half eaten beside the keyboard.How would you feel now,that you are back in reality,beaten up loser like you were before you logged on to the game and turned yourself into a cyberspace hero?

It is kinda similar isnt it,with the army?Rankings of officers,of sergeants,of those warrant officers who signed themselves up for whatever reasons.In camp,in that uniform and the rank on your sleeves or shoulders,you are the biggest asshole around.Anybody with their ranks lower than you,they are also lower life forms.You see them as roaches,as dirt and you have all the power and right in the world to squash them under your boots.

But i wonder if these people ever thought about identities,the changing of that the moment they change from one place to another.The moment they change their uniforms,the moment they step out of the camp's gate and into the civilian world,they are no longer powerful,no longer authoritive,no longer the person with the command back inside the gate.You are like us,like everybody else,just another soul on the streets.

I saw the RSM once with his old ass friends.To think that this is the same man you see in camp every weekend is kinda strange,because outside in the real world he just looked like any other old man hanging out with other fellow old men,rotting together.He just looked so ordinary,so normal,and without that same authority he pretends to have in camp.It's pathetic to see him out in the world,out in the real world.And to see him back in camp in that uniform,and to listen to the way he speaks like he always does,seems to give me the idea that he has completely sold his identity,betrayed it to the uniform he wears.

Perhaps it is a sort of refuge for them,isnt it?To escape into a world,a place whereby you can be a totally different person,where you can keep control of things around you,unlike the real world where you are just like any other person,wandering aimlessly in this world until the day you die,buried and forgotten.The cheap thrills to yell at somebody in camp,to feel all powerful and strong for that little moment,for five days a week.Isnt it pathetic,to be running away from life,denying reality like that,24/7?

They are pathetic,these people.Sell-outs,they call them.They are a sort of role-models,though.The ones we shouldnt follow,at all costs.Sort of like a ten-year series back in the school days,but instead of giving you the model answers,they give you the wrong answers,what you shouldnt write.

The Muffin King

I remember those days after school back in the primary school days,when i wore those atrocious looking green shorts and that ridiculously heavy schoolbag,and the way i leaped out of those and out in front of the television as i waited for Dexter's Laboratory to come on at 6.30pm on Cartoon Network.

I was obsessed with Dexter's Laboratory back then,as chewed on my lunch or dinner,depending on what time the cartoon goes on tv.I knew every episode and the names of every character,and because Cartoon Network tends to repeat their cartoons i remembered the lines in some episodes.Back then the cartoon was just a harmless,innocent show with quirky characters.Hell,i even hummed the main theme of the cartoon wherever i went.However,i never actually realised the hidden messages in the cartoon,the subtle things they actually try to tell us under those lines,only now do i appreciate them as i watched them over at youtube.com.

Dont ask me how i even started watching it in the first place.Perhaps it was for nostalgia's sake,or the fact that i was desperate to kill time,but after watching old episodes of Dexter's Laboratory,it not only brought back fond memories but also the subtle messages hidden within.

I filtered the episodes,and "The Muffin King" is definitely one of,if not the best episode of Dexter's Laboratory.I love the stupidity of Dad,and how Dee Dee reminds me of Rachel and my sister combined.Dexter looks like See Hwee,and Dad like Martin.Haha,it just makes me laugh at the mere sight of them.Oh,and the Die Hard and the Star Wars parodies are just fabulous.I love Dexter's Laboratory to death,right up there with Transformers and Tom & Jerry!

[Dad hops into the kitchen while Mom is baking his favourite muffins,and creates a chaos around her]
Dad,"Oh,what's this?What's that?Oh,look at this thingie!And those (Something)!What does this button do?Ah,help i'm gonna die,im being eaten alive!"
Mom,"What have i told you about bothering me when i'm in the kitchen?"
Dad,"Erm,let's see.Er,dont?"
Mom,"That's right.So what do we do?"
Dad,"Er,leave?"
Mom,"Mmm-hmm."
Dad,"Haha,okay.What are these things?"
Mom"OUT!!!"

Dad,"Psst.Dexter,son.Could you come here for a moment?I'd like to have a word with you."
Dexter,"And just what do you want?"
Dad,"Dexter,i am your father."
Dexter,"Ah!That's not possible!Oh wait,no you are right."
Dad,"So join me!Come to the Muffin side!Dont resist Dexter,it is your destiny!"
Dexter,"Never!"
Dad,"You will get the muffins for me."
Dexter,"I will get the muffins for you."

Bondage

What a provocative blog topic,how shocking when you first laid eyes on it.I decided to use this word because that's what my friend used to describe the life in army when we were having a little chat in the bunk one evening,chilling to cups of soft drinks and the fan whirling quietly above.

Ah Chang has got to be one of the funniest guys i have ever met.There are two kinds of funny people in this world.The witty sort,and the lame-ass sort.The lame-ass sorts are later divided into two categories in my opinion.The really funny ones,and then the ones that deserves an durian stuffed up their behinds.Ah Chang happens to fall in the first category of lame-ness.

He's from ITE,and the common misconceptions would be how they are all stupid up in the head,how they mightve been dropped when they were born or something.But the truth is,i think after more than a year of interaction with these bunch of people whom i have had no contact with previously whatsoever,i have came up with a conclusion that they are not dumb,nor are they stupid in any way.They are just...well,lazy.And i understand that,because not a part of your personality should contain laziness in any form in JC.The need to put your 110% into everything you do can be daunting at times,and if you dont find the drive in doing so,why bother yourself?I guess we all choose our ways,the path we take in our lives,and he chose his life the way he wanted,and living it in absolute bliss.In that,i respect you man,truly.

As mentioned before,i never had any interaction with ITE people.Let's face it,anybody from JC probably doesnt have any friends from ITE,and merely a handful from the Polys.That is the truth,and it works both ways as well.ITE people doesnt have any JC friends as well,and in a strange way we are sort of separated into clusters of people in Singapore,never really acknowledging the existence of one another.

The closest interaction i had before army was probably the occasion body contact at J8,when the Bishan ITE people is released from school and goes on a shopping rampage through the mall.That,was the only contact i ever had with them,which is kinda pathetic if you think about it.

Ah Change was looking around the conversation group then,which involved myself(NYJC),himself(Some ITE),Martin(VJC)and Jonathan(NYP).Then,out of nowhere he just blurted out,"Wow,what a bondage man!" No,this bondage doesnt involve whips,hot candle wax or latex.Just pure bonds between people,in the stranges way we never thought possible.

Which is i guess,some of the little things,few things army brought into my life.I mean,let's face it.If it wasnt for NS i wouldnt have had any chances of even talking to a person from ITE,not even off the streets.You know how impressions get to you in your daily lives,however hard you try to convince yourself not to stereotype people.I used to claim myself as a person who loves people,but i guess i never actually realised how limited my social circle really was,in terms of the types of people within in.Now,with the existence of these people it suddenly made my social circle colourful,in a way.There were the bright sunny side,then now the added black and blood red side with perhaps other crazy colour combinations too,which i admire and love.

I shall end this entry with the quote of the week.This quote was a conversation between Jonathan and the ever-stupid Chiah You Sheng,the perfect example of a self-consciousless person,a wreck of a human i'd say.

Anyway,we were having ACCT mock grading today,and Jonathan was supposed to throw You Sheng over the shoulders.

[Just before anything started]
Shaker,"Dont throw me too hard,okay?"
Jonathan,"Fuck you."
[Sends Shaker flying]

S.P.A.T.

[Regarding the first SPAT meeting]
Will,"I'll tell you one thing. Men are bastards. After about ten minutes I wanted to cut my own penis off with a kitchen knife."

First an foremost,i'd like to explain to everybody,just what the hell "SPAT" is.So Kenneth Kwan,my fellow book freak in the company,was reading this book ive read before called "About A Boy" by Nick Hornby.Due to a certain incident that happened to a friend of mine just last weekend,a line from the movie adaptation of the book sort of made me laugh,as i thought over it in bed that night.

Basically SPAT stands for "Single Parents Alone Together".Will is the protagonist of the story,being a stuck up British(Like the rest of them).His father was one of those "One-Song Wonders",who wrote this Christmas song long ago and got famous.Everytime somebody decides to play that song they'd have to pay whoever that wrote that song.Since Will's father died,he has been living off that amount of money ever since.Being an irresponsible,arrogant and most of all,horny Londoner,he decided one day to start dating single mothers.The only place,he thought,with a grand collection of such extraordinary species,was at the SPAT.So,he decided to head down one day and check out the gathering,and hopefully in the process of doing so pick up some hot single mom.

However,to his dismay,all the women there are horrendous looking.I mean,not just bad looking,but old,fat and well,just pretty screwed up.They shared stories with each other,and after a long session of sharing Will said the above quote,saying that he wanted to cut his own penis off with a kitchen knife because he felt so guilty for being a man.

Well,i guess in a way i do feel Will's sentiments.Sometimes,you just hear stories around you,about certain boyfriends being this way to certain girlfriends.The stuff people tell you,they just throws you off your seat sometimes,and you start to wonder if your female friends,the victims of such crimes,are going to start stereotyping all men because one or two in their lives turned out to be single-molecular life forms living off the sight of sexy females in tank tops and whanking.Because seriously,however hard i try to convince myself that i am the exceptional,i still find it extraordinarily difficult to deny the fact that men are bastards.

Let's just say that i am typing this blog out on a neutral stand point.Of course,i cannot say that all females are "stereotyping bitches" or that "all men are animals with brains in their balls".Because i know of rational,sensible human beings out there who are the exceptions.There are,however,instances,you wonder just what the hell somebody was thinking when he did something,or said something to somebody else.

So at times,when my female friends are telling me how stupid certain admirer is,or how screwed up their boyfriends are,i feel like grabbing my mother's kitchen knife as well.In that moment,like how a thief wears a mask when they are robbing a bank,i just feel like making myself unrecognisable,somehow make the person i am talking not know that i am of the opposite sex.In that way,in a way,perhaps i wouldnt feel half as bad as being the sex that i already am.

Are we going to allow these bastards to roam the streets and make the rest of us,the unique and exceptional few,stereotyped ideas of them?They are like pests,the ones that crawl all over your Oreo if you leave it unattended for a few minutes.You just feel like spraying Baygon all over them,and then pour bleach all over those bastards.

Im in camp right now,surfing the net through the computers in the CyberCorner.Yeah,they do have computers in the camp,and MSN!That's a blessing definitely.Anyway,it's a bitch that you cannot log in to Friendster,for whatever reason that website was forbidden to users.It's amazing though,how technology is able to infiltrate the wilderness such as Choa Chu Kang.Seriously,if you look out of my bunk window all you see is green,and then more green beyond.

In twenty years' time,perhaps,humans might be able to plant chips in human heads.Thus,eliminating the imperfect specimens known as:The irresponsible male lifeforms.To save the rest of us,the rarities,out of the miseries of being stereotyped forever.My fingers are crossed.

Hush Now

(To a friend of mine)

Hush now,dont speak
It's blood I bleed
With these tears you see
So hush now,and ignore him

Hush now,dont breathe
And listen to the deep
Sound of silence resonating
So hush now,see the smile growing

Hush now,dont explain
If you have nothing to gain
Bypass that heart now stained
So hush now,soft and faint

Hush now,dont cry
I'm here now,we'll fly
Away from your broken insides
So hush now,sweet girl of mine

Adaptations

Justice!Justice!JUSTICE!

Guess what i just found out today while surfing through the net.Now,for most of the people out there it might not be of great interest what i am about to reveal,but to me,as an avid fan of books,this is truly a great news.

I just found out that Gus Van Sant(Good Will Hunting,Finding Forrester)is going to adapt Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveler's Wife into a movie.And not only that ladies and gentlemen.Khaled Housseini's The Kite Runner will also be made into a movie,directed by Marc Foster(Monster's Ball,Finding Neverland).So you can imagine how happy i was when i ran around the room screaming with excitement.

It is a little different than the other time when i heard that The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown will be adapted.I mean,i knew that that's going to happen sooner or later.It's like this treasure island ready to be exploited by pirates,just waiting for somebody to find a lost map and get their asses to the island.So when the news came to me i wasnt exactly surprised that Ron Howard(Apollo 13,A Beautiful Life)is helming the film.The same goes for Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden,i just knew that it is going to happen.

I wonder who is going to play Clare and Henry in the movie version of The Time Traveler's Wife.Ive always imagined Clare to be this woman,with youth but with this elegance and grace.Henry on the other hand,is rough around the edges and flawed.Somebody over at the forums said that Lauren Ambrose(Six Feet Under)can play Clare,since she is already a red head.But i think she is too young for the role,in terms of her physical looks.She IS 28,like Clare in the book.But i just find that she looks a little too young,and can easily pass as a high school student.I am opting for Keri Russell from Felicity,for some strange reason.Ive never actually watched Felicity,despite the fact that it was created by the amazing J.J. Abrams.But i just find her suitable for the role.The elegance,the way she carries herself,similar to Clare's character.

Now,Henry is the tricky one.Like i said he has got to be rough around the edges,not too perfect as a person but still charming enough to attract a 18 year old Clare when he is nearly 40.Somebody over at the forum suggested Christian Bale(The Machinist,Batman Begins).I thought he's great,considering the contrast in the two movies i mentioned above(He starved himself to skin and bones in The Machinist,and then trained up again for Batman Begins).But personally,i think the two Dr. Shephards on TV will fit the bill pretty well.

Im not sure how to explain the coincidence,but i think Matthew Fox who plays Dr. Jack Shepard in LOST,and Patrick Dempsey who plays Dr. Derek Sheperd in Grey's Anatomy seem to be perfect for the role.I think they have that quality,of being able to look absolutely different,shaved and unshaved.I dont know,personally i just cant wait for this film to be made.

After Gus Van Gust's last two films(Elephant,The Last Days)im not exactly sure if he can pull this one off.Afterall,it is one of my favourite books of all time.But i have faith in that guy,the way he texturize his film is pretty awesome,especially true in Good Will Hunting and Elephant.I have my fingers crossed for this one.

As for The Kite Runner,i dont really know any Afghanistan actors,or any Middle-Eastern actors for that matter.So i am in no position to predict who is going to play the role of Amir or Hassan,or whoever that is going to be in this film.But i can imagine myself grabbing boxes of Kleenex already,the scene after the kite fighting competition,what Amir saw in the alley and what he did(Or rather,did not)to Hassan.

This year and the next sure is looking promising with adaptations.;)

Love is Watching Someone Die

There are three kinds of songs that get stuck in your head like the oil from fried chicken wings to your fingers.The good songs,or anything by John Mayer or Coldplay.There are the hoorendously bad songs,or anything by Click Five,Simple Plan,boyband stuff.Then there are the rare ones,the ones with lyrics that catches something in your heart as it goes past your mind."What Sarah Said" is one of those songs,and i knew the moment i heard it that it is going to mean a whole lot more than just THE song with a...well,let's just say the name is rather familiar.

Cause there's no comfort in the waiting room
Just nervous pacers bracing for bad news
And then the nurse comes round and everyone will lift their heads
But I'm thinking of what Sarah said that "Love is watching someone die"

So who's going to watch you die...?

When i first saw the name of this song i went online and did a search on it.Partly because Deathcab for Cutie is a fabulous band,and the other reason was purely out of curiosity,just what the hell did Sarah say?It turned out that Sarah said "Love is watching someone die".

It didnt make sense at first,to be totally honest.However,i did have this strange feeling that it had a meaning behind it,so profound that when i realise what the hell it actually means,it is going to make a deep impact on my train of thoughts sending it sailing off the railroad.However,i couldnt crack the nut back then.I just couldnt figure out how is it possible that love can be watching someone else die.The idea to me,was just impenetrable.It is as if this Sarah is trying to make the act of murder justified somehow,like the joy of seeing somebody die right in front of you is somehow an act of selfless love.It is,if you want to think it that way,but i knew in my guts that it had more meaning to it.

I consulted a lot of people on that subject,concerning the meaning behind the phrase.I recieved a lot of ideas and comments that didnt exactly fit the song.I mean,they made sense one way or another,but it just didnt feel RIGHT,at all.So i consulted Valerie,and upon reading the lyrics she gave me an answer,which to me was,i think,the right answer to the puzzlement.

Her interpretation,which i deem fit,is that the reason why love is watching someone die is because there is so much love for that other person,that you are unwilling to see him/her weep for your death,but rather see her die and weep for her instead.

I love that interpretation of that phrase,and suddenly it all made perfect sense.I remember reading the lyrics to the song again,cursing to myself and then at this Sarah,whoever she is,how she came up with such a brilliant line.

It is true isnt it,what Sarah said.It is a different point of view on the subject of love,something which we've been asked a dozen times but never obtaining a true answer.I mean,you read in magazines,people interviewed on the streets as to the true definition of love on Valentine's Day when couples are happy,joyous and fresh out of a cheap hotel.The common answers always include the mystery of love,how it is always an unknown factor in human life.How it is a feeling and can never be truly answered,or defined.Or the really stupid ones,"I dont know".

I like the idea of it,however romanticized it might be.It seems like the ultimate act of selflessness,in a way.Then you start to wonder if anybody is truly willing to make that sort of sacrifise,if given a choice.You die,or i die.It's a fifty-fifty choice,what is it going to be?What is it going to be?

Couples are joined to be broken up.Like how we cannot live life by denying it,we cannot live life also,by denying death.It is inevitable,it is this looming dark cloud in the distance and you are sure the rain is going to pour in a couple of years' time.A couple meet,a couple kisses.A couple live,a couple marries.A couple grows,a couple older.Then before anybody expects it,somebody must go first.Somebody always goes first.Who is it going to be?Who is it going to be?

If given a choice,are we readily equipped to make that choice,as to who dies first?When met with such obligations,when we are on the edge of such choices,are we ever going to take love into consideration.They say that love is the most giving,most selfless thing in the world.But it is not,if you think about it.In truth,how selfish this selflessness really is.How dictating this act of giving really is.Are we going to forsake those truth in ourselves,and make that choice.To die later,so that you wont need to see me die at all?Would you be sad,would you be depressed?

Would you be angry if i died?

Love is watching someone die,
For i'd rather live my life
Knowing that you were in my arms when you went,
Than to know that my own blood drenched your dress...

Hello,Stranger

Hello,stranger.
I saw you on the bus today,remember?
You were on the third seat from the back
And you were in a dress of amber

Hello,stranger.
I saw you only through your reflection
Because i knew only then will you not
Stare back at me with sore rejection

Hello,stranger.
I dreamt of you last night in my future
But you were never part of my lonely past
Just here and now,the moment i shall yearn

Hello,stranger.
I saw in myself this growing anger
This frustration over my ever longing passion
For someone like you,beautiful and mysterious strangers

Isnt it kinda strange,how we sometimes act against sense,against our rational abilities in real life and believe that the act of stupidity will be overcame by your blunt reasonings?

You read about it in romantic novels,the ones by Nicolas Sparks perhaps.They always give you this hope,this dream,this romanticized reality that things are going to happen,the way they do in books.You hope that they will happen,the way you read it on your bed the night before on your comfortable bed,but sadly to your dismay they dont usually turn out the way they do.That is evil,in giving us hope.To give false hopes,to me,is the ultimate evil that one can deliver to anybody else.

We've all heard of the phrase "Love at first sight".But like Ashton Kutcher said once,"I do not believe in love at first sight,for the blind falls in love just as well".Yes,true if you think about it.I mean,technically speaking love at first sight doesnt necessary mean you HAVE to have seen that person,but i guess in a way Ashton Kutcher was trying to imply the importance of things other than just physical looks.With that firmly in mind,in my mind anyway,it is hard to follow that as a sort of law,a rule when you see somebody attractive on a bus,on a train,or anywhere on the street for that matter.

With that said,it's not like i saw somebody attractive on the trip back home upon bus 136 this evening.It was raining then,and the sight of SRJC brought back painful and fond memories of the past.The poem above,which i desperately typed on my handphone in case i forget,was in fact not out of any real experience,strictly speaking.I actually wrote that poem based on this ugly looking GUY sitting at the back of the bus,strangely enough.I havent turned Brokeback,if you were wondering back then.Just,the way inspiration strikes,can strike you as abnormal and strange at times,really.

But everybody has that kind of experiences,right?On buses,trains,without anything interesting at hand to do you look at the people around you.Some might find that terribly mundane,but i find the act of looking at people,observing them quite an experience.Sometimes,at times,you see people that are just...stunning.I remember this caucasian girl that boarded the MRT once while i was heading to town.She had long hair,neatly tied up in braids that rested on her back.She was in a black top,right around her body like those dancers wear but not nearly as tight.She had a pair of jeans on,and a bag in her shoulder which really looked more like a rice sag.She was anxious then,to meet somebody i assume.She kept her eyes on her watch,and was anxious to get off the train when it arrived at the station.

I remember looking at her through the slight reflection through the windows on the doors.I didnt dare to look,for i was afraid that she might look back and catch me staring.I was afraid,but at the same time i couldnt help myself from looking at her.Something about her struck me as pure innocent,a sort of innocence in beauty.Like the very foundation of it,was inside of her.I felt like Joel from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,equally pathetic."Why do i fall in love with every woman that pays me the slightest attention?" he said,as Clementine greets him at a cafe for the first time.I felt pathetic,but willingly so as i felt the stupidity growing inside of me.

She was,i remember,like black fire.Dark,mysterious and glowing bright at the same time.She was just,an individual in the crowd.Somebody who literally brushed past me one fine day in the middle of a dark tunnel.But she touched me,both figuratively and literally,in a strange sort of way i cannot explain.The love for strangers,the way this natural ability is in us,within us since the very beginning,the double-edged sword.How wonderous,it must be to realise it?

Brown Paper People

Before this entry officially starts,i'd like the extend my appreciation to the existence of second-hand bookstores.You know the ways out of the ways of big mega-sized bookstores like Borders and Kino?There are only a few left in Singapore,as pathetic as the number of A&Ws out there(I heard there is only ONE left in Singapore,in the airport).

I was supposed to have the audition for the gig thing at White Tangerine today.But due to my recent loss of memory and the newly acquired ability to be confused,i got the date mixed up with next Saturday.So at Ahmad's place where we practised and jammed,i suddenly realised that i actually got the audition date wrong.That was stupid,very very stupid of me.But then again,even if it WAS today,we wouldnt have been able to make it since the stage is outdoors,and it was raining elephants and toads out there at that time.I called up Edmund,the manager of the cafe,and he told me that they usually cancel gigs on rainy days,which was initially a confusing statement,but i guess it made sense once we went to check out the cafe itself.

Anyway,so we treated today's jamming as a practise,and decided on the songs to do for the audition next week.In the meanwhile,we hung around Heartland Mall and had dinner at Pizza Hut next to a bunch of school kids still smelling like sweat and KLIM.I stumbled upon one of those buy/rent second-hand bookshops,right next to Popular.You know one of those really crowded bookshops,with shelves higher than your head and filled with books from the bottom up?It was hard to look for books initially.I mean,with the mountain of books aside,i had no idea how the books were categorized.

I tried my luck with "The Hours" by Michael Cunningham,but the fact that the books were classified according to the authors' first names(Who the hell does that?)made it a hell of a task to start looking.

I went to the counter,and for some strange reason the moment i approached the ladies at the counter i knew that they werent going to help in finding the book for me.You know how first impressions are so important at times,how they get stuck to you even if that person tries however hard to change it.Usually,these impressions,the first ones,are based on very trivial and minor things that others might not consider crucial at all.I mean,different people have different ways of drawing conclusions,right?And to me,as i stood in front of the counter i KNEW that the two girls sitting before me werent going to help,that they lacked the knowledge of the books in the store they were actually taking care of.

They were having their dinner then,apparently.You know those brown paper they use to wrap up food at hawker centers?I forgot the name of those,i recall a technical name for those.But anyway,their dinners were sitting upon those papers,and for some strange reason i drew to my conclusion that these two girls werent cultured enough to know a single information about the books in the store,let alone Michael Cunningham.

The two girls were a little stunned when i asked them about him.One of them handed me a piece of paper,and with food still in her mouth she asked me to write the name of the author down.She sounded like "Rote da name of da otor don on da papor...",or something along that line of blurry stupidity.Then you start to wonder,whatever happened to the netiquettes?

They actually had to call somebody from the phone and ask him or her if the book actually exists in the store.That person,whoever he or she was,didnt even have to think about it.He or she KNEW that they didnt have the book,and she was probably not within ten kilometres from Heartland Mall.The bookshop was what,three by five?And you girls couple even get a grip about the books you were selling.You cant,you might argue.But at least swallow your food before you even start attending to me,please.I dont need to see your dinner,and im sure you wouldnt want to see mine hurling towards your face.

Okay,i know a hell lot of people eat from those brown papers.I know that it is a common thing,and that it is unfair to draw such conclusions from a trivial thing such as the paper you have your dinner on.But that was then,right at that very moment,the impression that i had of these girls,the prediction if they were going to be able to help me or not.It's a strange thing,and i know i am guilty of judging people this way.But at that moment,i didnt think too much about it.I just did,and i was right about it,strangely.

Predicament

(Please bear with my random flow of thoughts in this entry.I bet the kick to the head during the frisbee game mustve gotten to me.I cannot stop blogging)

I couldnt help it,when i was flipping through the pages of the script to The Hours,thinking about those powerful scenes in text form,going through my head as i flipped those pages.It was amazing,to see a miniture sized Meryl Streep in my head acting out my favourite scene all over again in my head,in the middle of Kinokuniya last Saturday.

Therefore,i took it off my shelf and watched that very scene again,when Louis Waters visits Clarissa while she is halfway through the preparation of Richard's party,when she 'unravelled',and had this predicament in the middle of the kitchen in front of her stove,where she broke down and wept.It was my favourite scene from the movie,the most powerful movie.I felt as if everything in the movie,just every aspect of the movie,could be seen through her eyes.Every stare,every glare,every look she gave to anybody and anything in that very scene,all of those amounted to what the director,what Michael Cunningham had in mind.It was just a beautifully made piece of film,with that flawless scene right there.

Then i was wondering,as i sat watching that scene twice in a row.To live in a lie,i wonder what that sort of feeling is like.When enlightened,in a way,by Richard during her visit to his,did she realise the truth behind his party,her party,her life.Mrs Dalloway,he called her.How the same character in Virginia Woolf's book also prepared for a party,and ended up suffering from a mental breakdown.

For whom did she hold the party for?Was it for Richard,really?Or was it for herself,to satisfy herself in a sub-conscious way?To know that all your life,the sacrifises you made,all those things you thought were so selfless,so giving,all came down to you being selfish,without you actually knowing it.Isnt it a scary thing,worthy enough to cry for,to hate,to die for?

Are we all unravelling,are we all facing some sort of predicament?What of the hours,then?Always,the hours.

Haven for You

Having typed that previous entry about clubbers,i have come to a conclusion that i have,in a way,stereotyped them.I mean,they are not plagued patients in a end-of-the-line sort of extensive care hospital,or the hopelessly retarded citizen you see on the street,showing off their lack of self-consciouslessness.They are,after all,some of them,just people who seriously wants to have fun,i guess.Though to me,it is hardly fun to begin with.

I guess in a way,everybody needs their sort of haven,somewhere they can hang their heads.To them,in the middle of the podium,in the middle of an anonymous crowd might be their form of haven.Do not assume,that haven is always a place peaceful,somewhere with angels flying around with harps,singing songs of prayers while rabbits leap around in tall grass and wheat fields.No,it's not nearly as biblical as that.For some,their havens might belong to somewhat different places,in the dark and smokey places such as a club,with blaring music above their own sound,overpowering the thoughts in their minds,their troubles.

For some,someone,somebody i know.Her haven comes in the strangest way.Well,technically speaking,i think everybody,each and every one of us,has our own form of haven.Like Jamie Foxx's character in Collateral,Max.Whenever his passengers at the back of his cab gets unbearable,he folds down the sun-screen of his car and there,the Maldives islands.He takes a five minute break,detach himself from whatever that just happened,and then take a vacation on the island.He does that a dozen times a day,and then with a snap of his head he comes back to reality,back to work,back to cabbing.

I like that idea of an escape,a haven.This friend of mine,her form of haven's a company of people,this batch of people around her.Not exactly a clique,strictly speaking,but sort of like a group of people she prefers to hang out with.Things are so complicated in her life,so mixed up like a bundle of wire.Like those irritating knots iPod earpieces make when you hook them out of your back pockets,her life's in a way all screwed up in a strange way.I am sorry,to hear the lack of laughter in her house,the way it's so full of emptiness and void,the lack of words between people,the gap that is desperately in need of cemete to fill.I feel sorry,that everything around her,the best things,the supposed ones,are turning out all so complicated,so complexed,this strange disease bugging her that she cannot forget.

The best things are always turning out to be the worst at the same time dont they?Like curses,the way technology turns on us,the way medicine kills us,the way everything,blessed at first can become the bane of your mere existence.Things are so political sometimes,arent they?When politics are involve in anything,anything at all,they always become nasty,become polluted.

She seeks her haven,like we all do in our lives.Dont we all,in any way possible,seek a haven where we can feel safe and secure?Why,do we always have to feel so insecure,and at the same time feel insecure about not being secured?Simple stuff,like hers,in the company of people she loves,she holds dear,anywhere would be fine,her haven.

My haven,when asked,i told her that i go to my haven every day.Like Max,i take my time off every day,just idle.Looking into deep space,or just close my eyes as i am on my bed,just think about things.The process of thinking,the train of thoughts,the way they flow down this railway line to nowhere,is some sort of haven to me i guess.I bet in a way,if my thoughts can be visualized in any way,my thoughts would all be flowing towards a general and uniform direction.Flowing in lines of multi-coloured strings,joined to each other like carriages of train,travelling to this secret place.

In this secret place,my sacred place,i would imagine a garden next to a great big lake.Somewhere in the trees lining the lake a stereo big enough to fill the world with whatever i wanted to listen to.The thoughts,floating through the air,converges and plunges into this deep pool,with a sign at the edge saying "Pool of Thoughts".In the middle of this grassy field,sat me,with my eyes closed.I am smelling,and i am listening to the music all around.It's a great escape,isnt it?The way Michael Cunningham described in the books.How everything used to be so innocent and surreal,now lost between the tall buildings,the smoke between those and then the viruses between those.

We all have our havens,no matter how strange they might be.I guess in a way,if they make us happy,if for a moment in time,they make us forget,they make us smile once again,despite the harshness of it all,why the hell not take this stupid trip out there?

What Sarah Said

The Ass of Clubs

When asked recently to go for a clubbing experience,i denied the kind invitation for the millionth time in a roll,only a count or two short after the misspelling of my name,and that is saying a lot really.

To the person,or rather to most,clubbing seems to be the ultimate form of modern day entertainment.A place where you let go of everything that is outside the club,your life in the fast lane,reality.Sometimes you wonder the mentality of these dancers,these drinkers,these desperate people,these clubbers as you watch from the top of the balcony,staring down at the mass of people below,squeezing against each other,trying to find their space on the podium.You start to wonder what they are running away from,or what they ran away from.Where they are going,what are they trying to prove,to achieve?

I denied that friend of mine,firstly because of the fact that i despise clubbing.Second of all,his reasoning with me was just totally weak and without a basis at all.I mean,if you are trying to convince me to do something that i am unwilling to do,at least come up with an argument reasonable enough to make me question myself,or threaten me with a knife in the middle of nowhere.I dont exactly pride myself for being a witty,at times obnoxious bastard but hey,you cant blame me for your stupidity.

He tried,of course,to convince me that it is actually "fun" to head down to a random club,grab a drink or two,sometimes even more than that,look and grab the ass of some passing hot chick and then head down to the dance floor to rub your dicks against some other female's ass.If you are lucky enough,according to him,you might find yourself waking up in the morning with wax all over your body,lipstick marks all over your unshaven face and your pants somewhere in the hotel toilet.Next to you,if you are lucky enough as well,a girl half naked from the waist down and if you are really really lucky,the puddle of vomit under her head would be about ten minutes from reaching your face.

Dear friend then told me that there is no harm hanging out with friends at a club.I asked,exactly what his definition for "hanging out" is.He simply said,in a matter-of-fact way,"Talk!".Well,let me ask you this schmuck.How do you actually talk,or converse with anybody in a bloody club,since talking isnt necessarily possible unless you have a microphone or a loudspeaker able to reach above the volumes of the horrendous music in the clubs.Speaking to anybody within two metres of your vicinity is almost impossible.

As an avid fan of music,i love what i listen to.I mean,it is illegal,in a way,to bring mp3 players into military camps,yes.But i went against that rule and did it,because i can never live without the music that i have,that i love.Now,the stuff they do at clubs are just out of my league.I cant say that they are lousy,stupid or in any way,bad.But they are just not my cup of tea.And i hate,perhaps the most,the general stuff behind all the stuff in the so-called "songs".Sex,drugs,get high and being angry over...well,something.You get lost somewhere between the first hard beat of the bass and the last ending note,if that was a note at all.

Then there are the dancing,if you call those dancing at all.It is not hard to see one of those online,if you really want to.Just head down to youtube.com,and at the search bar,type in "Dance" and it will probably lead you to dozens of videos with hot girls(Or the ones that try to be hot),wearing spaghetti tops and panties,dancing in their private rooms in front of a webcam.Of course,no porn involve in that website,but that is the closest thing you get before you can a R21 rating slapped to the website.

When did the shaking of asses,the revealing of breasts become a form of dancing,the ones known to clubs?I mean,im not exactly a great admirer of abstract art,dances and all that stuff i admit.But then again,i know good dancing to bad ones.I know sensible ones to just plain stupid ones.I just dont see what is all the fun about,when all you have around you is merely fifty-centimetres of space around you,if the club is relatively unknown and new,with no crowd to speak of whatsoever.

Most of the time,you dont dance to the beat of the song,or the music,or anything that's coming out of those damn speakers,which in a way makes you wonder if the DJ removed the volume controlling knob.You just dance to what you like,what you had in your alcohol saturated mind.If that is not the case,admit it,you probably just want to show off your assets to the boy next to you,or get a tight grab of his ass before you leap out of sight.Let's face it,that's not dancing we are talking about.That's mere movements,like the way old uncles "vibrates" at parks early in the mornings.

However,there are the instances whereby you enjoy the experience.The way people dress,the way they dress up for the occasion for whatever reasons they have.To seduce,to let loose,it's really all up to whoever decides to look good on that night.Let's admit it,even to myself,that people,male or female,do look good most of the time when they enter clubs.Most of them,anyway.

I hate to see them,by the end of the night,with their mascara all over their faces,their lovely dress newly bought from Zara only last weekend,ruined from her friend's vomit and partially your own from too much drinking.Or that beautifully set hair of yours,now in disarray because somebody decided to take a snatch at your do.I hate the way the ladies collapse outside of clubs,with their panties wide in everybody's view,but totally oblivious to it.The way they sleep in their own vomits,or staggering towards the nearest drain to dump their loads,while murmuring something like "Im...not...drun..." followed by your dinner flowing out of your mouth.I just hate the sight of that.

So next time,if you decide to ask,convince,persuade,drag,threaten me to head to a club,you might want to think twice about doing so,because i might just bombard you with the above arguments,or simply ask you to go fly a kite.

However,i must say,if one day i decide to transform into this club crazy asinine,looking for quickies,want to rub my dick against some girl's ass for the kick of it,or getting drunk then laid afterwards,stupid dancing(If you consider those dancing at all),making friends who can potentially rape you by the end of the night,sure clubbing is hella fun.Please do ask me out,when that day arrives.

Oh,and do bring along a pistol or anything that can potentially incur serious damage to the head,because i'd need you to do that by the end of the night to my own.

Aldo

More than 40 million people worldwide are living with AIDS/HIV.
Each day,14000 more people become newly infected with AIDS/HIV.
3.1 million people died from AIDS in 2005.
If nothing changes,if we dont do something,AIDS would claim up to 100 million lives by 2020.
AIDS kills one child every minute.



"Should people be dying from AIDS for no reason?Yes or no?Check one." --- John Mayer

"Be a generation that generates change." --- Charlize Theron

"Unprotected sex is Russian Roulette.There might be a bullet in that chamber." --- Pink

"AIDES doesnt discriminate.No territory.No race.No age." --- David Morales

Discs in the Sky

I would imagine most people,the normal ones anyway,to relate the title of this entry to UFOs.Which is really why i decided to name it that way,to confuse the hell out of the people out there.You know how those stupid "Moo-Moo" questions,or those "Bang!Bang!" questions confuses the hell out of whoever you decide to ask those questions to.You then look at their faces,that confused and frustrated face,and you get a kick out of it.Cheap thrills,we are all guilty of it.

Anyway,no i didnt see any UFOs today,like i claimed i did when i was young(Anything that flew in the sky with lights were considered as UFOs to me,and anybody who looked horrendously ugly were aliens).Today was Victory Challenge III,something like a school's Sports Day.But instead of normal sports like running,high jumps and stuff in the army we have various activities which requires a lot of physical efforts to accomplish.They are games,eccentially.But they are most of the time,related to training,timings and more timings.

But this time it was a little different.After the brawl that occured on the field last time during the "Capture the Leader" game(Companies went head on head to each other and almost caused a fight in the middle of the socce field),the big boss decided to tone down the games to simple sports like Frisbees,basketballs and stuff.But of course,with twists here and there.For example,instead of the usual basketball you get two this time.Soccer becomes a giant size table soccer,with players tied together with toggle ropes,and not allowed to leave a certain area marked by white tapes.

So the night before,the men of Braves company braced themselves for the onslaught of the rest of the battalion.We lost on the last two occasions,losing badly even.This time we werent aiming high,just better than before.We didnt expect ourselves to do very well,even before the first whistle was blown.That didnt diminish the spirit of the boys,though.I joined Frisbee,and the game kicked off soon after 7am.

We thrashed,and we thrashed somemore.Against other four companies they were like cockroaches to us.We squashed them one by one with our New Balance shoes,and i scored a couple of crucial goals.I took a tumble off the sidelines as i tried to get a frisbee that was flying out of bound.Didnt catch it,but i was back up on my feet screaming vulgarities(Sorry).

The Archers were tough.I mean,they had this freaky frisbee thrower who was at least 1.9m tall,and the way he threw that frisbee was enough to make the other players piss their pants.Seriously,no matter how he catches it,he'd be able to deliver it all the way to the other side of the field,no problem.

We were beaten by Archer,but that was our only game lost.During that game Reece,from the other end of the field threw a high angle shot towards my direction.I decided that it was me to take the frisbee,and took a dash for it.An Archer schmuck decided also,to go against me head on and the two of us crashed together in mid air.The other Archer nincompoops came,and as the two of us crashed to the ground they too,crashed into the two of us going for the frisbee.

My spectacles went surging through the air,and somebody on my right ran into my head and my right arm.On the left,somebody accidentally(I hope)kicked my left leg,and i held my head,rolling around the grass,moaning in agony.Now that was some painful shit,as i tried to stand up and continue the game.I told the rest i was fine,but the field swirled under my feet as my right temple throbbed.I felt giddy,and i had this puking sensation welling up in my stomach.Thankfully,the game ended and though we lost,at least i got to keep my life.

We did beat Cougar,Support and the HQ fatties.Beating them is really an understatement.We thrashed them,one by one.Three to none,seven to none and unluckily,HQ scored one with S3 blabbering vulgarities at his men for not throwing/catching the frisbee properly.He was agitated,and he was furious.But really,it was really a game.What's the point of getting so worked up for?Oh yes,you are a regular.You havent got brains to think straight.Bloody dotard.

Anyway,the overall champion came to us,the men of Braves.We took pictures,and we cheered after the finale showdown between the companies.It was a water bomb fight,and the lot of us were drenched in multi-coloured water.But it was all fun,as we carried the trophy high in our hands,and the goodie-bag filled with tempting tidbits and snacks.Today was the first time we won the Victory Challenge,and to be honest,it felt good kicking asses of other companies.

My arm still aches,my head still throbs,but at least the trophy is going to stay with us and the glory will last us forever.

Bravo,Braves!

PS.Corinna named her laptop Imogen,before i got the chance to name my guitar that very same name.Who the hell names their laptop?That is as good as naming your dinner or something.That was so totally unoriginal Corinna,but i am going to come up with a name so much better than Imogen.Just wait!

Rainbow in the Window

As the cab sped down the expressway with the suspicious gay driver in the front,peering at me time and time again through the rear mirror,you just have to make yourself not notice his presence at all.After all,a look or a glance,any sort of eye contact might suggest that you are in some weird and perverse way,interested.

Anyway,so i blasted "Phenomena" by Yeah Yeah Yeahs really loudly in my ears and stared out of the rained-dotted cab window.As it passed down CTE the trees opened up,and you can see all the way to the furthest building in the horizon.The sky was clearing up from the rain,and like those rare moments after a rainstorm you can rainbows in the sky.

I was just thinking,in the backseat of the cab,how such a natural wonder has become an everyday thing to us all.I remember that innocence when we were kids,looking up into the sky and seeing a real rainbow for the first time,instead of just pictures in encyclopedias and textbooks.The way they explain the formation of those in textbooks,the scientific way of it all,makes the true beauty of rainbows very well diminished.But when we set our eyes on rainbows,when we were kids,for the first time,all those stuff you learn in classrooms just fades away as you behold the beauty of the colours,colours of nature in the sky like some giant painting by an unknown God.

Rainbows to me arent special,or wonderful,or anything more incredible than say,a cloud shaped like a giant pineapple in the sky.To me they just happen all the time,the way the fellow driver on the street would react when you throw a middle finger into the air,out of your car window;the way tomatos always become ketchups if you toss them off the eleventh storey.Action and consequences,natural law.To me,the study of such natural wonders,or hardly so,makes it such a normal thing to behold.And that's a sad thing,for me anyway.

I thought about the kids in India,and how,when i was there back in February,thought they had the most beautiful sunset i have ever seen.To them,like the way i see rainbows,those sunsets are just everyday things.Everyday at around the same time,if you look out of your window and into the orange sky,you see the same amazing sunset across the sky,painting the land into a beautiful shade of orange and yellow.To the kids,after the first time,it all becomes routine,only natural.It is no longer beautiful,no longer astounding,just normal.

But what if they see a rainbow,like the way i witnessed it when i was in the cab?The desert hardly has rainbows i imagine,and if they were to behold such natural wonders,what would that be like?I miss the innocence that i had,the way i first saw the rainbows when i was young.I miss the way my heart skipped,when i saw the sunset in India,and saddened by the way the kids took no heed of it's existence at all.That feeling sort of got to me,when i saw that rainbow out of the cab window as well,the diminishing feeling of innocence,this common disease plaguing us like so many other diseases floating around the very air that we breathe.

It is a sad thing,to realise that you are no longer who you were,but an entirely different self.You think that,or rather you convince yourself that,you are a better person than before.More matured,wiser in so many ways.But when it comes to simple stuff like that,rainbows and sunsets,you then realise that in truth,in reality,how much you miss your immaturity,your innocence,that naive child you used to be.

Bolster Wielding Warriors

An introduction to "CCT",for those not familar with the inner-workings of the army.Every NS-man,or rather most us,has to go through this training called the "CCT".It stands for "Close Combat Training",and it has three levels to them.Basic,Intermediate and finally,Advanced.

Throughout my NS life(Wow look,an oxymoron),ive been through all the CCTs,and the latter two stages involve the final showdown between you and your partner,in a sparring session involving the two of you dressed in soft paddings on the arms and legs,head dress,body armour and a huge bolster with hand grips on the sides.

Anyway,so Tuesday morning we had our little sparring session.You get to pick your partner,and as Ah Chang was probably the only person around my height and weight left without a partner,i chose him to pick a fight with.So the two of us got dressed up in that bulky armour thing,had our bolsters ready and stood at the edge of the mats while we watched others beat the living daylight out of each other.

It was fun to watch,really.To see every day people,ordinary people,tearing each others' hearts out as they whacked and kicked for two full minutes.Two minutes might not seem like a long time,but when you are out there sweating in your helmet,with your opponet delivering blows after blows to your head,you'd know how long those two lifeti...i mean,minutes actually seem.

On one side was the great fight between Jun Ting and Wei Jian(Or,Ee-O).We werent allowed to use fists at all,just that bolster thing and our legs to kick.Halfway through that fight Ee-O got pissed off as he threw his bolster aside and punched Jun Ting in the chest.That wasnt meant to be serious,though,but seriously funny.Next incredible fight was between Jordan(The ever-wonderfil Jordan)and Ming Kuei.For some reason Jordan delivered a killer blow to Ming Kuei's body,that sent him flying to the edge of the mat.Ming Kuei went down,and Jordan raised his bolster in victory as his platoon cheered on.Ming Kuei stood back up to fight on,and held to his bolster tight as the second round began.They kicked and the whacked,and this time Jordan sent a killer kick to Ming Kuei,in the groins.That kick sent him,once again,sprawled on the floor hugging his groin despite the groin guard in place.That was hilarious.

Anyway,so it was my turn to spar with Ah Chang.We walked onto the mats barefooted,and took our place with the bolster.Three.Two.One.Fight.

I took a step forward,and stunned Ah Chang as i faked a blow to him with my bolster.I stepped back,and as he did so i swinged the bolster towards his head.He successfully blocked it,and with the defence done he switched to offensive mode and took a blow to my body with his right leg.It hit my hip bone,and i stammered back in pain.

I adjusted my helmet and jumped around on the spot.Ah Chang had some kind of pain in his leg,probably from the kick he sent to my bone.He dashed forward,and this time he took the initiative to get my head.I dodged,and as i squatted downwards i tried to do a hook to his leg.He jumped away in time,and i regained my poise as i adjusted the bolster once again.That continued for a while,and just when that gap opened i hoisted my bolster up and threw down,with all my strength,on his head.Whack!It landed on his head,and Ah Chang staggered back a few steps.Before he regain his balance,i took another whack at his body on the left.He blocked that,but i spunned around and whacked him on the right and then kicked him in the ass.He returned with a few kick in my ass as well,and just before the sparring ended he sent a heavy blow to my head with his bolster.

It ended,and i pulled off my head gear.We were shagged,but we had loads of fun as we tried to kill each other for that brief two minutes.It took the life our of us,but it was fun i guess.He had a sore leg,while i had a sore waist,but it was all for the fun of it i guess.

Go Warriors in Bolst...damn,my waist.

Delayed Finals

You guys must be wondering how it is,that on a cooling Thursday evening,i am sitting in front of my computer blogging about the week in camp.Well,it is slightly more complicated(And interesting)than the usual weeks,when i have Nights Off and stuff,heading home from camp located in the middle of nowhere.

Basically,the army works in ways,somewhat like schools.With the brain-drained sergeants and the fact that "field trips" actually means "Swamp Trips" aside,the army do organise rugby matches,soccer matches and stuff like that between Divisions.Now,dont even start asking me what a Division is,because i havent a clue what it is.Take it as "Schools",i guess.

Anyway,miraculously,my division(The third)managed to claim a place in the finals in this year's rugby match.I remember last year losing to the same ruggers,and we were actually on television,cheering for them while Diana Ser stood in between us,shielding her ears to our ear-piercing screaming.

So the bus ferried us to Nee Soon camp today,to support the boys on the field,hoping that by inviting the whole battalion of men dressed in dorky looking PT singlets we would claim the title today.A little back story to today's event.It was actually supposed to be held last week,but due to rain last week it was postponed to today instead.

Anyhow,so the lot of us gathered in the canteen and waited for the game to start.Personally,as i sat on the grand stand reading Michael Cunningham's "Specimen Days"(Which is,by the way,intriguing,weird and interesting all at once),i secretly prayed for rain to come pouring down upon us.That'd mean the cancellation of the game,a whole night off,plus another day when we have to flock to Nee Soon camp for another match.Time wastage is perhaps the best thing any army guy can hope for,anytime,anywhere when it comes to physically demanding training.Time wasted NOT doing those activities can be seen as anything from being Shangri-La to being upon Cloud #9.

So the clouds soon gathered as i prayed,and secretly in my head i punched my fist in the air,ran to the RSM and spat him in the fact.But of course,i didnt exactly do that,but cheered with a friend of mine as the first drop of rain impacted the ground before our feet.

The rain poured,and it poured,and it lasted longer than anybody expected.We waited for the rain to stop initially,hoping that by the time it does we can go on with the rugby match.Thankfully,to me anyway,the rain only got heavier as the day wore on.I spent the afternoon reading Michael Cunningham's strange novel,while See Hwee had his head buried between the pages of some PC magazine.Kenneth and I talked also,about the greatness of the book he was reading,"The Kite Runner".Jonathan,on the other hand,was just being a jackass as he is.

The RSM finally announced,clearly to his dismay,that we were allowed to get out of camp.By then it was already 5pm,and still it was raining.Finding a way out of Nee Soon camp was tricky,considering the lack of any sort of sheltered walkway and most of all,the size of the bloody camp(It takes an hour and a half to completely stroll around the perimeter of the camp).So the lot of us took short cuts,as much as possible,under shelters and around corners towards the main gate.This dude,who was in a hurry to get into a shelter,rain into a chain that was dangling between two poles on either side of him,and knocked him off his feet.He turned out all right,but that scared the shit out of everybody who actually witnessed it.

Anyway,i managed to call cab and got home only just now.Almost thirteen dollars down the drain,just like that.And i was wondering if the cab driver was homosexual or not,judging from the way he peered through the rear mirror and the way he asked me for directions.I learnt ACCT,i reminded myself.And if he were to drive me to some middle-of-nowhere places at least he'd be in for some serious ass-kicking,which i will elaborate in the next entry.

Ulcer

My mother has a strange mentality when it comes to buying stuff for me.This afternoon before she headed out to buy some stuff she asked if i want any instant noodles.So i told her the brand that's better and all,and she went out while i went to take a nap.

I woke up just a while later and she was back,and told me that she didnt buy the noodles because she couldnt find the brand.Because of that,she didnt by anything.I mean,she should know better that i am content with any kind of brand,it's just that one tastes better than the other,and anything is better than army crap.So i was kind of tipped off back there when she just went,"Oh,maybe i can go out again to buy it".I just kept asking her to not worry about it,and it is no big deal.But she insisted on going,and that kinda pissed me off.

I wonder why i kinda lost my temper back there.I didnt exactly show it,like yell at her or anything.I started tracing the roots of this anger thing,and discovered that it has got to do with this damn ulcer.You know how this sort of thing can potentially ruin the whole day for anyone.

This is retribution,i figured.Ive been singing too much and too often every weekend at home with my guitar.So the big guy up there decided that to shut me up,an ulcer would be a good tool to use.So right now everytime i attempt to do a say,Damien Rice song i would curse at the end of the song because it was just so damn painful.

Special thanks to Sloshblob here by the way.On a brighter note,i think she was either really bored online yesterday night,or really bored online yesterday night.Remember that song i posted here the other day?Well,like i said i didnt like the tune i had in my head at all.Happy tunes dont seem to go with me anytime,anywhere.I always sound like some bloody hippy,or a doped groupie when i write happier songs about anything.In fact,not just writing,but i dont exactly like happy-go-lucky songs either,save for a few rarities out there.Ruiyi says that i am a gloomy bastard all the time,because she is a clubber and enjoys shaking her booty to crazy hip-hop trash.But oh well,sue me for that i guess.You cant change the fact that sadder songs are always more thought provoking,most of the time.

Anyway,so she saw the lyrics and wrote a tune to it,played it,sang it,recorded it and sent it to me.She said she wanted me to sing it,and so i learnt that song i sent it back.Because i had this damn flu going on back then and that stupid ulcer i found it hard to sing it.It kinda fell flat,and i guess in a way it disappointed her and myself.But heck,i never took pride in singing or playing any more than my writing skills.So there you go,how an ulcer actually ruined the weekend for me.

I am going to name my ulcer,like i used to in JC.I used to name it Nirmala all the time,and everytime i touches something that sends a sharp pain through my mouth i would go "Fuck you,Nirmala".But i guess that name doesnt apply in my life's context right now.I wanted to use "SAF",but who in the right mind uses that kind of stupid name?Guess im gonna have to come up with something better.I thought of "Eddie",and that name sort of got stuck.So Eddie it is,and screw you Eddie.