In Continuum.

Distance

Distance is the reason she and me don't really talk no more
It's written on my ticket information on the freezer door
Me, I'm not sorry I got what came coming for me
It's only everything I wanted all my life.

Love was made to get us to stay in quite a closer region
I wish my love could stay around a little more.

Distance,
Distance,
Distance,
It's what it is,
It's what it is now...

Distance makes a woman want to hear 'I love you' more than once.
If I could find a word that feels remotely like the feeling is.
Me, I'm still lucky I will not succumb to all of this.
It made temptation buy the women all my life.

If love was me, you'd never stay in all the closest ranges.
You'd never find a love that's closest all the time.

Distance,
Distance,
Distance,
Distance...

It's why I leave before I make myself say goodbye again
Goodbye, goodbye again...

Distance makes a copy of my face she will bend inside her dreams.
Blood on all these clothes is from the telephonic surgeries.
Distance makes a man believe that loyalty is a thankless chore.
Loyalty's the reason I leave semen on my hotel floor, yeah.

Distance,
Distance,
Distance,
It's what it is,
It's what it is now...

Change

"...You're on an airplane, sleeping with your head against the window, your heart set on being home this time three hours from now. All of a sudden, something goes very wrong. The plane stops moving across the air and instead starts falling through it...

...You get that smell in the bridge of your nose like you've just been hit with a football. That's what the fear smells like. The plane is going down...

...Four more drastic drops in under a minute. People are crying. For all the folklore about how your life flashes before your eyes, you're remarkably fixed on one vision - your parents. They're sleeping at this very moment, in a bedroom so quiet they can hear the clock in the kitchen. And you can see them, clear as can be. You wish you could see a playground or a first kiss, but all you can see is your parents sleeping. Huh. Well, that's that...

...Several long minutes go by. Then, all at once, the lights come back on and the plane somehow rights itself. Some people cheer, but most people cry harder...

...Here's the question: what do you change? Whom do you call that you haven't spoken to in years? Whom do you realize has been toxic to your heart and drop with surprising ease? What trips do you cancel, and what trips do you book? What can't you be bothered with anymore? What's the new you like?

...Think about that, and then ask one more question. Why not just change it all right now?..."

--- John Mayer

Yes,John.I am working on it,too.

I dont even know if i am qualified enough to answer that question myself.Because in truth,i havent had such a life-changing experience before.I remember taking an UA flight to America once,and the plane plummeted a couple of thousand feet in under five seconds.Those were the longest five seconds in my life,and i am sad to say that i was too young at that time to have pondered over those questions of life and death.The concept was too vast and far away for me then perhaps,and right now i am sitting in front of my computer,trying to answer the questions you seem to be asking yourself.

But in truth,i cant.I cannot pretend that i've just had a life-changing experience,and attempt to answer those questions just because i want to have yet another deep,sophisticated blog entry i try to achieve with every post.I cannot,and like your own entry,you left those questions hanging,and telling the readers that you are working on the answers.

I am working on the answers as well,and i am not even certain if i am ever going to come up with something definite.However much i'd like to have that 'change' you mentioned,or if i am prepared to make those changes myself.A teacher of mine told me once,that "The only constance in life is change",and any sort of change is supposed to be for the better,even if it is for the worse,right?

Until the point,when my plane adjusts itself in mid air,when it is steady again,i might post again,addressed to you saying,"JohnI've got it." But not now,not just yet.But i am going to make it a point to change,close encounters with death or not.I can do without those,sure.But isnt it sad in way that we need such jolts,sudden rushes of adrenaline rushes to make us change,move our asses off our couches and do something about this thing we all have called life?That is under the assumption that people will do something about it,in oppose to living your life as usual and forgetting about the whole ordeal.

I think i have a couple of names in mine,to the question of who i am going to call afterwards,i think i have a couple of names in mind.Perhaps just one,who knows.And what cant i be bothered anymore?I have no idea either.Perhaps to dwell on the past,the way my mind has been nailed on the remnants of my pathetic past.That i am not going to be bothered anymore,but one thing is for sure:

That i dont need something like that to feel changed,to feel evolved.I believe that personally,i have changed so much now,in contrast to myself a year ago.But do i have to courage to say,that i am going to break away from the natural evolution process of life,and take charge of my pace of transformation?I have no idea,your last question stumped me in a way.I dont think i have the courage right now to do so,to change now,as in NOW.

Because change is a scary thing,once it is too sudden and too drastic.Like your life in that narrow 747,as it crashes towards the surface.Imagine the plane crashing to the ground,and you are gone.Knock on wood,but that was a very real possibility.But anyway,that is how fast a change can take place,in an instant.Everything is gone,and that is what i am saying.Sudden changes are undesirable,and in a way frightful.At least to me,anyway.

John,i have respected you as a musician,a comedian,a guitarist and a writer.But get this,there is something more to you i respect now,different from other fans all around the world: A mentor.And i greatly appreciate your non-physical presence in my life.Really.

Dictated Citizens

I was just thinking,at 430am this morning,how we humans are always evolving in terms of emotions.But unlike monkeys or Chimpanzees,though we all evolved from one species to another,emotions do not remain in one state for very long.Or rather,they do not stay that way forever,waiting to evolve into another form of emotion.But in truth,the evolution process of our emotions is easily wavered,and that it recesses backwards when blinded by the influence of your mind.

Yeah,it is quite a thought at 430am i must admit,but you must understand that half of the contents on this blog derived from the thoughts that bounces around my head right before i fall asleep,so forgive me for sounding a little irrational at times.

The truth is,that i think under circumstances,different situations,our minds react differently in terms of emotions.We make decisions that we wouldnt normally make,decisions deemed to be stupid and in some ways,outrageous.Here's the reason why i thought this way yesterday night.

In J1,back when i was in J1,i was head over heels for a girl in school.From my pespective right now,i have no idea why i was attracted to her.I mean,sure she is disgustingly cute,and possibly one of the nicest person i have ever met.But in terms of interests,likes and dislikes,we are poles apart.There wouldnt have been a difference between putting us in the same room,and putting us one on each side of the planet.Because really,we were radically different(She likes chinese music,for starters).

You see,but i liked her for reasons that i wasnt very sure of.And to justify that,i came up with reasons myself.I remember leaving a testimonial on Friendster so long ago,and she telling me that she doesnt see all the personality traits in herself.I thought she was just trying to be modest about it.But then,perhaps it was ME,making up reasons to like her,to make my stupidity justified.It was all make believe,my efforts to conjure up reasons to make myself less dumb,more rational,and have a reason to fall head over heels and still smile with a bleeding nose.

Coming back to the present,i was just wondering how our opinions on something can radically change,once you are out of the whirlpool of emotions and staring at the disaster from a safe distance,comfortably on a beach and drinking a cup of ice lemon tea.Your opinions can be drastically different,and that is how i felt yesterday night.

Whatever that i am feeling now might be right,might be in every single way,real.But isnt it possible that it is merely because of the situation,the circumstance that i am in right now,that is dictating my feelings?It is hard to tell,when you are under the influence of these emotional drugs,and you cannot think straight.I cannot tell you if a couple of months down the line i am going to wake up and be objective about everything.Because i can't,and i just have to believe that this is as good as it gets at times.I know,that it sucks to know that there is nothing more than this,but i guess to prevent myself from self-depreciating thoughts,to protect myself from being a victim of myself,i have to take such actions.

It is strange,how some,or all of our emotions could be merely make believes.That everything is merely a result of whatever that is happening around you.I ran through the rain more than three years ago,something deemed as dumb,in today's standards.My standards.But back then it felt so right,because for some unknown reason,all i wanted to do was to have the rain wash away my stupidity,my shame in a way.So all i am saying is,that perhaps we are all justifying our actions,even if they are in essence,wrong or not right.So the question really is to know,if your emotions are true,and which of those are merely the dictated citizens of a country under false influencial rule.

But how is that even possible,really?

Finding Osidius

Guilt.Even now,back at home,though still in the same clothes,with a strand of grass sticking out of my shirt,i still feel that way.I know,even right now as i am typing this word,we are talking over MSN,and you are telling me how it was time well spent,despite not having studied for the rest of the night.I still see the questions in that Economics books on the table,with the questions inside waiting for you to complete.But because i was there,they were left undone.What if a question pops out from there during the exams?I would be responsible,wouldnt i?The only reason i am going to be comforted,is if you ace your subjects for the upcoming tests.But for now,i shall swear to you...

I'm never going to accompany you on your studying sessions anymore.

I am too big a distraction,i really am.And the sad thing is,it's not even because i am in any way,attractive.All i did was to read a fantastic novel,drink White Chocolate Latte,fold a paper seagull,draw pointless drawings on your foolscape and talked about the rain in the Coffee Bean.I was such a distraction to myself,and i felt bad about it.So yes,promise to do well,yeah?Please,or it is going to eat me up from the inside.

It was nice,to wander off into the half empty bus stop,and to take a bus at random to a place we both knew nothing of.As the bus passed out of Kovan,we were totally oblivious to the destination of ourselves.The bus emptied slowly,leaving just us on the bus,and the driver himself.We were in Punggol i believe,though i am not sure.I remember the large empty fields the last time i went there,the new HDB buildings and the LRTs.The both of us were lost,lost together as the bus rumbled on.But it was nice,wasnt it?To take a random bus to a place unknown,getting off when we see a desired spot.Sure,the bus was coming to the interchange and i was dumb enough to press the bell,but you smiled then.And i didnt feel half as stupid anymore.

The only light came from the interchange,though the white lights werent enough to take over the darkness of the fields that surrounded it.The bridges overhead,the LRT tracks,were silent and haunting for some reason.We crashed through the bushes,felt the grass dry under our fingers.We wandered through the field into the middle of it all,the rest of the town in the distance,with their lights blinking like the distant stars above our heads.We were as far as possible to civilisation then,in the middle of nowhere,and we certainly felt that way.

I had the urge to lie down,and so we did.Facing the moon,with our bags under our heads,we looked up into the night sky and tried to spot stars.They were so faint and so little,so far away and cold.I wondered if they were still in existence,or if they were merely remnants of the past.The clouds hanging high in the sky next to the moon,forming a shape of a falling made,falling into the sky.That you pointed out,aside from the Batman sign i still dont know what you were talking about.But as you leaned towards me,your hair fell on my face.I breathed,and it was nice.You dont smell like grass,i am so sorry i commented about that.You smelled like...i dont even know what to say about it.It was nice,for the lack of a better word.You were nice.

'Show me the constellations you know.'
'Oh.Erm,i dont know any.'
'Show me which ones you know!'
'Okay,okay.Oh!There's Osidius.'
'Where?'
'Right there,see?Sort of a swoop and a cross.Osidius the Emphatic.'
'You're full of shit,right?'
'Nope.Osidius,right there.Swoop and cross.'
'Shut the fuck up!'

We didnt notice the time passing so fast.We laid there for a little more than an hour.The grass stuck into our backs,and the mosquitoes attacked.We were barefooted,with our eyes to the stars.I spotted a shooting star,but you didnt.You've never seen one before,too bad you didnt catch it shooting off right into the horizon.I found my weak spot,you really did.I am vulnerable,just as you,to poking.We wrestled on the grass,and you told a bad joke.It wasnt a BAD joke,just a bad joke,and because of that,another round of poking.Thanks,i am going to be armoured the next time.

As your wrist watch ticked down past 1130pm,you uttered under your breath that you had to go.We had our eyes closed,the grass between our faces.Your hands felt cold,and i held on to keep you warm.We heard the ticking,but i wished it would stop doing so.It felt so infinite,like the darkest night skies.Too tired to move,unwilling to leave.We pushed on five minutes by five minutes,always promising to leave,and at the same time asking each other what would happen if we just stayed there.The security guards might chase us away,the ghost might scare us off,or even the mosquitoes might suck us dry.But if i died then,if i died that night,i wouldnt have cared.Because you were wonderful tonight.

I shielded your eyes to the lights all around,to make you feel as if you are in the middle of a desert.Picturing yourself in the middle of nowhere,with the nearest civilisation miles away.And i bet,if somebody were to take flight,and take a look over the dark city at the moment,two curious figures would be in the middle of a dark field.And as strange as that image might seem,it was peaceful,and it was nice.It was beautiful,and that was how it was like,careless about the world,when ignorance was such a wonderful bliss.

There were things,that went through my head,when you slept so close to me tonight.I couldnt put them into words,and didnt know how.I wanted to say whatever it was that was on my mind,but like everything else that might happen if you stayed out too late,it didnt matter.I opened my eyes while yours remained closed.It was strange,to be right there and then,at the same time,so far away.To be this,and more than this at the same time.Perhaps,it is as good as it gets.To know that this is it,and there is only the fall to the rocks below after the cliff,no further towards the beautiful sunset beyond.Perhaps,but as you closed your eyes,your breaths slowing down gradually,as your watch ticked and you murmured something inaudible,i said it.You didnt hear it,but i said it anyway.I didnt want you to hear it,perhaps not to spoil the night.The grass,the coffee,the rain,the bus ride,everything.So i mouthed,and in my head,i was the only person who knows what i said.

I said.

This.

Save Tonight

Purple top and dark blue jeans,
Sitting there alone in the Coffee Bean.
Wondering about the numbers and their meanings,
Your sanity failing,breaking at the seams.

Then it started to pour,
Like it never did before.
The sound of rain coming through the door,
I listened and smiled, secretly prayed for more.

In the dark Japanese restaurant,
We talked till the other customers were gone.
My favourite smell tonight?I am torn,
Between your hair and the prawn.

We took a random bus,136
Not knowing where we will arrive next
We got off at the interchange just for kicks
Ran around on the grassy field,as your wrist watch ticked.

As the suicidal man fell from the sky,
And the shooting star went shooting by,
We laid next to each other side by side,
Convinced that nothing mattered,everything's going to be fine.

Five more minutes,just five more minutes.
But those five minutes soon turned to ten minutes
Tonight i almost felt that time was infinite
Your hair or the prawn?Your hair,most definite.

The army of mosquitoes attacked,
While we laid there,grass sticking into our backs
It was nearly midnight,you had to go back
As much as an actor i am,i know for a fact

That though i had a mouthful of grass tonight
There were moments that felt so right
No regrets,even if i just died
Because girl,you were wonderful tonight.

Adventures In The Deep Night

They love me like I was a brother
They protect me, listen to me
They dug me my very own garden
Gave me sunshine, made me happy

I wrote a card to a friend of mine.I wrote a card at nearly 4am yesterday.There was a buzz coming from the neon tube,the blue-white light of the lamp pouring out from under the plastic cover,lighting up the table.The marker was a little thick,but it's not like it made a difference.The buzzing was distracting,and so was the sound of the fan right next to me.I turned them off and silence prevailed.So started the adventures in the deep night.

I had my left ear on the surface of the table again.I remember doing those when i was a kid,in the middle of the night and watching the streetlights from far away.I used to hear the sounds of hard thuds coming from inside the table.Now that i think about it,they were probably the neighbours from upstairs or downstairs,and you know how vibrations can travel.But there i was,i remember,imagining little workers inside my drawers,toiling away in the middle of night,building...well,something.And there i was again,with my head on the table.I dont know why i did it,but i just did.Like the books i bought today,everything is impulsive nowadays.

Nice dream.
Nice dream.
Nice dream.

My Coldplay book is a little bent.Shit.The bottom right corner succumbed to gravity,bending just so slightly outwards.I took it out of the shelves,and from under the book,a plastic sheet came sailing through the air.Yeah,great.Your bloody picture.Of me.

I can see the eraser marks.How deep your pencils went.I cant smell the lead anymore,but rather the scent of the paper.Dated 181004,though it shouldve been 181005.You signature looks like Sara Lu,and my hands are out of shape.I never really looked closely at the picture before,never paid too much attention.Because a year ago,one week after i recieved this,i tucked it away.You tucked me away,by getting attached.And now,broken up and reattached,i am still tucked away.Like the picture,under my Coldplay book,gathering dust and the likes of them.I can see the eraser marks,the eraser marks.I can see your hand,with the pale white wrists,running over the surface with each pencil stroke.I can see it,that special way i remember,of you holding them.

I call up my friend, the good angel
But she's out with her answer phone
She says she would love to come help but
The sea would electrocute us all

I went to bed afterwards,talking to myself.I felt the blanket between my legs,the soft pressure of it upon my chest,and the sensation of it brushing against my cheeks.I hugged my blanket,instead of being covered by it,just staring into the darkness.A certain ritual,for me,before i go to sleep.Just part of the adventures in the deep night.And i wondered,and i wondered,and i wondered.

I dreamed of myself coming home from town.The front door opened,and the house was dark.I took off my shoes,and felt something was wrong.The silence,the absence of somebody.My mother,i thought.I couldnt feel her.

I dashed to my room,and next to the table was a figure on the floor.It was her,my mother,in a puddle of blood.She was facing down in the red puddle,but her white shirt wasnt stained,nor was her face.They were dry,and in my arms she felt limp.I shook her hard and called out to her,and gradually she opened her eyes.

But when she did so,she transformed.It wasnt her,but there i was in my own arms,in a puddle of blood.My blood,drenching my clothes and my hair,lifeless and dead.I released myself,and i crashed back into the puddle,lifeless and blank.I stumbled backwards,arms supporting the fall.I screamed,i really did.And i woke up,startled,terrified,at 5am...

If you think that you're strong enough
If you think you belong enough
If you think that you're strong enough
If you think you belong enough

Nice dream,nice dream...
Nice dream,nice dream...

Fake Plastic Trees

The green plastic watering can
For her fake chinese rubber plant
In the fake plastic earth

That she bought from arubber man
In a town full of rubber plans
To get rid of itself

It wears her out,
It wears her out...
It wears her out,
It wears her out...

She lives with the broken man
A cracked polysterene man
Who just crumbles and burns

He used to do surgery
For girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins

And It wears him out,
It wears him out...
It wears him out,
It wears...

She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love

But i can't help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If i just turn and run

And it wears me out,
It wears me out...
It wears me out,
It wears me out...

If i could be who you wanted
If i could be who you wanted
All the time...
All the time...

Lion In The Storeroom

There is a lion in my storeroom.There really is.He lurks in the dark,amongst other animals like gorillas and bears,but it never makes a sound.It's eyes staring into emptiness,emotionless and so rid of any form of menace.It sits quietly only in the back of the room,and once in a while,pays a visit into my mind or two.I remember the touch of its mane,the rough sensation at the tip of my fingers,and as i ruffled my face through them,smelling the fur and the hair.I remember shaking hands with it,and commanding it to run down the blue-coloured fields towards the ranks of other animals in battle.It was my favourite lion,i loved that lion.

It mustve been the damn function of Friendster that provoked me to do it.I must say,and state here,that it was never my original intention to visit your profile once again.But i did it anyway,and it only confirmed what i already guessed and know a couple of entries before.Because there you are,there the both of you are,all smiles in the sun,with arms around one another and your right arm disappearing into the edge of the photograph.It was not envy that ticked me off,nor was it the fact that the guy looked like a dork.But really,it was the caption that made me close the window afterwards,pick a loud song from my playlist,and blast it till the rest of the neighbourhood heard it.

Three words,just those three words,and they made me think about how unfair people can be to one another,how unfair you can be to a person like me.No,i'm not great,i'm not perfect.I wasnt the perfect man for you,and i know i have to deal with that.But you didnt have to say that,tease with those cheeky words of yours,the ones you chose as terms of endearment.Did you really mean those,or do you just pluck that caption under every guy that comes along in your life who means something,one way or another?

The last boyfriend you had,the man that got me out of business by shoving me off the stage.I guess my magic trick wasnt good enough for you,to inspire and to put you in awe.You've probably seen those a dozen times before,and applauded at the end for the sake of it,because you were too nice to show your dissatisfaction.That's the problem with being nice,isnt it?That's the problem when you want to protect somebody from the brutal truth,when all you are doing is to stab him with your lousy lies.It's sick,what you did to me.It's sick,and all you said were three words.Those three words,changed everything.

My mother bought the lion from Hong Kong.I remember the day when i first saw it and hugged it.It felt soft,and furry,and it was my favourite toy back then.It protected me in the night,next to my pillow as i prayed for my protection from the strange,eerie noises coming from the kitchen.I prayed,because i knew that the lion,being the king of the jungle,would protect me from any creature that decides to storm in through the bedroom door.I believed,truly,that despite the fact that i had my gorilla and bears with me,the lion was the one who is going to protect me in times of need - under the blanket and trembling with fear.

SK was your favourite boy,and so was i.Your favourite dancing baby,that's what you used to call me.Because you said that i stare blankly into nothingness for too much,and the picture of me you drew as a baby,staring at a plastic toy train set translated exactly that.I called it a 'dance',saying that it was an abstract dance,something she wouldnt understand.Which was where the name came from,'My Favourite Dancing Baby'.Wasnt i?Am i...still?

Perhaps not.Because every boy is a 'Favourite Something',and you just pluck a name to the front of it,alongside a comma.You draw a picture for your favourite dancing baby back then,and you let your hair down for your favourite boy now.I've always wanted to see your hair down,i asked you to.But you didnt,did you?

Did you?

But i grew up,and other animals and men populated the dusty area under my bed.I had boxes of them back then,and i remember the lion still sitting at the edge of my bed,as i commanded other armies of men down the carpet towards one another.I prayed to different animals at night,and sometimes even God.I turned my source of courage and salvation to somebody,or something else then as i grew,because i knew that no matter how much i tried to convince,or decieve myself,i am never going to get rid of the demons inside of me,even if the lion is the king of the jungle.The fact was,that i outgrew myself,outgrew the lion,and as the years went by,he gradually retreated into the shadows of the storeroom.

It was my favourite toy,no more.

I remember a day when i was clearing the storeroom with my mother,i found the box with "Soft Toys" scribbled at the side,with thick green marker and in bold.I opened the dusty covers of the box,and there it was,the old lion all the way from Hong Kong.I showed it to my mother,and she smiled.She told me how much i adored the toy lion,how i carried it everywhere i went.She told me how much i loved it over the other toys,under toy cars and Lego came into my life.I left the lion,along with my gorillas and bears in the box,sealed it with tape and left it in the storeroom long ago.Once upon a time,it was my favourite.Sure it was.But there is nothing i can say or do now,to justify how i dropped off that list of "Favourites",how new attractions took over old loves,and pushed them into the darkness of a sealed box.

It's plastic eyes stared back at me,dust balls formed in its mane.The thread that made up its mouth curled downwards,its supposed eyebrows growing down towards its cheeks.It looked depressed,sad,and most of all,abandoned.'Wasnt i your favourite toy?',it seemed to be asking me.'Wasnt i?'

Wasn't I?

Blackcurrent Jellyfish

The very last of all exercises,like the fullstop at the end of every sentence,such as this one.That was what my superiors promised us,the night before the Watermanship exercise down at the Seletar Wet Gap.It sounds like some elementary swimming lessons,but it actually involves a whole bunch of people pulling a rope across a river,and the lot of us crossing the water obstacle by pulling ourselves over the suspanded rope.It might sound like fun now,but the main issue i had was the wetness.I hate to be wet especially when i am in my uniform,and my boots on.And it's not like i had a choice of taking them off or anything.

Army boys have thresholds when it comes to crossing water bodies.Anything below the ankle is fine,just as long as the socks are not wet.Once that threshold is crossed,we go on to the next one: Underwear.As long as THAT is not wet,everything is still fine and dandy.But of course,during an exercise like that,it is impossible for you to keep your underwear wet.Which was why there were moans and groans,when we submerged ourselves in the dirty river water infested with jellyfishes,testing out our life vests.I remember myself cursing under my breath the moment the water rushed into the boots,making squashy sounds as i took heavy steps towards the training shed afterwards.It was dreadful,and what made it worse was the smell of the water and the fact that it was infested with jellyfishes.

However,despite all the vomit-inducing stuff i mentioned above,the exercise turned out to be rather pleasant.Perhaps it was because it was the fullstop of my NS life,or because swimming is a hidden passion of mine despite my hydrophobic nature,but all and all it didnt turn out as bad as i thought it would be.Screw the wet boots and underwear,i had a blast pulling myself through the water,with a carabina attached to the main rope,and pulling my full load down the river towards the other shore.It was fun in a sadistic way,at the very end of the day when we had to carry the massive lifeboats back to the shed,and get them washed up.The boys carried them,and even with nearly twenty people to one boat,it was heavy as hell.Because really,they were metal and they were full of mud.But we heaved and heaved,marching towards the shed while chanting to our favourite letters of ABC,"ORD!ORD!ORD",we managed to get it to the nearest hose and back onto the racks.We were the serenaded by water hoses,and then the cheering of each other resonating around the empty camp deep into the night.

Between each 'dive' we had a lot of breaks,and because we had empty Blackcurrent syrup bottles,Stanley and gang went down to the river to catch some jellyfishes.There were bottles and bottles of those,pale white and pink jellyfishes floating around like bubbles in the water,and along with those classes of crabs and fishes,and even squids!They changed colours too,as they touched the rock and the side of the bottle,which was an eye-opener truly.It reminded me of the old primary school days when i used to catch insects at the back of the school with bottles as well,and the spiders with cassette tape covers.It was great fun,and there we were admiring those jellyfishes,drinking the water in a bottle,which used to contain Blackcurrent syrup.No wonder the jelyfishes got a little drunk,and their tenticles actually got tangled at one point.Jonathan treatened to put them in the ice box to make ice jelly,while Perry wanted to roast the crab with a lighter for black pepper crab.Poor animals,with their lives hanging by the fingertips of such wretched humans!


Watching the jellyfishes were fascinating.I remember when i was in Secondary school,and we were forced to take kayaking lessons in the Sembawang SeaSports Centre.They had schools of jellyfishes off the beaches,and we used to scoop them up with our oars in the middle of the sea.There were green ones,blue ones,red ones,and the pink ones,and they all looked like overturned brocolli to me,which was cute.But the ones floating around in the bottles were more like bubbles;Bubbles with legs.They floated around the bottle,crashing into each other and bouncing off one another,and gathering at the top,almost as if they were gasping for air.

So the jellyfishes reminded me of me,the people in the training shed,the people i know online and off,everybody in this world,with the bottle of Blackcurrent the universe.I know,it is QUITE something,to think about when you are merely staring at a bottle of floating jellyfishes,but i guess their beauty and elegance attracted,and in a way enchanted me.

We are all like jellyfishes,arent we?Crashing into each other and then bouncing off one another in the course of life.You meet somebody you like,your limbs get tangled.But once in a while,if you are lucky enough,you separate from that fateful partner and you are once again,all alone in the current of life,just wandering on the edges of the bottle,gasping for breath at the surface,as life puts its hands around your neck,suffocating you slowly.

Of course,we humans are not nearly as blind,as ignorant,as aimless as those jellyfishes.After all,we dont have mushroom like heads,with nothing inside them like the jellyfishes.We have brains,emotions,conscience,and so much more that differentiates us from those animals.But in essence,arent we all the same,in such miraculous and little way?

But it's strange,the way they were in that bottle,crammed together.At least their water - or life - tasted like Blackcurrent syrup.The water that we dwell in - the life - doesnt taste half as good as that.In fact,it probably tastes like some bad cough syrup they issue to you from cheap clinics.The truth is,perhaps being ignorant,aimless and blind,is a bliss afterall.Because really,you'd want to be like jellyfishes,if you intend to crash into one another as randomly and as blindly as them.

Eight Eighty Eight

Dollars.That's about 180 meals for African kids,about 1200 copies of New Paper,160 cups of Ice-Blended Mocha,45 paperback novels,watching a Coldplay concert from the best possible seat 5 times over,the air ticket to Taiwan on a SQ flight,with extra change for a crazy shopping spree at the DFS,a brand new Nokia N-Series phone with no contracts,almost two iPod Videos,and a hell lot of money.

That's the atrocity that Korean singer Rain has done,by charging his bloody concert tickets at a whooping $888.Of course,that is the most expensive ticket in the place,but it's not justifying anything.A sidenote on things,that bastard broke all possible records,of all the concerts EVER held in Singapore,by charing the highest price for the tickets.Even The Eagles and Rolling Stones charged at a mere $500,and you have to consider the fact that The Eagles were on their final tour around the world.They are,after all,the Hotel-California Eagles!Not some stripping Korean crackpot,singing some second-rate R&B song and calling himself the king of asian music industry.I say spit on that motherfucker,who thinks that he is great because he has six packs and chest muscles to rival the cup sizes of half the women on this planet.

I remember almost a year ago,when i was in Taiwan and he went there for the first time.That was when i first heard about him,and he was all over the news with his shades at the airport and ignoring the press.I've never seen him before,and my first impression of him was "Just another Singer with Shades".I remember my uncle watching the news as well,and when they showed his past concert footages with his shades off,he instantly went,"He looks like THAT?Yikes,put the shades back".

Sure,he has a great sweaty body for dumb female fans to drool over.But lets' face it,his songs are BLAH at best.Nothing is adventurous,nothing is a breakthrough.He strips because sex sells,and he loves to have a million eyes on his tits all at once,because it makes him feel good about himself.But how long is such an act going to last?When in ten years' time,nobody is going to want to see you loose skin and old body,nobody is going to pay $888 for a concert where you strip in,and nobody is going to want to see you ever again,because you are merely...this.

I cant say that i have went to a lot of concerts.But from the ones that i've been to,and the concert footages i have seen online,my favourite singers are always the ones with the most simple setups,wardrobes,with no gimmicky bullshit during their concerts,but just pure talent and passion.I went to Coldplay's concert this July,and they didnt even change a single wardrobe throughout the show.They came onto stage,picked up their instruments,played a awe inspiring concert,thanked the audience and left.John Mayer likes to wear a t-shirt for his concerts,a pair of jeans and shoes,with just his six-string as he rips a killer riff on stage,throughout a two hour set.Other artists prefer to play in front of small crowds,with a band and him or herself on the piano or guitar,simple and elegant.They dont strip on stage,they dont have a dozen different wigs and costumes,they dont dangle from the high roofs or cheesy dance moves.Why?Because they have TALENTS,they dont need anything else to sell concert tickets.

Let's face it,y'all Korean music idio...i mean,fanatics out there,Rain is an over-rated little prick.We are going to see a lot of skin,and a lot of sweat this coming concert as he descents to Singapore,but all i want is a simple private concert in some cafe or bar,with a guitar played by John Mayer and the rest of his band.Because Rain,like 90% of all Asian Musical 'Talents',have none of those but just a face to sell their records.

$888.Pfft.

My Anatomy

My recent addiction for photography has clearly taken over the better half of me.But it's not like i am complaining about it,because as i stare through the images that i took,capturing that instant second of my mood,i see myself in every one of those pictures - myself dissected,in a way - And it feels good to see myself this way,inside out and black and white.

It was a little before 10am,before my lonesome duty started on Tuesday morning while everybody was happily enjoying themselves at home.But i didnt complain,because i had the whole bunk to myself,save for Justin who slept the hours away quietly.I enjoyed the private moments i had,talking to myself even,alone in the bunks and along the corridors.It felt great,especially so when the rain started to fall,as i walked towards the vehicle shed for the duty.

I had the handphone in my hands then,and i had an idea in mind,though however crazy.I wanted to capture my mood with whatever i see then,and then make it into a little video to post it on Youtube.But before that happens,i took my handphone and went around snapping photographs around the camp.Dont worry,i'm sure i did not take anything confidential.Surprisingly,i found some of them disturbingly reflective of my moods on that raining Tuesday morning,the way it was talking to me almost,through the subtle shades of black and white.


If you slice me up with a knife,and you dig my guts out with your barehands.You are not going to find twisted intestines or a bloody heart still warm from the life before.You are going to find your hands covered in black and white paint,and barbwire around my heart,with a padlock in my brain.Because i think that is how i am now,my anatomy,if you were to slice me up into pieces.Here are a series of pictures i took with my camera to reflect myself,particularly my mood,and how they materialized with the things i found around camp,inspiring and worthy of remembrance.Check them out:

The Old German

We crossed through farmlands,via narrow one way roads lined with concretes posts,with electrical cables dangling lazily in between.The farmlands stretched for miles and miles all around,with buildings and warehouses dotting the horizon like minute Lego cubes.It was a hazy day,i remember,and my uncle was at the wheel of his old Ford,missing the edge of the narrow road by mere inches,threatening to plunge the rest of the passengers off into the deep canal that ran along the edge of the farms.There i was in the front seat,eager with anticipation.A part of me was doubtful,for my uncle is a tricksy person,despite being halfway through his 50s.But he was serious that morning,when he told me about the Old German,still living somewhere in one of those mini-Lego bricks.I was anticipating,still anticipating the sight of the Old German,the one i truly loved.

'Here we are',my uncle declared as the Ford slowed down to a stop.The front passenger mirror slid downwards into the door,the cold winter air rushed into the car.But amidst the familiar smell of winter Taiwan,was the smell of oil and distant trash,mingled with those,a tad bit of the smell of grass and haze.We were before a large old warehouse,and sounds of industrial works came out from there,though i clearly remember it was a Saturday afternoon.The sound of metal hitting against one another,and then the wind blowing through the window of the car was distracting,as i looked desperately for the old german.

Then,he appeared.From the corner of the warehouse,wearily and slowly,he emerged from behind a pile of broken parapets.He looked the same,though as tired as ever,and his brown eyes still looked proud,though tired and old.Still,i was doubtful of him being the old german,still staring at it doubtfully from the safety of the car.I called out his name,and it responded as usual,as if the last time i did so was only yesterday.He came to the car,and stopped right under my window.It looked up and sniffed the familiar scent,and there i was with my fingers on the edge of the door,wanting to grab the old german and take him back forever.


The sight of the four wild puppies in my camp reminded me of that old memory of mine.For some reason,the dogs in my camp decided to be horny one fine night,and delivered to the boys four puppies of different shapes and shades.There's Blacky,the one which looked like it had soy sauce spilled all over.There's Snort,whose nose is constantly black,and the other is Muddy,the plain brown dog i called "New Recruit" a couple of entries back.There is another one,though i have yet to name him,but i'm sure that will come soon,no worries.

Blacky and Muddy were tumbling around on the grassy field this week,as i crossed the sandy tracks towards my company line.It was drizzling just a bit,and i was busying myself with the moving of my legs,and the dodging of the raindrops.But i stopped in my tracks,admiring the way Blacky and Muddy wrestled each other playfully on the field,biting at each other and pawing the faces of one another.I was reminded of how much i loved dogs,but never had the chance to have one,since i live in a condominium,and it's not exactly the best place to have dogs.

I lived in a house on a hill in Taiwan when i was young.It had a big field of grass right before the front door,and i dont even know when it was,when my uncle brought home a small German Sheperd.He said that it was the champion of some dog model compeition,and because of that the price tag for him was rather pricey.But because we needed a guard dog and the German Sheperd looked threatening enough,my uncle bought it,despite it being a puppy when he did so.

We grew up together,the german sheperd and I.We called it DuDu,and i still have a picture of young DuDu sniffing my ass.I desired to ride horses so much,that my uncle actually attempted to fulfill my wish my riding me on DuDu once when i was about four or five.But DuDu was smart enough to dash off from under my butt,leaving me an aching ass and a pair of torn shorts.My family still laugh at me over the incident,but it is this kind of memories that stay with you,isnt it?

DuDu was a wild and happy dog,despite all the bad habits and troubles it brought to the family.My aunt hates mess,and because DuDu ran around in the open field,it had fleas crawling all over the house at one point.My aunt had to kill them with her slippers,staining to bottom of it with dried blood sucked from the dog.With that same bloody slippers,she slapped the dog on the mouth a million times as a warning,and i think to DuDu,my aunt is the only human in his life,which he was going to run away from with his tail between his legs,and not feel ashamed of it.She was the enemy of all dogs,even the dog she has now,and the same weapon of choice: Slippers.

Anyway,DuDu had some atrocious habits.Despite the old dog house my uncle built for it at the side of the warehouse behind our house,he ran everywhere and slept anywhere BUT the house.Of course,not even it's private businesses.The front pavement would be so badly littered with his droppings that any car driving into the driveway would have the manueuver around those little hills of repugnent matter.My mother called them "Gold",or "Bombs",and heard my aunt's slapping of the dog's mouth at the back of the house.

I remember those innocent days,as i sat on the shelves,looking through the dust stained window of my house,at the dog in the field,making mud tracks after running repeatedly over them too many times.Other than my aunt,his greatest enemy was his own tail,and he would chase after it hours on end,always an inch or two too far away from the tail.It was hilarious then,and i remember flipping through an encyclopedia,looking up the breed of DuDu.

It was a German Sheperd,with the picture of it looking proud and stern in the book.But it was nothing like DuDu,dumping crap all over the place,and attacking us poor humans trying to bath it with bubbles and soap water.It was the worst-mannered dog in my entire life,but the sight of it chasing its tail remained in my mind.I've always had a mental image of Germans afterwards,relating them to DuDu's dumb tail-chasing adventure every afternoon.Especially after my mother first educated me on WW2,and what the Germans did to the Jews,i especially hated them,and regarded them as a breed of humans who would crap on their driveways and chase their tails in the frontyard,aimless and dumb.

Years past,and there i was with my fingers at the edge of the door.DuDu,the old german,looked up at me with its almost teary eyes.It looked old,and it felt old.He wasnt the same old dog,chasing its own tail anymore,with such life and such vitality.It now sleeps behind a pile of broken parapets,alone next to a warehouse my uncle sold it to as a guard dog.To think that,because of our selfish decision to leave Taiwan for Singapore so many years ago,caused DuDu to be abandoned and left to the owners of a warehouse,exposed to the harsh environments of human life without a grassy field for him to chase his tail,pained me,as the window came back up and my fingers still clinging desperately to the top,unwilling to let go.

I watched,as DuDu's shadow disappeared into the rearview mirror.It remained on the road for a while,and turn around back into the pile of broken parapets.I wonder if it remembered me,if my calling of his name made any dog sense.They say that dogs remember their owners by their smell,and i wonder if i smelt any different back then,or the sound of me calling him from the car was deeper from the voice of the boy from behind the window,laughing at its old stupidity.I wonder,if it still remembered me,because i remember him so well even till this day.

He is probably dead now,the old german.It mustve died behind the factory,or somewhere in the middle of a farm.Or ran over by a truck,who knows the fate of my favourite german?But one thing is for sure,that the old german is going to live in my heart,till the day i join him somewhere,behind a fixed pile of parapet,and on a grassy field where he can chase his tail forever,and i under a tree,admiring,smiling.

The Great Temptation of Hiatus

There is a man,a man with messy hair that Tuesday morning,just waking up in bed to a dark and cloudy morning.This man was in singlet,he paced around the room and stared out of the room's window,welcoming the rain clouds in the distance and the seconds ticking off the clock,knowing that for the next 24 hours,the world within the compound of the camp would belong to him,and him only.

He lazed in bed for the morning,reading and sleeping the hours away.He breaked for lunch,and afterwards he continued doing so for the rest of the day,until he got tired of sleeping.His mind was blank throughout the process,dreaming of dark nights and the end of the world.His mind wandered,and his waking hours were dominated by the stare of his tired eyes in the mirror.He had no self,and he had no real conscience.He was there,and not there at all,at the same time.He was hardly ever there,and his name is Hiatus.

It's hard to break away from peer pressure.Especially after seeing so many friends(My Brain Food!!!),deciding to go on hiatus on their blogs,it was hard for me to go on on my own,knowing that everybody else is comfortable with where they are and what they are doing.It's frightful to be on a certain journey on your own,not really hating the place you are but,not exactly over-your-heels about it too.It was first Valerie,then Samantha for a while(And happens once in a while too),then Corinna,who resumed only a couple of days ago.What i am saying is,because of the numerous people around me going into hiatus on their blogs,it was tempting of me to jump right into the warm pool of mind emptiness.I struggled with that thought for a long time,and coming up with various reasons to convince myself that there is still hope in my blog,that despite the recent pointless entries,there is still a light at the end of this tunnel.

But that Tuesday morning,while in bed alone in the whole company line,with the rain pouring down outside the room,i realised just how beautiful it can be.With the blanket between my legs and the pillow under my head,the spinning fan above my head and the bedsheet fluttering at the corners of the bed,it felt great to just have my mind shut off completely,and to be careless and reckless about my thoughts.It felt great,to be ignorant of the world once in a while,because ignorant after all,is bliss.

The best ending to a great saga would be a bang.You wouldnt want to wait till the storyline is going downhill to start stepping off the stage.You want the audience to remember you for you last,brilliant act.You want to be remembered that way till eternity,till the day you decide to return to the glorious stage.But till then,before everything spirals out of control down the whirlpool of disaster,you make your way out of the pool and onto dry land,because it feels safe and comfortable here.

But i was wrong,so utterly wrong.I WAS in a dilemma then,struggling and arguing with myself,the part of myself called Hiatus.Hiatus was threatening to my inner soul,bleeding me with his sharpened knife and snarling at me with his teeth and yellow eyes.He was the materialization of the void in one's mind,the dryspell all writers are afraid of.And his best weapon,is to convince the writer that he is right,that it is okay to be in bed in the middle of a beautiful morning,feeling nothing and uninspired.

So i murdered Hiatus,one morning with something called Conscience.I dont know how,and i dont know why.But one night halfway through a dreadful insomnia,a lightning struck,and there i was with myself alone in my mind,free of Hiatus' presence and all on my own once again.It doesnt matter anymore,if i exit with a bang,or with a puff of floating dust.The point is,that this is my life i am documenting with every word,and every word is a presentation of my thoughts.I dont want,and dont expect myself to stop thinking,because that is what makes me unique,makes me special.

So here i am,on the brink of yet another start of a new journey ahead,free from the great temptation of Hiatus.I have decided to continue on,soldier on into the gathering dark.Sure,we dont know what lies ahead of us,if there will be yet another menacing individual like Hiatus,lurking in the dark corners of my mind just waiting for me to come by.But one thing's for sure: That if i take this path,the path that life decides to lead me,with my brain still intact and eyes still opened,i shall not fear.

Because I Like To

I like it now.

My window is opened,the smell is haze is coming back.I know i am allergic to the smell of the haze,sneezing my nose off everytime i open the window.I cant see the HDBs in the distance again,and that is always a good sign.I feel dreamy again,or is it the haze drifting through my nostrils and intoxicating my brain?

I like to turn off the lights in my room,leaving the yellow bedside lamp on.Then take Josephine out from the case and start playing some sad songs on it in the middle of the night.I cannot stop playing See You Soon by Coldplay,and Fake Plastic Trees by Radiohead.Such vulerable and depressing songs,best fit on a night like this.

My fingers are aching now,and i dont really care.I find my mind slowly drifting into a state of hiatus.As much as i love life like that,just picking up a guitar and play all through the night,talking on the phone with a wonderful conversationist till 6am in the morning,waking up at 1230nn,with my mother staring at me in disbelief;I cant help but wonder how it dulls my senses,how the blog goes on a standstill on days like that,on lazy-hazy days.

Perhaps one day,just perhaps,i might post an entry that says "Hiatus",like my good friend Corinna and say that i am taking a break from life,life being the toxic fume that suffocates us all sometimes.My life is like a random chord progression right now.Just the basic chords,one after another,playing long and slowly into the night.The player doesnt know where the song is heading,nor does he know when it is going to end.His mind is blank,and his fingers are moving to their own accord.I am drifting,borne by the waves,willingly into the dark.

But i like it like that.

I like it like that.

Exit Music (For a Film)

Wake from your sleep
The drying of your tears
Today we escape
We escape...

Pack and get dressed
Before your father hears us
Before all hell
Breaks loose...

Breathe,
Keep breathing
Don't lose your nerve
Breathe,
Keep breathing
I can't do this alone...

Sing us a song
A song to keep us warm
There's such a chill,
Such a chill...

You can laugh
A spineless laugh
We hope your rules and wisdom choke you

Now we are one in everlasting peace

We hope that you choke, that you choke...
We hope that you choke, that you choke...
We hope that you choke, that you choke...

Collection of Loneliness

Here is the Collection of Loneliness.

I was surfing through a series of video blogs a couple of nights ago when i came upon a girl who calls herself mschristina.I dont usually fall for random and lame video blogs,but for some reason,every minute of her average 8 minutes video blog is hilarious.Perhaps she might just be another lonelygirl.You know,the one who faked her life,and revealed her true identity only a couple of weeks ago?Well,she might very well be another her,but at least mschristina is downright funny and real,and she likes John Mayer.A lot.

Anyway,checked out this video under her "Favourites" list,and i found it inspiring and sad,in a very strange way.It's not a fancy video with inspiring words,or particularly beautiful and sophisticated shots.It's merely a video compilation of different video blogs done by people all around the world.People talk about anything from what they have done for the past few days,to their dogs licking their feet,to having nothing to say at all,and kids singing birthday songs to somebody out there.You see people all over the world,wanting to express themselves somehow,and sometimes the only avaliable source is to tell it to a webcam.

Isnt that sad?To conifde to something that resembles merely the eyeball of a human?Something so dead and one dimensional,i think it is really sad,to have somebody out there,talking to a camera because there is no one else in the world whom they can talk to.Despite the meaningless conversations these people tend to have,bitchings and complains,i found that as a whole,the video was a masterpiece.The collection of loneliness,is what i'd like to call it.I thought it was beautiful in a melancholic way.And of course,the music in the background adds to the overall depressing mood of the video.


Picture yourself in a room,in a dark room.There is a soft music playing in the background,and there is a group of about ten people sitting in this dark room,on nice comfortable sofas.This is a gathering of the lonely,and you are there because you just want to be around people.You are just tired of being alone all the time,and even if it means to be just next to somebody,who shares the same predicament,you feel so much better about yourself.But is a group of lonely people,in any way,better than being alone yourself?I dont know.I think loneliness is contagious,and that being in a room for of depressed people will only make you feel that way,or worse.

There will always be this invisible wall between everybody.That column of air,the impenetrable fortress,the towering loneliness.We all climb the same walls,trying to get to the other side,to see how it is like have people around you,who cares about you.But the wall feels so cold,and there is nowhere to put your fingers into.Your shoes are slipping off the surface,and you can never get to the top of the wall,despite the glow from the other side,and the sound of an energetic crowd.

You cant help but feel helpless sometimes,that you are on this side while everybody else is on the other.Did you choose to be this way?Or were you left out of everything else that goes on?Is it our faults to feel lonely all the time?Or are we just alone?Is there is difference?Is it significant?Or are they very much the same?Why do we all stare at the one-eyed creature next to our monitors and spill our guts?What happened to our friends?What happened to our friends?

Arent we all living lives,that are collections of such moments?When we are sitting in front of the computer in the middle of the night,and nobody is online.You cant sleep,and your phone is right next to you,but you are afraid that if you call somebody,that somebody is going to scream so lot into his or her reciever for waking him or her up,that the very next day you are going to have a sledge hammer stuffed into your face.Because really,i think people in my generation,are all so lonely.The problem with that,is that we dont even acknowledge the fact that we are.We get together to share sob stories,and it is not like that is the remedy to our problems,and it doesnt help to know that there is somebody out there who feels exactly like you.It feels even worse,it really does.And it sucks.


So,like the black guy from the video.He hesitates,plays with the switch blade in his hand.He raises his left hand,slits his wrist in the video,and then throws it away,hugging his head,crying.

It's makes me so depressed,and i dont even know why.But it really does,even if the scene is a newly wed kissing,a baby waving at the camera,a pair of lesbians kissing,a girl having nothing to say at all,a kitten falling asleep,a baby rubbing her eyes,hand signs which i could not decipher...

So many things,and it is making me very depressed.

PS. Long conversations under the blanket till 620am makes me happy.

Say Hello to Schuyler Inch

I was thinking about Schuyler on the bus today,and i figured i needed a person to be in my mind while i type as her.I guess it is easier for me to picture her life,and everything that surrounds her.I looked through the web,and this is the girl i found that fits my image of Schuyler almost perfectly.I know she is a little young,but just picture her in a couple of year's time.Yeah,that's it.Perfection.

Say hello to Schuyler Inch.

Samuel

My dear Samuel,or Samwise Gamgee if you prefer to call yourself,i guess on my journey of life together,you have been playing that role for me,since i have always seen myself as Frodo Baggins for some reasons,identifying myself with him,everytime he succumbs to temptations,or gives up to the force of the ring.I did not relate to him because of his weaknesses,but rather his strength at the very end,when he took control of his temptations and desires.And Samuel was,in a way,my Samwise Gamgee.

Samuel has been a friend of mine ever since Secondary One.He was a dark and plump boy i remember,blending in with the shadows of the back of the classroom,and always minding his own business,while trying desperately to stay out of the limelight.Especially,when the search lights hovers over the heads of the next 'prey',because the last one called up his parents and the teachers complained.He stayed low,and because of that we got close to each other.

Samuel was/is the kind of friend,who belongs to everybody.He doesnt have an opinion as to,who he should befriend with and who he should stay away from.He treats everybody the same,and never holds grudges.And because of that,he was in the middle of it all,when YiXiang was being locked in the cupboard,when Anthony Mo threatened him with the dead bumble bee,when Jared's bag of rotten buns were being stepped on,and when Daniel was being laughed at.He was in the middle of it all,watching and listening,all because he is/was Mr. Nice Guy.

Himself,Krishna and I were the gang in the class.Or rather,we were A gang,and we banded together with Ben from the other class,to form the Sun Tanning club.We used to talk about a whole lot of things under the sun,as we laid on our bags and let the sun light blind our eyes till everything turns into a strange sci-fi shade of purple.I remember us discussing about girls,when Krishna was still with his current ex girlfriend.Everybody thought him to be the expert in relationships,since he already had two back then,and i was the prodigy,the one with the potentials,the apprentice.Samuel,on the other hand,though we never mentioned it,he was the one who was always out of the female-related conversations.Not because he was left out,but because he never was somebody whom we related to members of the opposite sex.That is to say,relationships with females other than his relatives were strictly out of the question.

Which brings me,to the topic of this entry.Today i went out with him and his girlfriend Hannah,to catch The Prestige at Marina Square(Why the hell at Marina Square?).I've met Hannah before,she is a nice girl next door.Not exactly the kind of girl next door you would expect,but she is very HDB-ish,and a sight of her and you'd know that she's Singaporean.She's not hot or anything,not the type who would attract your attention because she has the curves and the shapes,all that jazz.But she's just genuinely nice,and i guess that was what attracted Samuel to her,instead of common beliefs that he was obssessed with her ass.

I was alone in the McDonald's this afternoon,reading a book when he tapped on my shoulder.They were hand in hand,smiling and waving at me.I remembered then,why i never had a doubt about this particular couple.Out of jealousy or not,i've always had my opinions about certain couples in my social circle.When this person and that comes together,i think to myself the probability of them breaking up,and the time span of it.I know,it is evil for doing so,and it is disgusting to do so.But i dont do that anymore,though they work like 90% of the time.Samuel and Hannah,suits each other.You can tell,because they remind me of my own parents.Samuel,from the day i've known him,he has never been the kind of guy who is good with words.You shouldnt depend on him to write a love letter of any sorts,because he is not going to get you anywhere close to the vicinity of the girl you desire.But the magic is this: Hannah is like my mother.She doesnt give a shit about Samuel being,inarticulate,a little slow,and perhaps innocent at things.She likes him for who he is,and i think that is the greatest magic between the two.

And there they were,hand in hand in front of me,sharing a cup double chocolate frapp.The Samuel i knew,Samwise Gamgee,the dark fat boy sitting in the corner of the class,the one left out of the girls talk,is now the man of a woman he obviously loves,and here we are,the other two in the gang,one's in Australia enjoying his life in University,while i am still here.Very much here,i guess.



133 was full again,and unlike last week i didnt find a seat.I stood all the way home from Esplanade,and the smell of the air-conditioning filling up my nostrils.I hate that smell,that artificial smell,that plastic smell.But at least it was better than the sweat of the rest of the passengers,the sweat stained armpits and the heat brought along into the bus as they crowded through the folding doors.I waved to Hai Chuan,and he was with his girlfriend,sending her home.They were in the corner,standing with me while i stood right next to them.The couple before us had their arms through each others',with the girl's head on the guy's shoulder,breathing in the smell of his hair,a smile lingering on the edge of her lips.HaiChuan had his forehead against his girlfriend's,whispering under the thundering sound of the engine.He was smiling and,he carassed her right arm slowly up and down,still whispering,still smiling.

It was a beautiful sight,in a way.Not because,the couples were attractive or beautiful,or was the scene in the crowded bus in any way,artsy or poetic.But i guess the sight of two people,building rosy fences around themselves wherever they are,and just enjoying the company of each other.In the bus,at the bus stop,or in Carl's Junior where i had dinner with Samuel and Hannah.Anywhere,i see it happening,and the bond between two people,i realised,is much more than a feeling that is sustained from the very beginning of a relationship.What troubles me now,is that i cannot tell you how else it is sustained by.How two people can go on living with each other seamlessly,how their finger gaps will always be filled by the fingers of their partners,and it will always feel warm and never cold.I cannot tell you that,i do not have the answers.I am seldom stumped,but i guess this is one of those rare occasions.

The roles have changed,and now i am the guy left in the shadows.Samuel,i respect you for being with Hannah for this long.You guys survived the ultimate test of faith: National Service.Not a lot of relationships can survive that,and it is about four months left till it all ends,Sam.Hang in there,and i see you guys down the aisle in the future,i am sure.Best of luck,Samwise.

Living With Me

"...The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one..."

--- Wilhelm Stekel

Chain letters,i think at some points of our lives,we were all a little,if not totally involved in these chain letters.First,they start off with questionaires,asking you the dumbest questions.What did you eat today?Who was the last person you talked to?When was the last time you cried?Have you ever fell in love?And my favourite,have you ever went skinny-dipping?

The truth is,no matter how many times we've done those dumb questionaires,whenever a friend decides to send that to you once again,you'll do it all over because...well,i dont think anybody knows why,really.I dont think to let somebody out there know what colour underwear you are wearing,is your idea of communication and interaction.Nor is it probable that your desire to let others know what you ate for lunch is the true reason why you answer those dumb questions over and over again.The worst sin perhaps,is to forward them to your unsuspecting friends.The chain mail goes on,the viscious cycle continues,the Lord of Spam wins.

But that is not the point of my entry here.I vaguely remember a question asked,in one of the very few interesting chain mails i recieved a long time ago.The question was: Do you think can tolerate yourself?

I answered that question without actually thinking too much about it.Of course,it was a bloody chain letter,who wouldve given more than five seconds of thought to each question?Let's admit it,if you spent more than five seconds pondering over the answer to a question,you are either mentally challenged,or mentally challenged.I'm sorry,but you brain is as good as peanut butter,only worse.

Anne Frank once said that,the difference between herself and the rest of the residence in the Secret Annexe was that she was able to look at herself from a third person point of view.Which means,that she was able to 'evaluate' herself in a way,and be critical about her actions,and the words she said.And i think that that is such an admirable quality,so easily proclaimed and yet,neglected in one's self-evaluation.The truth is,we are always who we want to be,and not who we actually are.You seldom find mistakes in yourself,but rather the fault in others.It is hard to look at yourself through someone else's eyes,but the least we can do is try.

I can't say that i have the ability to detach myself like Anne Frank,stare at myself through the mirror and talk as if i have met the reflection for the first time.The truth is,i cant do such a thing,and no matter how much i try,i can only do so much.This is the entry where i evaluate myself,and the truth is,'myself' sucks.

Takes four days to get to like me
But two to wanna leave
But the part that really gets me
Are all the moments in between
Now I lie to get a little
And laugh at every little thing
She's high on information
But now I'm low on self-esteem

Do not be fooled by the above quote.I am not low on self-esteem or whatever.In fact,this entry has not affected it in any way.But the first two lines really struck a chord for me,to be somebody as interesting as...well,that.

You put me in a room with you,and we start up a chat.Imagine yourself now in a cafe and i am sitting there minding my own business,while you are minding your own.I come over and have a chat,saying that the book in your hand is a great one,and that the twist at the very end elevated it to be the top of my "Favourite Books" chart.You are finding me interesting,you might find me intriguing,but that is only for the first hour probably.The next hour things are probably going to go downhill,and from then on you just want to be rid of yourself,of me.

We stretch that time span to reality.If you get to know me for say,two years,then the next two years is probably going to be the same-old-me over and over again.I am like a good television show gone bad.Like Friends.When it started it was hilarious,the funniest television ever.I remember watching the first few seasons and gasping for air during every commercial break because Joey was just too damn funny.But during the later seasons,the jokes were repeated over and over,and it just got a little draggy.I'm not saying that i didnt finish watching the series(I watched all ten),but i realised the fact that things were drying up,no matter how close you felt with the cast of friends.You just wanted everything to end.

So,"It takes four days to get to like me but two to want to leave".It's true.It's true.

I'm a hundred kinds of crazy
But I only wanna find
One sweet little angel
Who's gonna let me speak my mind
All I ever do these days
Is dumb my process down
She's making her decision
But now I'm losing all my ground

Now,then i pictured myself living with myself.Under the same roof,using the same toilet,watching the same television,interacting with none other than,myself.A couple of years ago i wouldve welcomed that imagination.I mean,think about it on the surface-leve of things.You are your own's perfect roommate!Same habits,same hobbies,same taste in food,same taste in music,perfect!You dont even have to argue over the music playlist,because you are probably going to enjoy it anyway.You wont have to be afraid that he might do better than you in the upcoming test,because he is either as dumb as you,or as smart as you.There will be no competitions,no jealousy,no rivalry,perfect and harmonious environment.

But here's the catch.I dont think,in the long term,i'd be able to tolerate myself.You might say,that that is not possible,since i have been living with myself for the past twenty years.But the truth is,however,that i havent been detaching myself from...myself,often enough.I havent been living with myself in two separate entities,and because of that i havent been very truthful about feelings towards myself.

I think i get irritating overtime.Like moulds growing on a piece of bread,or moss over rocks.The rain might be beautiful,the way it splatters on your window and the melancholic colour of the world,how surreal.But nobody likes it when it rains for a week,or two weeks,or a month,or two months.Nobody likes prolonged...anything.That's humans for you,we get tired of everything that lasts,and only appreciates the ones that do not.It's screwed up,but that's the way it is.And that is the case as well,for me,i think,towards my friends.

I remember Gwyneth Paltrow's character asking Morgan Freeman's character in Se7en why he never remarried after his failed marriage.His reply struck me as something...something i could relate to myself,something that described me in a very truthful and vivid way.He said,"Anyone who spends a significant amount of time with me finds me disagreeable",and i think that is the case with me.

If i am living with myself right now,i am going to be pissed off with myself because myself is not doing this,not doing this.Doing this and doing that,and the fact that he is doing everything like you,pisses you off.I am,sooner or later,find myself disagreeable,and that is going to be the case for you guys: Friends.

It's not a very good idea living with me,because like Morgan Freeman's character,i am probably going to be the type of roommate who smashes the clock in the middle of the night because i found it irritating.You are going to find my jokes funny now,my thoughts interesting,my taste in music unique for now,but a couple of years down the line i am going to be stale,mundane,boring,dead,even.

Easy does it now
Just keep your damn mouth shut
She thinks you're hot already
Don't go and press your luck
No news is good news coming
You gotta wait to find
Don't go and blow it
You do every single time

The truth is,i am dumb.I can never have too much self-control in certain aspects.I push too far and too hard sometimes,and i end up tripping over my own foot.I try to be good,try to be nice at times,but i am the victim of my own stupidity,and end up being TOO good,and TOO nice to people.You know how such people can piss people off at times,the way those people come up to you at MRT stations,politely asking you to attend their churches a million times even after a million rejections.Sure,they are nice folks.They are looking at your with true,dignified christian eyes,but still those looks pisses you off,and you just want to smash their faces with a pickax.

Oh I'm gonna try (try)
I'm gonna try (try)
Gonna try to be myself
Although myself will wonder why
I'm gonna try (try)
I'm gonna try (try)
Gonna try to be myself this time

And it's not like this kind of thing can be abstracted out of my personality.It can't,because it is embedded.I cannot removed them like part of an equation,or a symbol in HTML code,and everything will be fixed and done.Perhaps in the future when people's character is governed by micro-chips planted in our heads.But before then,i dont think i am capable of changing,be flexible,revolutionize myself.What i can do though,what i can attempt to do,is to be MYSELF.And if you cannot stand MYSELF,then that is just too bad,because i am,in fact,self-sufficient.Just throw me Kinokuniya vouchers,i'll deal with the rest on my own.The truth is,being myself is so much easier than,to be somebody else while trying to be yourself.Isnt it?It's so hard trying.So damn hard.

The Last Tycoon

"...I kept thinking of him all the way back to the airport - trying to fit him into that early hour and into that landscape. He had come a long way from some Ghetto to present himself at that raw shrine. Manny Schwartz and Andrew Jackson - it was hard to say them in the same sentence. It was doubtful if he knew who Andrew Jackson was as he wandered around, but perhaps he figured that if people had preserved his house Andrew Jackson must have been someone who was large and merciful, able to understand.

At both ends of life man needed nourishment: a breast - a shrine. Something to lay himself beside when no one wanted him further, and shoot a bullet into his head..."

--- The Last Tycoon by F. Scott Fitzgerald

My Glass Castle

Dont you just love weeks like this?A hazy afternoon accompanied by the lazy sound of the fan above,spinning away effortlessly and carelessly,while you lie on top of your bed,with plain white sheets and feeling the wind on your cheeks.You take a peek at your clock,and it is a little over 9am,and you tell yourself that you still have the rest of the morning to sleep away,because there is absolutely nothing to do until...well,whatever that comes along?It feels good,it realy does.And there i was covered with my blanket,with my arms folded across my chest,thinking the exact same thoughts.It feels good to do nothing at all,even if it is just for a while.It feels down right,good.

This is roughly how my schedule has been like for the past four days or so:

6am to 630am - Breakfast
630am to 715am - Sleep
715am to 730am - Roll Call
730am to 1130am - Sleep
1130am to 1230pm - Lunch
1230pm to 530pm - Sleep
530pm to 630pm - Dinner
630pm to 730pm - Leisure + Routine Orders
730pm to 1130pm - Bath, snacks and BOOKS

As you have already noticed,i have the word 'Books' capitalized,because that's usually the main event of the day for me.I conduct such reading marathons for myself every night nowadays,stretching all the way from 730pm till...well,whatever time i decide to fall asleep.I understand,that the tax-payers out there are probably cursing your head off,that every gram of salt you buy,every shirt you purchase,every meal you decide to eat at a fancy restaurants,part of all the taxes and GSTs goes to supplying military camps with fascilities the men dont use.Instead,men like myself,spend their time reading and sleeping their days away!

Yes,you can say that about us.But i've never said that the military is a very efficient and proficient agency when it comes to monetary distribution,or utilization.In fact,the army is so bad at all the above,most of the wastages are kept under wraps,like when a student decides to kill herself,and the school tells the rest of the student cohort not to spread the words.It is really the same idea,though the result of such dreadful news is not exactly a depressive one,but rather the sound of men snoring away under covers,or like the rest of the active souls in camp,the sound of soccer balls slamming against the walls in the restroom,leaving ball marks everywhere for us to clean.

Anyway,my point is that i have been doing a hell lot of sleeping and reading,and i have forseen this week's 'excellence' in advance.Therefore,i brought along three books with me this week.Fitzgerald's 'The Last Tycoon',Kingsley Amis' 'Lucky Jim' and Jeannette Walls' 'The Glass Castle'.I started reading The Last Tycoon first,but for some reason,found myself reading the same lines over and over.The same thing happened for Lucky Jim,a sure sign of the lack of concentration,your cue to put the book down and skip to the next.So i jumped to The Glass Castle,and though not as good as Frank McCourt's Angela's Ashes,it's yet another beautifully written memoir,turning tragedies into the pages of life,wonderfully documented without any remorse and full of child-like perspectives that brings a smile to your face.

The Glass Castle tells of the author's own childhood,living in different states all across America.Because Jeannette's parents are...well,out of the ordinary,her father Rex Walls is always making up reasons to move to a different state overnight.One fine night,her father would dash into the house and tell everybody to pack up and go,because FBI agents or the mob is going after the family.Of course,his father's view of FBIs and mobs are usually just landlords,chasing their rents.But to her father,it is more exciting if he told the children this side of the story.Besides,her mother is a excitement addict.

They move from place to place,and because Rex is a drunkard,never gaining ground anywhere.Always working at odd jobs and getting fired eventually,the family of four kids(Lori,Brian,Maureen and herself),are always hungry,and living in extreme and almost pathetic conditions(Toilet holes overflowing,collapsed roof and termite-infested floorboards,patched up by flattered beer cans).But despite all these,the children always had a clear perspective of where they wanted to go and who they wanted to be.And one thing was for sure: That they wanted to leave their parents and look for a better life in New York,despite the lingering respect for their parents.Because it is their parents,especially her father,who inspired her to have a motive or a goal: The Glass Castle.

The Glass Castle,throughout the books,remains only in the papers of her father's plans.He planned to build a house fully made by glass,and told the children of how he is going to build the most beautiful castle for the family.Of course,a house fully made of glass is not feasible,and Rex was too drunk and poor to do something like that all by himself.The Glass Castle was never made,and even at his death bed,Rex smiled and told Jeannette that though it was never built,it sure was something that pushed the children and the rest of the family through all the years of hardship.

Rex,though a drunkard and a bastard at times(He brought Jeannette along to the bar while he gambled,for the friends to 'touch',and at the same time distract them during a game),deep inside he is like his wife described,"A bundle of joy".Because really,Rex has his queer ways of dealing with things,and whenever the family is losing faith in him,he would look into the eyes of Jeannette and say,"Have i never let you down,Mountain Goat?" The truth was,though he did,the times that he tried to redeem himself sure made up for everything else.



There are times when,you are sitting in the front seat of the car,and the world is speeding past so quick,you forget that your hands are on your thighs,instead of the wheels.You forget that there is somebody else in the car,and that the space the both of you share is rather small,and if you dont say something it turns very awkward.There are times when i talk seizelessly,about the books i read or the news i heard,and my mother would be there listening.But there are times when the roles are changed,and i would be the one in her shoes,just listening while she tries to dig up conversational topics,and myself staring out of the window blankly,just daydreaming.

She brings up my future - my glass castle - all the time,especially so as of late.We are counting down to my ORD date now,50 exact days,and i havent even got a solid plan figured out yet.There is the education path,the drivers' licence,the travelling and so many other things in plan.But the future - is whatever time you have from this moment,to the moment that you die.It is the rest of your life,and if you are going to stretch those three mentioned goals throughout that span of time,you are going to find yourself,not looking forward to every pit stop,but rather crawling on all fours to them.Because really,i know deep inside that i have to have a plan in such things,that they dont just HAPPEN for me.But the truth is,in a way,i guess we are all petrified and scared to have our environment changed all of a sudden.There was the transition between the brainless period and the kindergarten,the period between the mindless Primary School to the serious Secondary School,and of course the dive into reality,when i got enlisted.Those were radically different phases of my life,and i am sure everybody out there has their own phases to go through as well.Whenever we are faced with the end of a chapter and the beginning of the next,this is not like the pages of an exciting thriller whereby you are just dying to know what happens next.You are just comfortable where you are,and even if it means that where you are feels like a cage sometimes,you are too institutionalized to move elsewhere.

I know i have to build my glass castle,even if it means that i have to work my ass off for it.But i have this fear of taking my first step towards it,digging the first hole in the ground to make the foundation.I havent the telephone numbers,to call up workers to build the structure,the money to buy the materials,and my blueprint is as unstable as a sand castle in a rainstorm.The truth is,i havent got a clue where my feet should land next,because before me is the ultimate leap of faith.

Faith is a backwards design,but i guess somewhere down the course of Life,everybody has to choose it,and just take that step into the unknown.The question is,however,how far you are going to take that step,if it is going to be backwards or forwards,or how long you take to make that leap of faith.Because right now,i understand that i have what it takes to make it to my glass castle,to see it standing in the sun,with the reflection of the sunlight bouncing off in every direction.I can see it,but i guess i have to overcome my inner demons first,to make myself organised,take steps,conquer,overcome.

Oh well,it's a Friday,and i have the weekend ahead.I am looking forward to the period of time from now till the 9th of December,my ORD date.This is the zone between fire and air,that blurry region you see above the tip of a raging fire,like a mirage of sorts and bending the background into distorted images.Scientists have been looking hard to understand that strange zone,and calling it the 'Grey Zone',the line between peace and chaos.The question mark,perhaps that is where i am now.I do not think by stepping into the unknown is going to plunge me into the deadly abyss,but at the same time i am not sure where it is going to take it,and it scares me just a little bit.

It is the weekend,and the rest of the days are going to be spent...well,pretty much like the last week.And i'm going to have a lot of enjoyable times spent with my books,with myself,and the rest of the world.So till the time when the mystery of the Grey Zone is solved,so long.

The Glass Castle

"...'I've spent my life taking care of people,' Mom said. 'Now it's time to take care of me.'

'But you're not taking care of you.'

'Do we really have to have this conversation?'Mom asked. 'I've seen some good movies lately. Can't we talk about the movies?'

I suggested to Mom that she sell her Indian jewelry. She wouldn't consider it. She loved that jewelry. Besides, they were heirlooms and had sentimental value.

I mentioned the land in Texas.

'That land's been in the family for generations,' Mom said,' and it's staying in the family. You never sell land like that.'

I asked about the property in Phoenix.

'I'm saving that for a rainy day.'

'Mom,it's pouring.'

'This is a drizzle,' she said. 'Monsoons could be ahead!' She sipped her tea. 'Things usually work out in the end.'

'What if they don't?'

'That just means you haven't come to the end yet.'

She looked across the table and smiled at me with the smile you give people when you know you have the answers to all their questions. And so we talked about movies..."

--- The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

Mr. Pitiful

I cannot stop listening to this song!Somebody knock me out with a sledge hammer!

They call me Mr. Pitiful
Baby thats my name now
They call me Mr. Pitiful
Thats how I got my fame

But people just don`t seem to understand
How someone can feel so blue
They call me Mr pitiful
'Cause I lost someone just like you.

The call me Mr. Pitiful
This everybody know now
They call me Mr. Pitiful
Most everyplace I go.

But nobody seems to understand now,
How can a man sing such a sad song
When he lost everything that he had.

How can I explain to you
How somebody con get so very blue
How can I tell you about my past
If all things won`t end.

Mr. Pitiful
Thats my name now
They call me Mr. Pitiful
Thats how I got my fame

But nobody seems to understand
what make a man can feel so very blue
They call me Mr. Pitiful
'Cause I m in love with you

Heart of Life

It was 4am,the house was quiet.I know i probably made a big deal out of it.Initially,when you told me about it,sure i was a little surprised to find my dear friend,to have had that sort of experience.Let's be honest,like yesterday night,that in my mind i was thinking about how it mustve been like,how it mustve felt.But as i thought through it all,the abandonment of you,left me angered and frustrated.

I shan't repeat whatever i said yesterday night.Partly because i know you are capable of taking them to heart,and partly because i cannot recall most of the things said when i woke up this morning.It is a funny thing,what a good night's sleep can do to you,you wake up a totally different person.It's true,you start anew.Sleep,the ultimate atonement.

I hate to see you cry
Lying there in that position
There's things you need to hear
So turn off your tears and listen

Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
No it won't all go the way it should
But i know the heart of life is good

You know it's nothing new
Bad news never have good timing
But then,the circle of your friends
Will defend the silver-lining

Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
No it won't all go the way it should
But i know the heart of life is good

Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
Fear is a friend who's misunderstood
But i know the heart of life is good

I know it's good...
I know it's good...
I know it's good...
I know it's good...

I can't make you like me,nor should i force you to.I know your heart lies with him,and that wen you are with him you are - like you said - uncontrollable.You do stupid things,and i guess there are only so many people in this world,who can make you feel that way,even if it means that,this man you speak of might be a complete jerk off.I know this,because i see the pain in you day by day,day by day.Do i not feel the chaos under your hair at the dimly lid overhead bridge?Do i not hear you screaming on my shoulders,while you fell into a troubled sleep?

Do you not hear my struggled then,always striving to be better than myself.Even if it means,to protect my friend from a jerk off she so blinded liked and succumbed to,emotionally and physically.It's not a sight i can bear to imagine or to listen to,and that is even more so when you deny my existence,when you claim to be alone in a crowded room,or a room with you and I.

I dont know that guy,i have no idea how he is like.I dont know what threw you head over heels,what's in essence,so good about him.I cannot judge myself against him,if i am in any way more sincere,smarter,nicer,more romantic,or if my shoulders felt more comfortable than his bare one.I cannot,and i probably do not measure up to his so-called 'greatness'.But one thing is for sure,and it remains as the single fact in this whole mumbo-jumbo:

I don't make you cry.