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Please Don't Go

Friday, July 31, 2009

Please Don't Go

All those arrows you threw, you threw them away
You kept falling in love, then one day
When you fell, you fell towards me
When you crashed in the clouds, you found me

Oh, please don’t go, I want you so
I can’t let go, for I lose control

Get these left handed lovers out of your way
They look hopeful but you, you should not stay
If you want me to break down and give you the keys
I can do that but I can’t let you leave

Oh, please don’t go, I want you so
I can’t let go, for I lose control

Remain

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Remain

We'll remain after everything's been washed away by the rain
We will stand upright as we stand today
Lovestain, you left a lovestain on my heart.
And you left a bloodstain on the ground
But blood comes off easily.

I think it is petrifying to think about change sometimes. Every aspect of changing is a thought that is difficult to bear somehow, or at least to me. I think most of us are at the stage whereby we look at ourselves in the mirror and wonder what we'd look like in ten years' time. I constantly think about that, though it isn't so much about my looks but the way that I dress. I wouldn't want to be spotted with a flowery button-down shirt and a pair of slippers though, not to mention gold chains, gold rings and gold bangles. As long as I keep it in mind that I have an image to uphold even when I am old, I'd be fine I suppose. Yet, there is always a potential chance that the change could lead me to undesirable places. More than the looks, though, relationships between people could very well change, and it can be somewhat scary or daunting even if it is for the better. I wish for the relationship between my sister and I to become better over the years, and we'd be the kind of siblings to keep in touch in our adult years. Yet, every form of change involves moving out from the zone of your comfort, like the one that I am in right now. With every change that comes along, we have an equilibrium of good and bad, and I suppose it is all about perspectives when it comes right down to it. You know, whether you want to focus on the changes for the worse or the beautiful things that have remained unchanged.

In less than a month, I am going to embark on the journey of my life. It isn't some big mystery amongst my friends, and it isn't some kind of a soul searching trip into the mountains to find some kinda guru or wise man. It's going to be a semester spent in Buffalo, and I suppose a lot of changes will scary the living daylight out of me over there. More than the food and the weather, I suppose the culture shock and the fact that I'd have to depend solely on myself is going to be one of those changes that are going to slap me in the face. I feel that I need this trip though, I've known deep inside for a while now that this trip overseas is going to change me dramatically. However, even knowing that a change is going to be for the better, a part of you is always going to want some things to remain the same. It is conflicting sometimes, and it is strange. Like, you want an event to be some life-altering event that'd turn everything around somehow. I mean, if something you do is not going to change anything in your life, then you might as well not try at it to begin with. However, when you do get down to it, you just wish that some things from the past will remain the same. There will be times when even a millionaire would craze for a childhood snack that he used to eat when he was younger, and only hoped that the little shop around the corner hadn't closed down a decade or two ago.

Anyway, it is all about perspectives, and it is about how you are going to see things. Either we harp on the fact that it is going to be a long and grueling four months, or I am going to see it as a change that is going make me a better person. Either we focus on all the inconveniences that are going to come along with this change, or we could think about all that will remain the same despite everything else. It is difficult for any couple to come to terms with that, I feel. I mean, in any form of relationship, you cannot deny that the physical presence of each other stands for so much, and I am not talking about sex here. It's just the physical presence and the knowledge that somebody is, at the most, an hour away from you, comforts you. Having to deal with a long distance relationship is going to be hard for anybody, and I have never expected myself to be the victim (so to speak) of such a long distance relationship at all. It is upsetting, and at times depressing for me to think about it. I have, for more than one occasion, teared because of the mere concept of leaving my beloved ones behind in this country for such a long time. Yet, something came to me a few days ago when I walked out from Neptina's house. I realized something that I haven't exactly thought about - a new perspective on all that will remain.

You see, four months isn't too short a time for everything to remain the same. I understand that there will be things that are different by the time I come back, and it will scare anybody. I understand that nothing will remain in static, and everything will be nudged even by an inch away from where they started off with. Yet, there are times when that inch isn't far enough to be out of your comfort zone, and I feel like I can stomach those minor changes and see them as being unchanged for the most part. It comforts me when I think about it that way, to know that there will be things back home staying the same. It is silly to think about it this way, but I almost feel as if things are going to remain the same just for me, as if they will be waiting for my return or something like that. It isn't that all the people that will be looking forward to my return aren't going to be enough of course. But more than the people, on an even grander scale, it comforts me deep inside to know that a lot of things that I have come to get used to will be the same when I come back, you know. I remember coming home from the army for the very first time, and how my room and my bed smelled exactly the same. If you have ever experienced that, you know what I am talking about.

Everything in my room is probably going to remain the same when I come back. You know, the books are still going to be stashed up untidily underneath my table, and my DVDs are still going to be properly arranged in alphabetical order. James is still going to be sitting on top of my DVD collection while staring out of my bedroom window, and the shade of yellow from my night lamps are still going to cast the very same shadows on the walls and the floors. My mother is still going to be around the house, at the table in her room working on some accounting stuff, while my sister is still going to be in her room with her chin propped up by her hand. My neighbor is still going to invite their friends over for cell groups every Friday, and the shoes are still going to collect as far as halfway to the front door of my house. The security guards are probably going to be the same when I come back, still blasting the radio from inside their guard house and chatting up residents when they leave or enter the estate. That little black and white cat with the blue eyes is still going to wander around in the bushes at the back gate of my house, always appearing at the same time everyday with that look of suspicion and wonder in its eyes.

Beyond the boundaries of my home, I think the lime juice that they sell at Chomp Chomp is still going to be as huge and satisfying as they are now. The carrot cake is still going to be pretty awesome, and the attendants at the prata shop are still going to be the most unfriendly people in the service industry - ever. Orchard Road is not going to change much, even if there will be new malls opening everywhere around that area, because malls are malls anyway. The streets are still going to be filled with the same brand of people from everywhere. You know, the maids on weekends, the aunties with their fake branded bags, and the school kids that come in groups with their limitless ability to annoy the hell out of me. Kinokuniya is still going to smell the same, and the people working there are still going to be in those blue aprons that they wear all the time. Traveling around in Singapore, for the most part, is probably still going to be a bitch, and getting from my place to Neptina's house is probably not going to get any easier in four months time. The walk from the 53 bus stop to hers is still going to be decorated by stray cats and strange old men, and the parrots are still going to be cawing in the park next to her house while hanging upside down from a tree.

The old men are still going to be wearing their wifebeaters while watching television in their living room. In the summer, the tree downstairs is going to bloom flowers all over again, and the entire void deck is going to have sweet and flowery smell. The beeping in the elevator is still going the equally annoying, and I am still going to hold my cellphone away from my ear for a while whenever she enters the elevator on the phone with me. She is still going to be living on the seventh floor, and the color of her front door is still going to remain bright and unchanged. The little fan fixed to the window of her neighbor from the other side of the corridor is still going to be there, and it'd be spinning when the wind comes in. Her father's old bicycle is still going to be chained and locked the railings of the staircase leading down to the first floor, and it is still going to be dusty and rusty due to the lack of maintenance. When it rains, the rain is still going to spill into the corridor and make the floors wet, and the little grey cat is still going to be prancing around the neighborhood lazily in the afternoon. Her gates will open as usual, and she will be there waiting for me to enter with a smile on her face, and maybe a tear in her eyes.

Her mother is still going to be at the television, either watching the latest episode of Oprah or catching up on entertainment news on E!. I am going to kick my shoes off at the front door where the other shoes will meet my shoes, and I am probably going to head to her bedroom first because that is usually where the comfort is. Neptina is probably going to go handle something while I turn on the air-conditioning and then close the windows. I am still going to have a hard time closing them because if you close one of them too hard, the window on the other side will pop open and you have to close it all over again. I am probably going to be able to hear the toilet flush from her bedroom, and then I'd be taking off my socks and taking out my wallet while she comes into the bedroom to give me a big tight hug. For the rest of the day, we will be taking random pictures on her Macbook, laughing over random things on the internet, cuddling in bed because the air-conditioning is getting too cold, and then we'd be whispering words into each others' ears because we are that close to each other. We'd be guessing what her parents are doing when we hear sounds of them walking around the house, then we'd be planning on what to eat for dinner. Sometimes, we'd go out and buy groceries just to come back to cook, and the wait for the food to be done is still going to be incredibly agonizing.

At night, we'd still be going out from her bedroom to say hello to the father when he gets back, and then we'd be closing the door behind us because the sound from the television would be deafening. We'd still be propping our legs and arms up with the blanket over our heads to pretend that we are marooned pirates. We'd be pretending that we are on a makeshift raft in the middle of the sea, and there is a storm coming from the horizon while we try to sail to the nearest island. We'd lay there in bed and look at stars through the ceiling of her room, and then we'd still be talking about how amazing it has been since the day that we met, not to mention how improbably it'd still seem for us to meet in the first place. By eleven, it'd be my time to leave, and then she'd ask for me to give her a hug in bed before I have to pack up and go. She'd ask for a "hug-crack" from me, which is a hug that involves me cracking her back, and then she'd hold my hand through her dark living room and then down the elevator. On the way, we'd be making fun of that old neighbor who sits at the sofa to watch television every single day of the week, and then she'd be waving goodbye to me while I go home in a cab. She'd remain there by the side of the road with a kiss in her hand, just waiting for the lights of the cab to disappear around the corner before she lives. Before then, she will remain there in the middle of the night, and she will be doing the same when I come all the way back from the other side.

I guess what I am trying to say that although it is going to involve a dramatic change in many things in both our lives, many things that are already happening don't necessarily have to change at all. For four months, we will see each other less, talk to each other less, and get to touch each other even lesser. But the truth is, though, is that nothing is permanent, even the painful things will come to pass sooner or later. Change comes along with everything in our lives, and while the good will eventually change for the worse, the worse will also eventually change for the better. Amidst the ever-changing landscapes of our lives, we might as well pay more attention on the beautiful things that will remain unchanged, traditions and routines that we have become so accustomed to over the days and the weeks and the months. The truth is, though, I do not want anything to change but our relationship to become stronger and better. Other than that, I love the way that we are, and I think we are quite an awesome pair together. We could either fear the possibility of our relationship changing for the worse, or we could remember how many little things will still remain the same. Like the way the old men would stare dumbly at the television screen, like the way the scent of the flowers would drift through your corridors, like the way we'd kiss each other goodbye by the changing lights of the road junction, our love doesn't have to change after the months that I will be away either. So remain the same, and remain as you, and I promise that I will do the things that we've grown so comfortable to.

The Devil

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

The Devil

You read about the Devil all the time, but then he gets a lot less mentioning in the Bible than a lot of its characters. It is God's greatest enemy, though God is obviously taking his own sweet time in eradicating the Devil from the face of this planet. If God is really all that powerful, you cannot help but start to wonder this question - what in the world is He waiting for? The devil is right there, and apparently he is making a lot of people in our world doing crazy evil things to one another. If somebody comes along and destroys the things that I have carefully crafted, even if it was made in seven days, I am going to be super pissed. I mean, if God had the capacity to kill all the first-born in Exodus for no apparent reasons, I am sure he has the capacity to be pissed off as well. The capacity of jealousy is, after all, infinitely bigger than the capacity of anger, and I am sure He has room for that. So, if that is the case, I do wonder why he is allowing the Devil to create a havoc in his pretty little world. Maybe he is waiting for something to happen, maybe more people to die. Maybe everything is a part of his plan, and maybe there is a meaning to everything evil that has happened so far. If he does exist, though, I'd like him to explain what the fuck happened to the poor baby that the mother chopped up and ate.

If you have been reading the news, you'd have read about the cannibal mother who killed her three-week old baby and ate him. When the police arrived at her place, the crazed mother was found stabbing herself and telling everybody that she killed her baby. The baby was not only killed, but his head was severed from the body with the face completely torn off. His toes were chewed off by the mother, and the baby's brain was dug out and eaten as well. I apologize if the above description disturbed you, but this is a true story from one of the most disgusting news I have read about in recent times. I'd like God to answer to me why this three-week old baby was slaughtered and eaten by his own mother, and his divine powers didn't exactly come into play when the helpless baby just laid there. You know, you'd expect somebody as powerful as God to intervene or something, since he is all-knowing and all-wise. If this was part of the plan, I'd like to hear which part of his lousy plan this belongs to, because I do not see the purpose of a cannibalistic mother eating his own son at all. If there is a purpose to everything that ever happens in this world, I'd like to know why a three-week old baby had to suffer through all this. I don't think God is the legitimate person to be asking this question, but I'd just like to know. If your plan is so great, why did the baby have to die?

I couldn't get pass the first three paragraphs of the article that I read in the papers this morning. It isn't only because of the gruesome details that the report gave on the crime scene, but also the fact that the title of the article told me everything that I needed to know. Testifying for herself, her excuse for killing her son and then eating him was simple: the Devil made her do it. The Devil is a convenient excuse for many crimes out there, and it just seems like everything is less evil if it was because of the Devil. I mean, we all know about the Amityville Horror and the story that it was based upon. You know, the case about how Ronald DeFeo shot six of his own family and then later claimed that the Devil asked him to do it as well. I think it is easy if you are going to blame it on the Devil, because he is supposed to be the source of all that is evil, right. If you do something wrong, you want to think that somebody else has "possessed" you at that point in time, and that you weren't really yourself. That is the same basic human tendency to blame everything on inanimate or invisible objects, like fengshui. Humans don't like to think that they make mistakes or that they sometimes run into bad luck. So they blame everything on sofas, on fish tanks, on bed positions and toilet bowls. I'm sorry, but those are not just easy excuses, they are stupid excuses.

It is great that our justice system is not based on the rules of religion, because we'd all be really screwed if that is indeed the case. Just take a second off and imagine if our entire country is run based on religion, with our government and justice system tightly intertwined with it. If you say that you killed some poor old man due to greed and refuse to repent, you'd probably be punished severely by death. That seems fair enough, because I support death penalty in any country - not life. I mean, I don't want to know the tax that I pay is actually used to keep criminals (like Ronald DeFeo) alive in prison. I support the death penalty, and that seems like a fair result of a persecution, right. However, if the justice system is based around religious laws, and somebody comes up to you and say that she killed and ate her baby because the Devil asked her to do it, how would the court react? I am pretty sure that if they hear the word "Devil", their first reaction would be to shudder, and then all scramble into a back room to consult each other. If need be, they might even make a phone call to the Pope and ask him for his opinions, since he is probably always on standby in the Vatican, doing nothing much at all. What DOES a Pope do anyway?

So, a justice system based on religious laws, yes. This woman would probably go through an exorcizing session or something like that, and everybody would believe that the Devil got to her, causing her to eat her baby up. I mean, if you are a religious person, how do you dismiss that it was the doings of the "Devil" anyway? That is, of course, assuming that the Devil did do it, and that the woman was really a puppet of his grander evil scheme. She'd probably get out from the church with a warning and then carry on with her life, because it was really the Devil who did it instead of herself. I mean, if you can claim that the Devil exists and he asked you to do it, then you probably also have the capacity to believe in God and everything that comes along with it, right. I am not saying that every person who has a religion can turn into a psychopath and eat their family members. I am just saying that not everybody should have a religion, because it sprouts pointless and stupid excuses people use to try to get away with everything that they do wrong in life. I failed my exam because I was out partying like a wild animal last night, and it was all the Devil's fault. I shot a man at the convenience store for a bottle of beer because the Devil asked me to do it. I ran over my neighbor's cat with a lawnmower because, you guessed it, the Devil asked me to do it.

I think we should change that for a start, we shouldn't blame everything on the Devil anymore. Even if he is real and that he is truly evil, I am pretty sure that he is not responsible for all the evildoings in this world. I mean, with someone like Adolf Hitler, you know that it was all him, and he'd probably claim credit for what he did in the past anyway. So, the excuse of using the Devil is fast becoming old, and we really need something or someone else to blame it on. I think it is unoriginal if everybody is going to blame the same guy or the same thing. I mean, we are all individuals, we are all different from one another. It would be somewhat unnatural, the way that religion demands that people come under the same belief, for us to have the same target of our own wrongdoings. So, we should all pick someone or something else to blame, and this time it is going to be original. You can say that a talking cheeseburger asked you to do it, or you cat made you do it because it was starving. Or maybe the voice that comes out from your speakers when you play Linkin Park backwards asked you to do it, or maybe even Hannah Montana asked you to do it. The Jonas Brothers could have convinced you to do it, or maybe the unopened canned of tuna asked you to do it. For me, I am going to say that my toenail asked me to do it. Why? I don't know why, it's convenient. I have ten toenails, I'd just pick one for each crime that I commit. Convenient.

Going back to the original question that I posed, what really is the point of this baby being killed and eaten in the first place, other than maybe feeling the stomach of a really hungry mother? I mean, if this is all a part of this grand plan and everything happens for a reason, I want to hear the answer to - why? I think the truth is that even the big guy doesn't have an answer to a question like that. In fact, I don't think he even exists at all. It is news like that that makes you wonder if someone of a higher order exists at all. People always say that you shouldn't think of God in human terms because he has a higher order of thinking, or something. But if this is the quality of his "higher order thinking", it sucks. It really does, because there is nothing you can do to justify that an innocent baby deserved that. I think it would be unfair to say that religion did this, that it wasn't because of some psychological disorder that caused the mother to go completely psycho. It was probably was, and it is a shame that nobody around her saw this coming from a thousand miles away.

However, I am just calling out to a lot of people out there who believe that there is a plan to everything - there isn't. What happened on that day didn't appear on any plan, because plans don't happen like that. You can't even apply Murphy's Law here at this point and claim that shit happens, and we should just accept that a mother killed her son and ate him. There isn't a plan, because a mighty being probably wouldn't plan something this horrific into any forms of plan. I just find it somewhat amusing in a way that there are still so many people using the Devil as some kind of excuse, when he may not necessarily be half as bad as we make him out to be. I mean, of all the atrocities that mankind has ever endured, it has always been caused by other humans. If the Devil does exist, he probably exists within the dark hearts and minds of people out there with malicious intentions. I heard an explanation about the possession of the Devil in people today and how it affects people and their actions. I say, like many things in life, it is just humans trying to run away from their own responsibilities. So they created the Devil and blamed it on him, but they also created a mighty good guy, making them feel comforted that there is this powerful good guy who will destroy the powerful bad guy. It is all made-up, and a baby remains with his head severed from his head. Religion doesn't make any sense, and blaming it on the Devil doesn't make any sense either.

Just Emotions

Monday, July 27, 2009

Just Emotions

I wasn't the kind of kid that people normally find lovable. I mean, I looked to be that way most of the time, but I'd probably feel like strangling myself, given any versions of myself from before six years old. From the pictures that I find tucked in forgotten corners of the house, I looked (that being the keyword) like I was the kind of kid you want to cuddle around with - in the appropriate ways please. I had chubby cheeks, and even had those classic holes for knuckles that every kid has, which do me is the most adorable thing ever. There are numerous pictures of someone tying a handful of my hair together into this Alfalfa-looking hairstyle, while there are other pictures of me with a bathing suit, playing a fighting game with my sister. I looked like a cute kid, but I don't think I was liked very much due to many reasons. I mean, I was sick all the time, which means my mother would have to send me to the emergency room all the time, not to mention how anti-social I would get whenever my mother brought me anywhere. I'd even resort to sleeping on her shoulder just to get a reason not to talk to anyone. But worst of all, though, I cried like nobody's business because I had a very active tear duct and very low tolerance for anything that irritated me. I am glad that my parents, in contrary, had a high tolerance for a great many things that came from me. The truth is, I am very lucky to be alive.

If you have a chance to sit down with any of my relatives to talk about me, you'd probably hear them mention just how much I liked to cry when I was younger. Or, I don't think I actually liked doing something like that, because I distinctively remember hating every situation that I was involved in while crying. There was a particularly incident that I remember, properly recorded with photographic evidence by my parents. There is a picture in the photo album that has me crying by the side of a bed in Taiwan with a toy train set by the side of my feet. For some reason, I remember that day very well, and nobody remembers why I was crying my eyeballs out, save for me. I remember trying to piece the tracks of the toy train set together on the wooden floor, but the plastic tracks kept scraping against the surface and making strange squeaking sounds. The tracks wouldn't stay still, and for some reason I didn't think that playing the train set on the bed with a proper surface would be a good solution. The worse alternate solution that my young innocent mind came up with was to cry my ass off and hope that somebody else would think of a better idea for me. No matter how cute you are, you'd want to throw me out of the window by this point.

I am starting to wonder why my parents thought that it'd be appropriate to take that picture of me crying like a baby. They probably thought it to be important to keep some kind of photographic evidence just so that I won't be able to deny everything when I grow older - like now. I can't deny it anyway, because I remember how I was as an annoying brat who cried every little detail. I am like an overly emotional child whose only reaction to anything that makes me unhappy was to cry it out. I do not deny the cathartic effect of crying at times, but I did it way too often that it eventually became a reason why my parents would need something cathartic in their lives. They probably took that photograph while thinking to themselves "just wait till you grow up". Now that I have grown up, I fully agreed that I deserved a kick and to be dragged into the bathroom or something like that. That'd probably traumatize me as a child, but then it would have shut me up for good. I wouldn't know what to do with the baby-version of myself other than to give me a good grip on the shoulders and some shaking. But, I think there is something good that came out of all the crying, similar to how something good comes out from everything bad. Of course, nobody saw the benefits in the short-run, but not a lot of people stuck around to see the effects in the long-run anyway.

As I grew older, I started to lose the ability to tear very often, and I don't know why. I tear so irregularly that I actually remember many specific moments when it happened in the past decade or so. They were all very specific instances that caused me to have very snappy tears. By "snappy", I mean that they came fast and they went away pretty soon as well. I have a nagging feeling that all the crying I did when I was younger probably caused my tear duct to kick into overdrive and, as a result, has been going through some kind of withdrawal symptom ever since my teenage years. It forgot how to tear, or has forgotten how to tear due to emotional reasons. Aside from the everyday necessity of tearing to moisturize the eyeballs, there are times when nothing comes even when I get that sour feeling in the nose. I do consider myself to be somewhat emotional, but then that does not mean that I tear easily. Being a fan of movies, there has only been a handful of films that ever made me tear, and we are not even talking about full-blown brawling here, but just a drop or two coming down my cheeks. Schindler's List comes to mind as one of such films, but then who can sit through that and be all ambivalent about it?

I used to be the kind of kid to throw a lot of temper around, and my mother used to threaten me that if I continued to be angry, a vein in my neck or forehead would burst, and I'd die. Come to think about it, I'm not sure if that was the truth or just a flat out lie, because of how she used to do it over and over again. My mother actually threatened me with death back in the days when I cried continuously, imagine that! But I think that worked, because I'd calm down almost immediately afterwards, though that isn't something that lasted very long back then. I used to fight with my sister a lot, and those were the times when I would cry afterwards because either my parents sided with her or I lost. Crying just seemed like the best solution out of anything, and I understand how it sounds like a very girly thing to do. Anyway, I suppose all the temper-throwing and all the tears amounted to me being who I am today. It isn't that I am emotional detached or anything, but because I think I am more emotionally equipped to handle a lot of things life decide to throw at me, you know. There are many ways in which I can deal with a particular situation right now, which makes me more ... mature I suppose? I hate to use that word in general, the word "mature". It is so difficult to say if someone has mature or not, as if it is some kind of fruit and that you can tell by the color. I suppose the word can only be used comparatively, and only when you are saying that you are either more or less mature than before. In that respect, I suppose I have changed a great deal.

It has got to do with a lot of things in life really, many different aspects of my life that contributed to this. In high school, with all the boys around, I suppose we were all conditioned to behave in a certain way and not behave in a certain way. Breaking those social norms also meant social suicide, where the other boys would pick on you for acting differently from everybody else. So I had to keep my emotions in, I had to box them all up, because we all know what happens when you throw your temper and you lose it in between classes. I remember that one year when I had Ambrose as my classmate, and someone thought that it'd be fun to mess with him because he was considered to be "bully-able" by the standards of other boys. I remember Matthew doing something to him in between classes that caused Ambrose to flare up, and I remember him throwing a table at somebody, which was something he did all the time. Then for some reason, his glasses broke in half, and he started screaming and crying on the floor about how he bought the glasses only a week earlier, and he had mucus all over his face. Instead of stopping, though, the boys just stood around and laughed harder, which must have caused quite a trauma in Ambrose. Speaking of which, I haven't seen that guy since high school graduation. I wonder how he is now.

In junior college, it was the same story with different characters. This time around, instead of getting yourself out of trouble, all the boys wanted to do was to control themselves and pretend that they are OK about things that they are not OK with. With girls as our classmates, we didn't want to "lost it", so to speak in front of the girls. It must have been an unspoken rule of some sort, one of the many things that the boys couldn't do in front of the girls. We wanted to seem tough, we wanted to see indifferent, and we wanted them to like us. It is stupid, I know, but it's not like it stopped the boys from wanting to act in a certain way. I mean, the boys from the sports teams were always looked upon as being the cream of the crop because they were the "epitome of manhood" at those times. Just imagine, muscular dragonboat boys with their oars, that'd get any girls at that age to fall head over heels. And for the rest of us that are not nearly as physically inclined, we wanted to show and present ourselves in a different light. Being vulnerable, or being open with our emotions, those just didn't really seem like a viable option for most of us. So we opted to keep mum about a great many things, at least for me.

Then came the army, and there is no questions about zoning your emotions out of this one. Ideally, I feel, the government would like an army consisting of drones. The higher officials will be humans of course, because they'd want them to be controlling the drones. I mean, drones don't eat and they follow orders all the time, assuming that they do not eventually become self-aware. You don't want an army of human beings, because humans were never build to be good soldiers. I mean, some of us definitely are, but the rest of us are not exactly going to be keen on killing other human beings just because the people higher up are pissed off with the higher up people from that other country. The army wanted all the boys to be emotionless, they wanted us to be uniformed. That is why they wanted us to wear the same uniforms, they wanted us to march and run in cadence, and they wanted us to sing to the same damn army songs everyday. They wanted us to do everything in the exact same manner, and they also demanded the elites to kill chickens just to get that whole emotion thing out of the way. I was never the elite, but then I was sure conditioned to feel nothing about the swarms, the long hours, the sleepless nights and the screaming into your face. All of those, to manipulate you into a drone of skin and bones, to rid you of your emotions when you are in need of that emotional release.

So yeah, well I think not a lot of things in life really gets to me. I think death gets to me, but most of the time it is filled with wonderment and confusion, and maybe an element of shock too. More than the idea of death, though, it is the idea of departure that scares me the most. It isn't so much about my own death, but more about the idea that I will never see a certain bunch of people in my life ever again. I think that departure is a scary thing, and it is one of those things that gets me down, even now. As you know, I am leaving for Buffalo in less than a month, and there are a great many things that I have to deal with emotionally, and things that are making it hard to leave this place behind. I am departing, and the emotional baggage that comes along with that concept is both daunting and overwhelming. But we all have to deal with it, and I am just glad that none of this is permanent, that it is only for a short period of time. At any rate, we are all learning to deal with this, and like all the crying that came out of my childhood, some good will come out of this hurt - I promise. Some good will come out of this ordeal, and we will all end up being better than who we started out as. There are times when emotional control isn't necessary, especially when the occasion is appropriate and fitting. I cry at times at the thought of leaving this place, I smile at times when I think about coming back to my beloved one. I laugh when somebody says something funny, and I feel contented when I think about how much I am being loved by everybody around me. In truth, emotions don't need to be a bad thing. An outpour of it does not need to be cringeworthy either. I love each and every single one of you, a statement from me for example. When speaking the truth, emotional control can go out of the window for all that I care.

Strawberry Swing

Friday, July 24, 2009

Strawberry Swing

They were sitting
They were sitting on the Strawberry Swing
Every moment was so precious

They were sitting
They were talking under Strawberry Swing
Everybody was for fighting
Wouldn't wanna waste a thing

Cold, cold water bring me 'round
Now my feet won't touch the ground
Cold, cold water what'd you say?
When it's such, it's such a perfect day
It's such a perfect day

I remember
We were walking up to Strawberry Swing
I can't wait until the morning
Wouldn't wanna change a thing

People moving all the time
Inside a perfectly straight line
Don't you wanna just curve away?
When it's such, it's such a perfect day
It's such a perfect day

Now the sky could be blue
I don't mind
Without you it's a waste of time

Could be blue
I don’t mind
Without you it’s a waste of time

Could be blue,
Could be gray
Without you I’m just miles away

Could be blue
I don’t mind
Without you it’s a waste of time

Neptina

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Neptina

A bump surfaced on the patch of skin between your eyebrows, like a small hill that rose out from the ground. The edge of your lips quivered, and the corners of your eyes started to well up with tears. It started out like a shy little child, peeping her head out to take a breather from the world. And then the little child got brave enough, and it ventured out even further from her little hole, only to fall through and down the polished cliff. The tears rolled down her cheeks and left a trail of moisture like a signature, and it rolled over the bridge of her nose and into her other eye. The continued their journey across her face as she laid sideways, and they formed a small pool at the bottom of the cliff where it turned the pillow case into a darker shade of blue. Her hair fell over her face like a veil, and she seemed somewhat embarrassed to be so naked before my eyes even with her clothes on, with her vulnerabilities fully exposed. The tip of her index finger stroked my skin over and over, as if she was trying to bear a hole into my arm. As I leaned on one arm and brushed her hair to one side, the sour sensation crept up into my nose and pulled at the heartstrings from within. There was a moment of silence in the air then, punctuated just by the sound of her sobbing and the shuffling of sheets. There were no words left to say, than the ones that were already said. In whispers and in between the tears, her lips parted in an effort to tell me something. No voice came forth, just the rushing of air from within her lungs. I read her lips and I knew - I knew.

*

She told me one afternoon a few weeks ago, as we laid in bed and watched the night sky through the ceiling of my room. We made up constellations and traced our fingers from one imaginary star to another. There was a moon formed by my curved fingers, and there was a shooting star that shot across from one end of the room to another as well. We laid there for a while and felt the cooling breeze from the air-conditioning, the sound of cars were far away from where we were. Our skins touched, and our limbs tangled into a mass of indecipherable body parts. Her breath was on my cheeks, and I brushed my eyelashes on hers and told her that that is how butterflies kiss each other. She smiled, and for some reason apologized for wanting to meet me on such short notice. It was a weekday after my school, and she dropped by my place from wherever she was because she wanted to see me. It has been a couple of times already in that week, and it wasn't as if I was complaining either. I was confused, and she explained the reason why she wanted to see me so often. There wasn't much time left between then and, well, the date of departure. Instead of seeing me two or three times a week, she wanted to see me more often, even if it was for a few hours after dinner. She said, seeing me more times a week made her feel as if there was more time left for me, for us.

That was when I came apart, like a rag doll with broken thread. I brawled in her arms at the very moment when she said that, and it was the first time it really hit me right in the guts. That was the first time in a long time when I cried in front of anybody that hard and that uncontrollably. I couldn't help myself at that time, and the overwhelming emotions came over me like waves breaking on the shores. I buried my face into her shoulder while she placed a calming palm on my head, and she ran her fingers through my hair to sooth me out. Yet, as my tears fell into the hollow of her neck, my body convulsed uncontrollably to the sobbing and the tears that came forth. The thought of it, the sheer thought of leaving, it came at me like punches in the chest. For a moment there, I couldn't breathe properly, and all the efforts to be brave and optimistic betrayed me all at once. They came apart and opened the doors for things to enter. I was open to attacks from all directions, thoughts that welled up in my head like an overflowing glass of wine. I grabbed hold onto her like she was a buoy in the sea, and pulled her close to my chest to keep the heart in. I brawled like a baby that evening, the very first time the thought of leaving killed me.

*

The decision for me to leave for Buffalo was made long before I met Neptina. At the very beginning of my college life when the option was presented to me, I knew that I needed an experience like that to give my life a sudden jolt. It was a decision made impulsively, and an impulsive decision that eventually became a reality. I made the choice to go to the United States on a whim, and I didn't give it much thought at the beginning until I had to give it more than just a thought at all. When the papers and the documentations were sent to my e-mail, the thought of going to the United States suddenly became real and somewhat daunting. I remember taking the elevator at school one day and talking to my friends about getting cold feet about it. A friend of mine avoided the topic altogether, because she didn't want to think about the distance between her boyfriend and herself in the coming months. Another friend of mine, still attached right now, didn't seem to mind the distance very much at all. I tried to be cool about it, I remember telling them what I'd do to overcome the geographical distance. In my head, though, I was petrified.

On long bus trips home, I'd think about what I'd miss the most in Singapore. In the snowy winter country of Buffalo, I'd probably miss the warm weathers here quite a bit. Though, I must say, there period of time between April and June is probably the most unbearable period of time in Singapore due to the sheer amount of heat and humidity. Anyway, I'd probably miss the convenience of getting around the country, and most definitely the fact that my family is here in Singapore. At that point in time, Neptina hardly existed in my life at all. It was before we even met on that fateful day before the rock concert, and long bus journeys home were usually ruled by the music from my iPod or just the sound of rumbling engines. The idea that there'd be somebody to hold on to back in Singapore never came to me at that time. It was easy to tell myself that it'd turn out OK, that I'd be able to get used to the weather and the foreign delicacies. With nobody back home to worry about, I thought at that time, it was going to be an easy few months for me to get through. I remember about this time last year, I was contemplating heavily on the idea of moving back to Taiwan permanently after my college life. It was easy, and it really only involved a plane ticket and a cargo crate to put my stuff in. I made a list of what I wanted to bring back at that time, and I was so sure of moving back until August came along and presented a reason for me to stay.

Neptina and I met on the 12th of August last year before Death Cab for Cutie's concert. It began with an errand that I had to run for my mother, and then two hours of nothingness from then till the beginning of the concert. I was at Esplanade with nothing but my iPod Touch, a bottle of honey (don't ask), and a bag of tea leaves (don't ask either). I was sitting there alone with a game of Sudoku to play when a person approached me from the corner of my eyes. I remember looking at her for a split second just to make sure that she wasn't approaching to ask for directions or the time. When she sat down next to me, she kept mostly to herself and stared out into the distance like a mannequin of sorts, occasionally turning her head from side to side and watching the people go by. In between the random games of Sudoku, I'd try to see what she is doing on her side of the triangular seats, but she never seemed to be doing anything. She was hugging her bag, I remember, and her legs were pinned close together in front of her, like she was afraid that someone would come and snatch her bag away. The corner of her eyes peeped through from the top of her glasses, and I could see the wings of her eyeliner curling upwards towards her hairline. Beautiful, I thought to myself, before I retreated back into the mundane number game.

But such games only last so long, and the highest difficulty level seriously beat me to it. I gave in to my boredom and began to engage in the activity that the then-nameless girl was doing next to me - staring. That was when I decided to strike up a conversation, and I have to say that it wasn't out of curiosity or for any hidden purposes. All I wanted was to have somebody to talk to for two hours straight, and she happened to be the closest human being at that time. "Hey, what you doing here?", I said, and she turned to me and said "Death Cab". I told her that I was going to see Death Cab for Cutie as well, and her arm reached out from the other side of her body to give me a fist pump. That marked the beginning of our conversation, a conversation that has yet to seize since the very first day. I remember asking for her name and finding it unique and different from all the names that I have ever heard of. We discussed our favorite and most hated Death Cab for Cutie songs, and I remember her telling me about the origins of her name. We talked about our future and what we wanted to be, and she mentioned about how she wanted to be a wine connoisseur in Australia. I told her about my blocked nose, and how that makes it impossible for me to be in a career such as the one she was aiming for. She laughed, and I joined in soon after. That is how I met the love of my life.

*

I had to look away while she did something inside her cupboard. She had one of the doors opened in such a way that from her bed, I wasn't able to see what she was doing. She told me that she'd take about half an hour to finish what she was making for me, and I had to surf the internet in the mean time. It was a week or two before my birthday, but she couldn't wait to give it to me any longer. She was already on the verge of finishing it anyway, and I didn't mind receiving an early birthday present at that time. I remember talking to her and trying to guess what the gift was while watching Eddie Izzard videos on YouTube for the umpteenth time. I took peeks at her general direction, but the cupboard door completely concealed what she was doing. At one point, she rushed out from the room with an envelope and placed what she made for me inside. She came back with it soon after and handed it to me, with the flap at the back of the envelope properly sealed up. I tore open the invisible tape and fished out what looked like a handkerchief from within. I opened it up, and it was a piece of cloth sewed to look like a page out of a primary school exercise papers, completed with red margins and blue guiding lines. On the lines, she sewed words for me, one stitch at a time, the same words that made me break down last night before a phone call. It reads:

Hey there!

I love you bright eyes.

Stay with me?

*

Last night, I wanted to make a phone call that I didn't dare to make. I was alone in my room when a fear came to my mind. We've all heard stories, horror stories, about how love come apart after being the victims of long distance relationships. It's not that I haven't heard of success stories, but it's just that they are few and far in between. I was afraid that she'd leave me, though that is not to say that I believe her to have the capacity for such cruel deeds. It's like the concept of ghosts and monsters, and how one can be afraid of it despite knowing that it does not exist at all. I was petrified at that thought, and the time of the night seemed to have an amplification effect on all my emotions. I wanted to call Neptina, I wanted to unhinge to her about what I had in mind. It was two in the morning and she had an early class, and I know that I'd feel bad for waking her up. That, and on the other hand, I knew that if I called her, I'd cry so hard that I wouldn't be able to stop. Yet, I knew that as long as she was on the other end of the line, then it wouldn't be that bad a thing - that it'd be OK. So I dialed the familiar numbers on the number pad, and it didn't take long for her sleepy voice to come through the receiver.

I told her about what I was feeling, and my fears for leaving the country. I told her that as painful as it is to have someone to leave back home, it is also beautiful to know that I'd have somebody to come home to at the end of all things. She assured me over the phone and comforted me, and she told me that everything is going to be alright. Neither of us can promise and guarantee anything for the future, but that moment of assurance was more than enough to calm my soul. I told her about other things, and I told her that I felt bad for waking her up in the middle of the night just to whine about things that have yet to come to pass. She told me that it was alright, and that she didn't mind it at all. Like the way I'd be there when she has her nightmares, she wanted to be with me on my lowest points as well. Before we hung up, she told me to go look at the piece of cloth that she sewed for me as a birthday present, the one that still remained in the envelope that sits on a shelf in my room. I went to it after the phone call, and the carefully sewed words read itself out to me in my mind with her voice. I smiled for the first time last night, and that was when her text message came in over my phone.

Hey?

Hey. I'm alright again! Teared a bit and had mucus all over, not a pleasant sight. Thanks for being there, you are the love of my life.

Please don't leave me too. I love you so, so much. I will be here, I won't leave. I won't leave. I don't ever want to.

Let's make a deal. If I leave you, I give you the permission to render me impotent. I will never leave you. You can't drag me away either. I'm in your blood stream now, and you are in too deep. I've infested your system, as you have in mine.

I like reading that somehow, haha.

*

There was a moment of silence in the air then, punctuated just by the sound of her sobbing and the shuffling of sheets. There were no words left to say, than the ones that were already said. In whispers and in between the tears, her lips parted in an effort to tell me something. No voice came forth, just the rushing of air from within her lungs. I read her lips and I knew - I knew.

I love you, Will.

Yeah, Neptina. I love you too.

*

I love you too, monster.

with every inch of my living tissue.

Qualify & Quantity

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Qualify & Quantity

First off, I don't think I have ever had two words starting with "Q" in a title of a blog entry here before, and I am very proud of that for some reason. Trivial things, always the little things in life that I should be thankful for. Anyway, a recent event in my life has caused quite a stir in my train of mental thoughts, though the details shall remain ambiguous and untold. I don't suppose I am ready to tell the world about it, though I shall not lie when questioned about it at all. It concerns the idea of quality and quantity in terms of relationship and how people view it, and how some people in my life seem to think that quantity equals to quality, something that is completely untrue. This is merely the tip of the iceberg though, and the rest shall be very well hidden under the breaking waves. Like I said, I don't think I am ready to tell, and that you guys are ready to know. Or rather, I'm sure all of you nosy people would want to find out, but I don't think I want to answer that kind of questions just yet. Let's just say that there is, or was, someone who questioned the quality of my relationship based solely upon the amount of time that I have been with my significant other. It was a passing remark regarding a bigger picture, but that was also a remark that I felt to be the most offensive, out of everything else.

How do you begin to qualify a relationship that isn't yours, though, how do you start to judge whether or not it is working. There are many ways to do that, and they are mostly based on your own merits and not anybody else's. We all make judgments and come to our own conclusions about someone else's relationships, simply because we are giving in to the in-built desire for us humans to speculate about something. It is the driving force behind the gambling culture around the world where we speculate on the winning team and the winning score. It doesn't matter what kind of speculations you are making, but the point is that we all love to guess what happens next. To predict the future and feel good about ourselves when something does happen. You get to say "I told you so", because that makes you feel better about your current state of, well, whatever. Especially in relationships, we try to judge if a couple is going to last or not, because we seem to relish in the idea that we secretly get to tell them that you've been predicting its demise for a long time. Though, not all of these speculations are unfounded, because there are signs that could point to a potential toxic relationship. We've seen and heard stories, so we more or less know. It's like watching a soccer game that has five minutes left on the clock, and the opposing team is six points ahead of yours. It's not that it is impossible for your side to win, but the chances are next to nothing.

There are little signs that you can tell at times, when you know someone else's relationship isn't necessarily headed for the right direction. More often than not, that speculation is going to come true a few months or years down the road, but sometimes it is just false alarm. Every time you hear about an argument, you think about the possibilities of that event escalating into something bigger than it is supposed to be. After all, people have broken up and got divorced for a lot less, so why not a petty argument? Anyway, maybe it is the way that they sit next to each other at parties, or the way that one of them replies to the other via text message. You can tell by the littlest things, and from there you place your bets and you see what is going to happen next. Quality of a relationship seems to be something we love to speculate about, because we are all in some forms of it. Maintaining a relationship can be so difficult at times, and there are times when you just want someone else around to act as some kinda contrast to yourself. You know, to make you feel better about your relationship. You don't have to deny that, because it is the truth. Even in everything else in life, having a contrast that is of a duller shade of color makes yours stand out so much more.

We qualify relationships, we give them a mental rating, maybe something from one to ten, with one being on the verge of breaking up and ten being, well, your happy grandparents who are still living together after fifty years. Anyway, how do you begin to qualify a relationship based on how long two people have been together though. I mean, as accurate as some of the signs may be, there are times when they just don't add up no matter how you see it. I think it is totally unfair to judge a relationship based on how long two people have been together. I wonder which part of your logic chain tells you that if two people have been staying together for a long time, it makes them the "perfect pair". It doesn't even work that way, and it doesn't make them stronger than a relationship that has been going on for, say, five years. The duration of the relationship has nothing to do with the health of a relationship at all, I feel, and it doesn't mean that your relationship is better just because you've been in it longer than mine. There is always that honeymoon period at the beginning when everybody is courteous and polite. Then the nasty habits come in, and then the arguments about the trivialities. But it doesn't have to spell the end of things, you know, it doesn't have to be what it all comes down to.

I just hate it when somebody decides to say that your relationship isn't strong enough, that it isn't mature enough, based solely upon the fact that it hasn't been going on for very long. I understand the concept of a honeymoon period, I understand because I've been through a period of time when it was all rainbows and bunnies. I know what it is like for that period of time to end and the rest of those nasty things to begin. I know all of those, and I know that it is too early to judge a great many things. However, it is offensive to say that "your relationship is not mature" just because of quantity. It shouldn't happen that way at all, because I know of longer relationships being completely dysfunctional as well. Haven't you seen odd couples in living rooms of a HDB flat, just sitting there and watching television without saying anything to one another. When you pass by their home for the second time, they are doing the exact same thing as what they were doing when you passed it by the very first time? There are couples like that everywhere, the kind that stays together for "might as well" reasons. They tell you that since they have been together for an X amount of time, they might as well continue with it. When has "might as well" being the reason to be with somebody in the first place?

All I am saying is that quantity does not equal to qualify. Just because you are in a longer relationship, it doesn't mean that you are better than mine. Things solidify, things become more concrete, and relationships become stronger if done right - sure. You might have done it well enough, but weren't you also at the one year mark so long ago? We have to pick our way through this, try to find the best way to maintain it. Solidifying does not necessarily have to mean inflexibility at all in this case, because a heart was never meant to harden. I don't know, I just feel like I need to get it out of my system somehow, let it be known that it isn't about how far we have come or how much more we have to go. It is about right now, and every inch of a relationship should be about the "now", you know. The present is what I am working at, the present tense, what is happening at this very moment. I'm not exactly the type of person to say that I "live for the moment", because that statement seems somewhat passe and pretentious. In relationships though, I focus on the "now", and right now I am very comfortable with who I am, and what I have. I seriously do not need any value judgments by somebody who hasn't really even asked about the situation in the very first place, you know.

Like, it's not like you've been there to ask about it, you hardly even know about what goes on. It'd be more accurate for people who know to make that kind of judgments, because they've seen where it was at and where it is now. You, on the other hand, you were never really around to ask me about it, and you hardly even know her name. It isn't in your position to make assumptions about my relationships when you haven't been there before. Get off your high horse, and realize for once that having been in a long relationship does not necessarily mean that you are happily ever after either. You cannot say that mine isn't as awesome as yours, because that is not how it works, that's not what we know yet. We don't know, she and I, and neither do you. It is completely unfair, and it makes me angry that someone would try to say something like that to me. It is a lousy judgment, and I suppose it will just give me that much more pleasure when I come back, in return, to tell you that "I told you so" by beating the odds. It's not like my relationship right now is any more different from the one that you were in back then, because we all have to go through our first years. How many happily married couples do you know that are happy with each other on a daily basis anyway. I don't know of many, and neither do you. So just because your formula has worked out so far, it doesn't mean that it does for everybody else. We interact in different ways, and our relationships are radically different. So please, don't try to qualify my relationship by basing your judgments on the time it has elapsed. All I know, at this point, is that I am happy, and I am very thankful to have this person in this part of my life. No guarantees about forever, but at least right now, I have a great companion to walk with.

Summer Rant

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Summer Rant

It isn't something that I can put a finger too, but I wonder if I am alone when I say that this half of the summer semester has been quite a, how should I put it, load of shit? This is how summer semesters are always like, and the same reason why I loathe it so much, from the bottom of my heart and the marrows of my bones. It wasn't always this way though, because people from my school would testify and tell you that summer semester used to be fun. We started off our college life with the summer semester, and things were all nice and well back then weren't they. I mean, we had the fun music lessons in school and the fun english lecturer that I got along with quite well. Everything worked out nicely even if we had to wake up at seven in the morning to attend a class. Those were the days when I actually looked forward to attending the classes at school, which is something that I haven't felt before in my entire life in education. I looked forward to school, and I suppose the first semester really was what solidify this period of time as one of the best times of my life. It was the time when politics did not exist amongst people, and you could pick out random people from a crowd and have them go out without problems at all. You can't do that now, and the semesters suck like dirty socks blended with rotten potatoes. It's quite bad, I tell you, and we are all feeling the punch.

Though, I must admit, the first semester was probably fun because we had a little bit more time to complete what we were supposed to complete. We had to start school a couple of weeks earlier than normal students, and we had the full semester to finish four modules. Now, we have to finish two modules in five to six weeks, with everything squeezed and crammed up together into this giant academic orgy. Just to picture a quiz paper bursting through the doors into a room full of naked assignments and projects. They are all having sex by sliding over one another and the ruffling the papers up into crumpled balls. Sooner or later, the final exams join in, and then the entire room is full of papers that are making out and having hot wet sex. Try to imagine yourself as a janitor now, having to clean up the mess afterwards. I'm sure you have tried to clean up a pile of wet paper before, and it isn't the most fun thing to do in the world. Anyway, that is how summer semesters are for the most part, a giant orgy party of assignments and exams, and they really do take a toll on all of us, considering how little time we have for them all. The summer semester is merciless, and it gives you no time to catch a breather as well, and it is made worse that we have this half-half system in place.

I am not going to get into the details of that, because most of the readers here probably already know that very well. It is a lousy system, and we all hate it immensely and passionately. Initially, the idea of having a sped up college sounded like a good idea. It felt like it was OK for us to sacrifice the holidays in between, and to come to school while students from local universities are having their summer holidays. It felt OK, because school was fun even when there were papers, and we were actually enthusiastic about those. I mean, for music classes, we go to school at nine in the morning to bang on tables - literally. We came to school in those days to have fun, and even the projects were full of fun. The quizzes were still a downer, but I remember staying up at night just to get through my music classes - imagine that. When we were not pounding our palms on the tables, we were drawing notes on song sheets and filming videos down the hallways. Those were the truly good times, and the summer semester back then actually felt really fun - whatever happened to those?

We are now left with the sludge of summers past. We are left with the slime of whatever that left, this giant blob of filth. I hate summer semesters right now, and most people should hate it just the same, or even more. The truth is that when you have lecturers coming in during the summer semester and trying to achieve the impossible, you have a problem. Summer semesters were never meant to be actual full-time semesters, and adding more lessons every week just to make up for time doesn't make it so either. The school administration seems to think that if you add more classes to a week during the summer semester to make up for the shortened semester, then it'd all be OK and the students would be able to deal with it just the same. The truth is, with all the classes packed together, there is a significant diminishing marginal returns occurring. Suddenly, you have a bunch of students trying to study for something and nothing being retained in their heads. At least the first two lecturers knew what they were doing and what they were not going to do. It's a summer semester! You should know your limits. They knew what they could accomplish, and as a result adjusted their course timetable to it. I hate that this other lecturer we have no seems to think that you can finish twelve chapters in five weeks and expect us to learn something.

I don't feel like I am getting anything out of the summer semester, you know, or at least this half of it anyway. You don't feel like you learn anything when you are being rushed to finish something all the time. When your lecturer attempts to go through three chapters in one lesson, you know that you are better off studying them on your own and at your own pace. I don't know if this is due to burn out or not, but I definitely feel a heightened sense of inertia this time around, more than the others. Every once in a while, we all fall into a kind of slump, and you feel like you cannot possibly go on the semester without tripping all over yourself. But on a normal semester, you get the motivation and drive back because you have the time to recompose yourself. You don't get that with summer semester, and I really dislike that right now. It's not that I hate the idea of schooling during the summer, because I do like it quite a bit. I don't mind that I am schooling while some of my peers are having summer holidays overseas. The truth is, though, the way the classes have been structured is really making the summer semesters NOT worthwhile at all. As much as someone like Joyce missed out on a lot of things at school, I suppose she made a right choice by staying out of it this time around.

If I have a choice though, I'd probably just take maybe one or two light modules during the summer. I mean, I think that'd be the perfect arrangement, with enough time to relax and, at the same time, not letting you rot at home for three months straight. I like that idea, but the school does not wholly agree. It becomes really tiring after some time, and you feel like giving in during the last leg of this race. I, like many others, are already feeling the punch of the summer semester, and the same happened last year as well. I'm not sure why the school administration find it necessary to put the students through this, but I personally dislike it quite a bit. At any rate, I suppose this is the last stretch, and I might as well finish it even if I have to crawl to the finish line. The scenario seems rather likely at this point, though I cannot care less anymore. I just want this to be over, just so that the next episode of my life could begin and carry on somehow.

Friends, Lovers or Nothing

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Friends, Lovers or Nothing

Now that we are over
As the loving kind
We'll be dreaming ways
To keep the good alive

Only when we want is not
A compromise
I'll be pouring tears
Into your drying eyes

Friends, lovers, or nothing
There can only be one
Friends, lovers, or nothing
We'll never be the in-between
So give it up

You whisper "Come on over"
'cause you're two drinks in
But in the morning I will say
Goodbye again

Think we'll never fall into
The jealous game
The streets will flood
With blood of those who felt the same

Friends, lovers, or nothing
You see, there can only be one
Friends, lovers, or nothing
We'll never an in-between
So give it up

Friends, lovers, or nothing
We can really only ever be one
Friends, lovers, or nothing
Don't you know, we'll never be the in-between
So give it up

No, we'll never the in-between
So give it up

*

Anything other than a yes is no,
Anything other than stay is go,
Anything less than "I love you" is lying.

Anything other than a yes is no,
Anything other than stay is go,
Anything less than "I love you" is lying.

*

I wanna fall, fall asleep, sleep in the arms
The arms of a woman, a woman who doesn't
Doesn't deserve my love

I wanna lie, lie to myself, something someone else
Just to feel something, something that hurts me
'cause the hurt makes me feel alive.


Owl!

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Owl!

Napalm

Monday, July 13, 2009

Napalm

I was supposed to be sleeping, I was supposed to be dreaming by the time it was two in the morning. But I wasn't asleep, despite the fact that I have been in bed, at that time, for for nearly three hours already. I was troubled by thoughts mostly, and inside my head I conjured up a dozen different outcomes for the unlucky self. There was only going to be one possible outcome of my deferment getting through, but a hundred different possibilities if it got rejected all over again. Those possibilities came alive in my head and swam around like zombie mermaids or something, and I pictured them that way as I shot them all down with my optimistic gun of doom. However, in the battle of zombie mermaids versus optimism, sleep had to be sacrificed at the very end, and it eventually was. By two in the morning, I was still drifting in and out of dreams, and most of them were about going back to the military. It wasn't so much about fear for the most part, but the idea of being back in the army. That idea can send chills down any man's spine and jolts of ice into their hearts. It is an idea that nobody likes to entertain, especially for those who haven't got a choice for the most part. I wasn't exactly worried about the trouble, but just the whole thing in general. It felt like a whole pack of fail to me, let's put it that way.

At around four in the morning, I received some messages from the girlfriend who just finished her project at that point in time. She sent me a message and I replied, after which I was pretty much wide awake and listening to the sounds around the house. It was less than two hours before I was supposed to wake up, and I could hear the sound of my mother sneezing in her bedroom from mine. I listened in for a while and was curious as to why it didn't stop, and that was when I decided that I didn't want to be in bed any longer. So I got up, asked if my mother was OK, and remained online until I was supposed to be waking up and dressing up at five forty-five in the morning. It has been a while since I've decided to stay up, but I guess it was the right thing to do, considering the fact that trying to sleep didn't stop the worrying at all. It made it worse if anything, and surfing through the internet certainly helped with the distraction department. Anyway, I made my rounds around the house and checked my equipments a little bit, hoping that I wouldn't need to take any of them out of my bag when I reach the camp. In my head, I dearly wished for myself to be in and out in under two hours. But I know that with the military, I have to shave my expectations about anything by about half. Everything disappoints in the army, and I do not lie to you about that at all.

By the time my alarm clock went off, I was already dressed up in my military uniform, with the luggage pulled out to the front of the house. I was ready to go, but my stomach was growling and I haven't got much to eat yet. My mother stumbled out from her bedroom with her hair in a state of disarray, and she staggered into the kitchen to make me breakfast. I read the papers a bit and pretended not to care, and then later found the fastest way to drive from my house to the camp in the middle of nowhere. It is one thing to be in a camp like Kranji Camp when it is five minutes away from the MRT, and the other when you are in the infamous Sungei Gedong Camp. The name itself is enough to make any army man curse, because we all know that camp is at world's end, and that is a place where even the wild animals will not venture to bury their poop. If you have ever driven to this camp, you'd know how far away it is from everything - and I mean, everything. The closest form of civilization around the area is the vast expense of land that is the infamous Lim Chu Kang cemeteries, and everybody in that neighborhood is buried underground. Then you get vast expanse of trees and grass, and then chicken farms that smell like bird shit and other horrible things. It is a place that your souls go to die.

That was the place that I was supposed to go, the camp in the middle of nowhere, the place where even the army boys didn't want to go, even when we were in that other camp down the road. That place pretty much meant "outfield", and we hated that to its very bones. The roads in the morning were clear, and we pretty much sped down PIE at maximum speed despite the fact that I wanted my mother to drive as slow as possible. I suppose the clear roads were too alluring, and my mother was at Jalan Bahar in no time. Then the buildings fell away to give way to thick walls of trees, and the roads converged to become this long stretch of runway, at least ten lanes across from one side to the other. I showed my mother around, everything from the chicken farm to the route that I took, from the cemeteries to the little mount by the edge of the road where I camped one night a long time ago to watch people race back and forth. My mother was fascinated by the graves, and I was somewhat worried for her, thinking that she might get lost on her way home or something. She isn't all bad with directions, but it was near Sungei Gedong after all - it is a twilight zone of death that sucks everything into its vortex.

The smell of a military camp sucks, and you can smell the amount of stupidity built into the walls and into the stairs. With my duffle bag on one shoulder and my own bag on the other, I ventured into the camp and saw some familiar faces. It was somewhat comforting, but discomforting at the same time because those were the faces that I didn't want to see anymore in my life. They are nice people, but they also meant "duty, honor, and country" to me. We carried our "barang barang" down the road and to a checkpoint where our temperatures were tested. We had to fill out a form to say that we weren't running a fever, and then ushered to an area to have our hair checked. This is where I was forced into a line to get my hair shaved, and I must say that they did a horrendous job. I have half the mind to shave it completely bald right now because of how bad it is. If you have ever seen the state of a chicken wing after you have thrown it to a dog, you know how my hair is like right now. I suppose it is the contrast between what I had and what I have now, and it is even more frustrating that the lady barbers couldn't be bothered at all to cut an inch lesser despite the fact that I went back to defer. If you have seen a dog after you've trimmed too much hair off, you know that depressed look. I am feeling rather low on self-esteem at this point, and very very vulnerable.

For the rest of the day, we did nothing. Nothing. You would think that if they label a training as being "high key" and that they make a big deal out of people trying to defer themselves away from it, it'd be a pretty busy period of time in the camp with things happening all the time. But no, because we didn't do anything today after we checked in, so to speak, and that was the case even after I left the camp. While the officers went about doing their paperwork, the camp was in a lazy mode with nothing much happening other than stray soldiers walking about at the company lines and to the canteens. Hell, people even came late and it's not like anybody bothered to give them a phone call to confirm why they weren't around. The officers were also reservist personnel, and it's not like they could care less about such things at all. My officer in command owns a spectacles shop, and he seriously isn't the kind of person who'd bother with charging someone over such a minor offense. When you have an officer in command who cannot care less what you show or give to him upon your deferment, a 2IC who doesn't even know if you have deferred or not, a platoon commander who also wants to defer at the same time, you pretty much know that nobody is going to be motivated to fight a war. In fact, if the only regular in the entire battalion is the head and everybody else are pissed off looking reservist personnel, you have a battalion of unmotivated soldiers who are not going to fight a war at all.

It is somewhat saddening to see where the taxpayers' money goes to. It goes into stupid military exercise where nobody really does anything other than moving things around. You start to realize the gravity of its stupidity when you look at the makeshift model of a live firing range in the lecture room, and you see the little wooden stumps stuck to the board with glue and little plastic toy soldiers being placed in different positions to fire at wooden boards. That is the kind of "war" that we fight, that is the kind of enemies that we face. They are always the kind that are fixed to a little machine that goes left and right, up and down. They never fire back, they never even shout anything at you to scare you. They just go left and right, up and down. All those money goes into supporting soldiers who cannot care less about being in camp, and maintaining weapons and vehicles that never seem to work when they are needed to work. Everything in the military is about waiting for something to happen. Waiting to move, moving to wait, that is something you are going to hear a lot in the army. Productivity and efficiency is something that the officers merely fantasize about, but it never becomes a reality as everything becomes delayed and pushed back. Like how everything was today when it was all shifted back and all was haywire.

So, in the midst of the chaos, I spent some time with my old platoon mates, and found there to be little to no changes in them at all. They are all the same, with the lot of them spotting the same hairstyles for the most part. It's like they never actually left the army, and has been in there ever since I left. They still talk about the same things, act in the same way, and react to things that reminds me of that musky smell in my bunk. I suppose for a period of time, it was pleasant to catch up with them for a while. But as the day draw on and the commanding officer still not in sight to approve my deferment, I was beginning to feel a little daunted by the idea that I could be staying with the same group of people for two weeks straight. It's not because they are bad people or anything, but because they simply operate on a different frequency than the rest of us. At least in my platoon, there is a clear distinction between the A levels and polytechnic people, and the rest. For the rest, I'd like to think of them as "the others", like the ones from Lost. They are just different, and they are interested and excited about different things. As we sat around in a circle in our bunk today, they spoke of their "sexcapades", so to speak, and their adventures to shady night clubs in Singapore and having their penises sucked by hostesses at a price, and how they are willing to do anything to you as long as you have the money to pay up. It is one thing to hear about such things happening in Singapore, and something else to see the people that you know so well engaging in it.

So the commanding officer, the guy who has the say in whether or not I can leave or stay, was supposed to meet us at two to discuss the issues at hand. He was held up at a briefing, and apparently was delayed till about three in the afternoon when Han Wei and I decided to evacuate into the company line and hide in the bunks while they had a mini-parade of sorts. Here's the thing, nobody cared about where everybody else was, and nobody ever questioned somebody else where we were at that time. We camped out in my bunk and talked about games and deferment, and a bunch of other stuff that revolved around the past. Anyway, it was fun to do something like that again, and it was not until about five in the afternoon did the commanding officer actually had any time to see us. There were a lot of us at that time, and I was glad to be the first few in line to talk to him about things. I was number ten, and apparently a bunch of people weren't around when the queue started, so we jumped a few places forward. There were over twenty people applying, and he was only entertaining people until six in the afternoon, so you can see that it is pretty urgent for us to get things done as soon as possible.

The commanding officer didn't seem like he was in a terrific mood when I first met him. Every commanding officer has that kind of look, the vibe that oozes of pride and patriotism for the country. He, however, had an overwhelming amount of that, and even more so than Dominic Ow, who was my commanding officer in my army days. I mean, my old commanding officer was shorter than most of the men around, so in that sense he was disadvantaged already. Anyway, the queue went by relatively smoothly, and my platoon commander was in line for deferment as well. We talked about the odds of us getting through, and it became fairly optimistic after some time that full-time studies was going to get through. I had my hopes up all the way until the moment I sat down in his office with his seat just inches away from mine. He saw my letter of approval from my school and immediately mentioned that SIM is not a recognized school by the military - which is incredibly stupid. Like I mentioned before, if you are not from the three local universities, the country says "go fuck yourself" for the most part. The commanding officer didn't care that I was from SIM, or UB, or all the other assignments that I will be missing. He didn't even like the fact that I wrote "full-time studies" because, supposedly, it shouldn't be approved as if it isn't a valid reasons. At any rate, he approved at the end because I have exams on this week and the subsequent weeks, and he said that he approved of my deferment almost as if he felt like he was doing me a favor. I had to smile, of course, and patronize the big boss before leaving, though it was nice of him to wish me good luck on the papers.

So I went back to bunk, packed up my things, and Han Wei and I got out of that camp in no time at all. There were already cabs waiting outside the camp to pick people up, since I suppose the distance of that camp from everywhere else is a good way to earn a big wet load of cash. We dumped our bags in the back of the cab, told the driver where we were headed, and we were caught in the middle of a jam and civilization in no time. That was when my fatigue really struck me hard, because I hasn't slept for a long time by then. But the emotions were rolling about in my head, and it still all seemed somewhat surreal to me that I managed to get myself out of the mess despite the haircut. I mean, I hate the haircut, but at the same time I am not inside the bunk right now trying to fall asleep in the excruciating heat. I am at home right now, getting ready for school tomorrow, and hoping that the hoodie would be enough to cover up the hair a little bit. Anyway, the trip home was slow but enjoyable somehow. Han Wei and I both breathed a sigh of relief when we moved away from the trees into the more familiar concrete jungle. I got home and crashed into the shower, and that was when I really felt safe from that horror of a place. So, I am home, and I am just glad to be here all over again.

P

Sunday, July 12, 2009

P

Here is a confession that you will not hear anywhere else. I have a thing for memes, and I have no idea why. Not just any memes about what you are doing now, who was the last person you called, and what was the last food you ate. I love memes with a bit of creativity going for it, the kind that makes you think and derive at answers after some kind of careful thoughts. It is different from the conventional chain letters that threaten you with ten years of bad luck if you do not send it to ten other people on your contact list, or the kind that tells you that you will be kissed by the person that you love in the next twenty-four hours if you send it it X-number of people. I appreciate a cleverly thought out meme, but the problem is that they are very hard to come by most of the time. Thankfully, I have a girlfriend who is equally demanding when it comes to memes, and she has quite a few sources in her social circle to obtain clever memes such as this one that came into her attention. It's simple enough though, and this one basically involves you listing out ten of your most beloved whatever based on a letter than the person who tagged you dictates. On one hand, I get to brainstorm for ideas, and on the other I get another easy entry on my blog - two birds with one stone, why not?

Anyway, so I am going to start with my list here of everything that I love that starts with a P. It is going to be hard, because the only word I can come up with that starts with a P right now is "Parrot", for some reason. I'm not sure if I am going to give somebody else a letter and have that person continue on though. If you are interested, comment in the tagboard and I will assign you with a letter for your own list! I think it is fun, and somewhat thoughtful if you put your mind to it anyway. So, here goes nothing, and let's see where it all leads to by the end of this entry.

1) Parsley
I know a lot of people who hate vegetables, much less parsley. Even if you are a fan of vegetables, you are probably going to leave these garnishes by the side of your plate by the end of a meal. It certainly adds to the flavor of a dish, but that doesn't mean everybody likes the taste of parsley in their mouths. I'm not sure when I became curious about parsley, but I have a feeling that it is because of how nobody at any restaurants that I've ever been to ever bothered to try parsley. My idea was that if something is on a plate, it can be eaten somehow if cooked properly, and they smell particularly fragrant. I tried one after my mother thought it to be OK, and then I got hooked to the taste of it. Every time somebody decides to leave a pile of parsley at the edge of his or her plate, I'd probably ask for it. I like the smell and the taste of it, and I remember going back to Taiwan last year and visiting some childhood friends in the farm, and they actually had pots of parsley right in the back of their house, which was pretty awesome. Anyway, I like parsley, though that is not to say that I want a whole dish of it. Yet, if you decide that you don't want to munch on those miniature version of trees, give them to me. Thank you.

2) People in general, unless proven to be assholes
I think in nature, it is difficult for me to wrap my head around the idea of not trusting anybody unless that person proves to be trustworthy. I know of people, or someone, who dislikes everybody until they prove that they are likable in one way or another. I suppose when it comes to assessing somebody, first impression for me is always a somewhat positive one. You'd want me to be your panel judge or your job interviewer, because I tend to possess a good impression of people until that person does something to make me think otherwise. I like people in general, or just meeting them and getting to know them. I find it extremely difficult to play the ball close to my chest and keep my guard up, because that is not who I am. Still, I must admit, maybe that has played against me on a couple of unfortunate occasions. At any rate, I still love the idea of meeting people and knowing how they are like, which is also the reason why I really want to travel around the world. In a country such as Singapore, though, knowing people just seems like an impossible task unless there is some kind of event that you are attending. Talking to strangers isn't something that seems to be a social norm here, though I am lucky to say that my current girlfriend is a result of such an unlikely interaction. Anyway, I like people in general until I find something that rubs me the wrong way, and I in turn place their names in the black book.

3) Philip Glass
The choice of putting Philip Glass in my list of favorite "P" things was not a difficult one. If you've ever had a chance to take a glimpse at the my iTunes' playlist, you'd notice how many times Philp Glass' name comes up on the top 25 most played tracks. His work in the score of The Hours still remains one of my favorite albums of all time, and probably my second favorite score ever, right behind Clint Mansell's The Fountain. At any rate, Philip Glass' work is what I look to when I need a certain jolt of inspiration, a certain mood that I need to set the tone I suppose. Philip Glass provides that kind of atmosphere, a brooding and progressive music that sends me into a continuum of sorts. His work on the piano is hypnotic, and it puts you into a sort of trance. One reason why I have such a great love for The Hours, the film, is the music and how it ties everything together in a linear story line. If there is one pianist that I'd like to be, it'd be like Philip Glass. I remember a conversation with a friend of mine, about his works and its influences. He isn't necessarily a big fan, but I suppose I somewhat understand. If Bachs' music is rocket science, Philip Glass' is probably somewhere between physics and chemistry somehow. It isn't complicated, but I suppose it is in the simplicity that I am the most passionate about. Philip Glass deserves a spot on this list, because he is just that awesome.

4) Precipitation of any form
I have a love affair with the rain, I swear. I'd probably have chosen to use the word "Rain", had my assigned letter been "R". Still, I have to play by the rules, and I am using the word "precipitation" in its stead. By precipitation, I do mean precipitation of any form. Whether or not it is the rain or the snow, I like them all. Though, a point to note, it has been quite a while since I have experienced snowfall, and I haven't actually experienced a hailstorm before. I am probably going to see a lot of snow in Buffalo when I get there, so much snow that I am probably going to want to take it off the list in due time. Before then, though, I shall continue to relish in the memory of throw snowballs at my father in Vancouver, and how my sister fell into a hole after the snow caved in. And as for rain, everybody knows my love for rain and the sound that it makes. Everything before the rain, during the rain, and after the rain, they are just some of the little things that I treasure dearly in life. Every time there is a hint of a rainstorm coming, I'd be perched at my window and then silently hoping that it'd pout for a week straight. It hasn't happened in a long time, and I doubt very much that it would anytime soon. For now, I do love the sound of the rain pounding against my window and when it falls on a tin roof. If you haven't experienced the latter, you have to give it a shot. It makes the whispers of a rain sound like the screaming of a monster. It's really great.

5) Plants
I don't consider myself to be a person that is big on nature. I mean, I hate the sight of deforestation, but at the same time you are not going to find me tumbling around in the woods and trying to survive on a dagger and a roll of tape. I am not the kind of person you'd find out in the woods, but I do love the plants that come along with the woods. Trees, particularly, are my favorite of all plants, simply because of their majesty and their elegance. Despite the fact that I spent the better part of my two years in the army trying to break down plants and getting through walls of them in the jungles, I still appreciate their presence and also realize how important they are to our very own survival. As a child, I was always jealous when my mother told me how my grandfather built the family a treehouse behind their house, and they'd all climb up into the treehouse to spend some afternoons there. I've always wanted a treehouse, but it's not like there are any trees in Singapore. It isn't legal to do such a thing I presume, which is why my childhood dream was pretty much dashed for the most part. Still, I love looking at trees, and the idea that everything started off with a tiny little seed. Trees are also a part of what I believe, comes after death. It isn't so much about life after death, but rather life in a different form. You decompose, you go back to the soil, and a tree picks it up and you live within a tree - I like that very much indeed.

6) Puns
A pun is defined as a joke exploiting the different meanings of a word or the fact that there are words or the fact that there are words that sound alike but have different meanings. I love wordplays, and there are many examples out there which I love dearly. However, since I am only allowed to mention things that start with P, I have elected "puns" to be the representative. Besides, the word "pun" is just too cute to ignore. It sounds like a food, like a bun, or a bunny or something like that. I remember the first time I heard the word, I didn't even believe that it is an actual word. I have been playing around with puns for a long time even before I learned of the existence of such a term. I am very bad at puns, and puns are very rarely the source of a good joke unless it is sexually suggestive somehow. In a time when everybody goes "that's what she said" in class, puns have become especially important, at least to me. I've always enjoyed the smarts behind puns, and how people have the ability to twist them. Puns are great, and I love them, and someone really should have a book on all the puns in the world.

7) Pots of homemade food
First of all, I have no idea what is in the pot in this picture. Second of all, it isn't a picture of my mother's cooking, because I think she does a way more appetizing job than this. At any rate, my mother never started off as a great cook, and she really only started learning how to cook after my sister was born. My aunt has always been the better cook, and my mother owes much of her knowledge in the kitchen to her. My mother's dishes are what I'd call, my comfort food. Her dishes are what I hope to come home to whenever I have had a rough day out, and the case was especially so when I was still in the army, and the food from the cookhouse was unwanted even by the stray dogs that we fed them to. My mother cooks well, and many people have testified to that before. She still claims to be a mediocre cook, and that she doesn't really know much other than the basics. Yet, even when she is just dealing with the basics, she does such a wonderful job that I don't mind eating the same thing for days on end. She doesn't believe that I have the ability to do that of course, but who doesn't like to eat something that comforts more than just your stomach anyway. I find solace in her food, only because it marks the end of my day and I get to rest and feel satisfied. Most of all though, it is the sense of home that I find in each and every one of her dishes that I appreciate the most.

8) Playing Josephine
As many of you may already know, guitar isn't exactly something that I intend to pursue a career with. Rather, it is a hobby of mine that I picked up a couple of years ago because my sister gave up on it. That is a picture of me bald, and that is also a picture of me playing my guitar (Josephine) almost five years ago. That picture was taken on my first book out from the army, and I look like some kind of Sudanese refugee for some reason. Anyway, I enjoy playing the guitar very much, though that is not to say that I intend to start a career with it. I don't think that I am good enough, and the songs that I have written on my guitar have mostly been unsatisfying on a personal level. It is a shame, I suppose, but it is still something that I am rather proud of, for the mere fact that I have come this far by studying everything on my own. I enjoy everything about guitars, from the shape of the instrument to the sound that it makes, from the songs that I can play with the guitar and the pain at the tips of my fingers after an hour-long jam on my own in the bedroom. I dream about being on stage at times, a silly fantasy that isn't very realistic if you ask me. I do not have the voice to match the guitar, but I try my best and I pretend to be singing to a big crowd in a small pub. At any rate, Josephine has always been there in these silly fantasies of mine, and never judgmental about the way that I cannot hit a pitch or carry a note.

9) Pets that go woof-woof
That is my dog, although it isn't living with me. It is a complicated situation, but my love for dogs go beyond national borders. I love pets in general, and I have had many over the past couple of years. If I could, I'd probably buy iguanas and put them around the house, but that is against the law in Singapore, so too bad. Anyway, I have had hamsters, rabbits, and fishes as pets before, but dogs have been and probably will always be my favorite of all. Dogs are just adorable for the most part, even if some of them may not look that way. I've been having a growing affection for cats, but you cannot deny how cold they may seem at times. It is a one-way love relationship with a cat for the most part, either from you to the cat or vice versa. Dogs, on the other hand, their blind love for you infects you somehow, and I love to come home to a ball of fur wagging its tail for some reason, all happy to see me. The dog doesn't exactly seem very happy in that picture, but it really is pretty excited to head out of the front door at that point. I shall make it a point to have my own dog when I grow older, though my parents don't want to have one now. It's not because they don't like dogs - they love them to death. But the problem comes when they die, and my parents feel like they cannot deal with it. But, if you think about it, if they know that I am going to die someday, why did they decide to make me in the first place? I do wonder at times about that.

10) Possession of Neptina
Neptina is an awesome girlfriend, and I'd feel incredibly guilty if I don't include her on this list. That is not to say that her inclusion is, in any way, out of guilt. It was difficult for me to include her, considering the fact that her name is Neptina instead of Peptina. Anyway, I'd much rather use some other word instead of "possession" to describe how she is to me. However, since we all have to play by the rules, I am merely abiding to it. Neptina is probably one of the most amazing things that has happened to me. A best friend and a girlfriend all rolled into one, Neptina is probably the best combination of everything awesome that you can think of. We started out as perfect strangers at a rock concert, striking up a conversation not really because we were genuinely interested in one another, but because we were driven to edge of our sanity by our boredom. From there, a friendship slowly bloomed into a relationship, the one that we have today. We haven't stopped talking since that fateful day, literally. Every single time that we converse, I feel a strange sense of invincibility, as if there isn't anything in the world that could penetrate me, for some reason. It is comforting to know that other than your family, there is another person out there whom you can love and be loved in radically different ways. This is a person who understands, who gets me, and one who never seizes to amaze me in so many ways. Possession is a rather crude word to describe her importance in my life, considering how it makes her seem almost like a commodity of sorts (do forgive me). I guess I just want to say that if I was given a different letter, I'd probably give my all to come up with a way to fit you into the list as well. If you gave me the letter Z, I'd probably include you by going "ZOMG, Neptina" or something. Try me, I'd be able to throw you into my list of favorites. Why? Because you are just that amazing to me.