Brandon's Injury

2006-11-05T01:03:00.000+08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rs4iqSYtqhI

Why singaporeans are rated so low in courtesy.

2006-10-27T00:54:00.000+08:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY FIZAH!!

-end0

2006-10-24T01:15:00.000+08:00

To everyone who has successfully walked through Ramadhan without any excuses,

to everyone who I know actually made up lame excuses to reduce their days of fasting

to everyone who likes astronomy especially during Ramadhan

to everyone who i don't bother to know more other than their face or nickname,

to everyone who knows me but i don't know who you are (i'm with you)

to everyone on the top deck of 65 ,

to every stone-faced mormons who can't even take up the challenge of fasting for like, a week and still want to be part of this joyous celebration

to that hobo who shopped at 2nd Chance and stole the outfit that i wanted

to the people at Anna Nucci shoe store

to the guy whose phone number now belongs to some minah

to Noor Suriya for sending a hard copy of a Hari Raya card from Cairo,

to all the friends that I've annoyed endlessly (and will still do this because...I'm tin)

to all the friends who want to severe any friendship which I'm a part of,

and to everyone who really tried to make the best out of Ramadhan ibadah-wise,

SELAMAT HARI RAYA AIDIL FITRI MAAF ZAHIR DAN BATIN

I wanted to put some lame poem about Labu Labi cuci strawberi but yeah, I didn't think it was funny at all.

Please take care of yourself, don't drink too much carbonated stuff this Raya and don't forget to remove your make-up before you perform your prayers.

-end-

2006-10-18T13:11:00.001+08:00

the bus life

Time : 0645 pm, on the way to school.

It was rather unusual that day.

For some reason 80% of 65's top deck seats were filled with Malays.

Bald and colourful scarf-headed uncles and aunties.

Some men in dark blue uniform yabbering about how their superintendent drank contaminated water yet surviving after that. Another one of Singapore's iron-stomached heroes born in the very uninteresting barracks of the Singapore Civil Defense.

Some punks holding on to their bubble teas in transparent plastic bags, being unusually quiet. Streaked and windblown hair, striped shirts, wiry spectacle frames, heavily studded belts holding up untraditional pants.

Generation Checkered Underpants and Converse. And to think some people don't dig Mr Spongebob Squarepants.

Some children singing the "Kain langsir ela ela, nenek rambot puteh~ datok janggot merah~" song. the spirit of Raya running high inside their young blood.

America's Funniest Animals did its 100th rerun on TVMobile.

I made up my mind that throughout Ramadhan, everywhere in Singapore is going to look like Geylang Serai.

I tuned into Warna Sembilan Empat Perpuluhan Dua Eff Em on my MP3 when it was 0655.

time : 0658PM. The adzhan came on for break fast.
Obviously, my MP3 player didn't have speakers.

I uncapped my Coke and took a swig of it, being nonchalant, being so as-a-matter-of-factly.

Suddenly heads turned around to look at me.
Questioning eyes zoomed into focus.
Some pencilled eyebrows were rising steadily.

Immediate universal thingking by the public : AREN'T YOU FASTING WOMAN?

I blinked, realizing what this looked like.

"Errr..." I said to the entire top deck of 65, rising my voice over the automated laughter coming from TVMobile.

"Korang, dah AZAN."

The blushing public :

"Oh...Ok thanks for telling....heheheh..."

"We thought you were, you know, not fasting..."

"...It was like 'where's your respect for the people who are fasting?' you know...sorry for..."

Instantly it became a joyous occasion of breaking fast together.

Next time, I'll save the people from unnecessary waiting once again.

-end-

side note : Birthday present kau heecurry?

Mari kita ramai ramai bacakan Al-fatihah untuk HeeCurry whoseidentityisalreadyexposedbutI'mjustdoingHimaFavourbyNotmentioninghisrealname for his 21st birthday.

the best birthday gift ever

All legal boys and girls please take care of your self and your judgements.

2006-10-10T11:57:00.000+08:00

The bus life

An old uncle stepped into the fairly empty bus.

There were about 19 passengers.

He stopped after tapping his card at the entrance.

And with a huge smile, he waved his hand.

We all waved back.

That's how lovely some Singaporeans are in the morning.

2006-10-07T01:32:00.000+08:00

one day

good friends...

great people...

nice humans....

will become

the greatest, most amazingly inconsiderate bastards you will ever know.

-end-

2006-10-03T17:26:00.001+08:00

About conversations, and being conversational.

Lately,

Talking to some people just annoys me in the first place.
Being conversational to some people just annoys me in the middle.
Continuing to talk to some people just annoys me in the end.

What's this sudden nonchalant steel-hearted attitude?

- end -

2006-09-12T13:39:00.000+08:00

The Lift Lobby Showdown

I made a stupid wind chime within 2 hours and my stress relief had to come in the form of...

Single Eyelid Girl.

Then speaking to myself, with eyes that were narrowing drastically in extreme displeasure : Hisashiburi da (Long time no see), Single Eyelid Girl. We meet again, yeah?

She looked up from the super interesting door, saw me and rolled her eyes back to the super interesting lift button.

Was it just me or did the temperature just dropped to the coldest?

Well I wasn't expecting a bouquet of flowers and a huge bear hug anyway. So despite the sudden calamity that gripped our figures as we stood patiently (at a safe distance from each other) for our ride, we formed invisible force fields around ourselves.

Territories. Even when we were on the same ground, breathing the same air, waiting for the same damn lift...we created barriers around ourselves. Protection from the other. From what?

Animosity?

She was Single Eyelid Girl.

I became Tekkamen. Iron-faced. Ok make that Tekkamen Goblin Woman. That's more dramatic, Iron-faced Goblin Woman.

The lift came and it was on her side of the lobby territory. Ah, damn.

Should I take it?

Single Eyelid stared daggers at me and I felt cold hard needles piercing through my skin as our eyes locked.

Huh

I stared arrows into her and I was pretty sure I tore her into pieces because I summoned all the best archers in my kingdom to defend the flying needle attacks.

The door right in front of her opened, welcoming its Queen into the ride to her Throne at level 5.

My throne is on level 8.

3 floors up from 5.

And she dared to smirk, that Single Eyelid Girl.

This silent war was not going down with her riding the escape pod alone, victorious as if she won this battle. I wanted to take that lift too, because I hated to lose in such an eyeball showdown. As I watched her evil smile disappearing behind the metal doors of her escape pod...

I moved into her territory and pressed the button.

The escape pod doors slid open, revealing Super Bloody Irritated in its human form.

I met her forced smile with one of my own as I stepped into the metal box.

Tekkamen Goblin Woman was now sharing the escape pods to our thrones with Single Eyelid Girl.

I was sure as Hell that we were trying to keep our archers at bay, despite the calls for the continuation of this war. The force fields around our kingdoms built thicker as the escape pod moved, the volumes of each killing off all the noise that the metal box made, stressing the eerie, cold silence till our eardrums begin to rattle from pressure.

1....5.

Single Eyelid Girl Throne floor. I who was standing infront of the buttons to the respective floors, did not bother to press Door Open put of courtesy. Great blasts of cold air swept around us, lifting the pressure if not but slightly.

Single Eyelid Girl summoned her army of little needle launchers to move with her as she shot a deadly look at me. The battle is not over yet, I know what you're saying that tiny blackened and shriveled little heart of yours Tekkamen

And I replied, yeah...you too!

I couldn't believe at the most dramatic moment of the day, I ran out of words to counter that.

But then again I'd say the same thing back, and repetitions are lame.

Then Single Eyelid Girl stepped out, and I felt my force field free to expand in that small space. The escape pod doors begin to close, and my army and I began to celebrate the temporary triumph over our enemy's empire.

Then the doors slid open again.

And Single Eyelid Girl said , "Don't get cocky too soon."

I shall wait for the next Lift Lobby Showdown. With extra licorice.

-end-

2006-09-07T23:51:00.000+08:00

I'm pushing my luck, again

The light from my Panasonic will stay lit tonight, until I decide to end another chapter

Another chapter of what?

Sounds fruity, eh? Reading under the bedcovers with the aid of a 2.2 inch mobile-face illumination in the middle of the night....

Foregoing the importance of sleep

Tonight, instead of surrendering my soul to the realm of dreams, I shall retreat into the darkness of my duvets with a newfound purpose, and possibly....

a newfound glory

In order to find solace for my extremely bored and unspirited spirit....

I've decided to do some humour-searching.

I've decided to read a joke book

-end-

2006-09-05T16:04:00.000+08:00

It's the Return of (Another)Attempt in Successful Financial Planning From Now On me

Part ( I lost count really but let's just not think too much of the little things, ok?) 2.

This is my first time using a prepaid credit card I will never be the champion in my cellphone bills budget you know.

But

With this prepaid card thing invested in me (thanks Wid ), I'll prove to myself (and some judas) that surviving through this limited usage of mobile interaction is definitely possible.

Monthly Budget Reflection Talk

There's always some sort of reason behind all this sudden turning points in my life Not many things are for the Hell of it anymore

Meh. You're smirking at me

RightBack to my journey out of the ends of the burnt pockets world

What you'll never see in a 7-11 store is special offers that are resistable

Marigold Yogurt Drinks @ 2 for $1.45.

Sunkist Juice @ 2 for $1.45.

Sprite @ 2 for $2.

One of Heaven's cheapest junk chain on Earth

When all worthy opinions boil down, the winning idea is simple : You don't just go into 7-11 and just "take aircon only".

It's a winning idea so please don't bother voicing your feelings to this anymore

What you'll never see in a 7-11 store is real, sick and scrawny lions who are slightly hungry too.

And a cashier that tells you not to buy things from their own convenience store.

Well yeah stuff like this happens right? When you think your eyes are playing tricks on you, you see a scrawny living lion on top of the Slurpee machine licking the contents dry

All the vanilla, the chendol and chocolate flavours...along with the rainbow rice and the crushed peanuts...sticking onto its matted mane on its head as its tongue lapping everyone's favorite dessert...

Ancient scars criss-crossed across its pelt. A lion in 7-11.

Deserts have crazy snakes and psychotic lizards and killer scorpions and people still cross it.

But where's the logic to a lion eating ice-cream inside a convenience store

I decided to think positively.

Blinking, I leaned towards the cashier behind the counter. "Excuse me. There's a lion behind you."

"I know," she said. "What are you paying for?"

The lion's yellow eyes were crusted. Must have not eaten for days, must have been hurt by hunters, must have came from the shrubs of Bedok Reservoir. Whatever way it got here, I didn't really like the way it was looking at me.

When a lion looks at you it only means 1000 things. Out of the 1000 things, 999 of it would be "breakfast/lunch/tea time/snack/dinner/supper"

I just wanted to learn the Right Way of Topping Up Your Prepaid Card

"Uh...I wanna top up my card."

"EZlink?"

"No. Phonecard."

"Where got such thing as top up phonecard?"

Damn lion

"I mean Prepaid card."

"Singtel? Starhub? M1?"

"Singtel."

I could feel confidence flowing through my veins then, killing off the distraction of the beast from my mind

"How many you want?"

"Just one thanks."

"I mean how many dollars?"

"How many-how much do you have?"

"You never use prepaid before?"

"(I never thought you'd ask) No."

"20 dollars and 28 dollars only. Pick one."

"I'll take the one that's 20 dollars."

"Ok. Here you go. You know how to top up right?"

"(No but I can read instructions) I think so. Thanks."

"No problem. If you cannot top up then that's your problem ok. Bye bye"

What's this?

The SHOO hand gesture

Eh

Well at least it's always good to know that this type of customer service won't exist especially when you're white eh?

I glared at the cashier silently, grabbed my card and headed for the door.

The lion burped loudly before jumping onto the bread shelves.

There's always a reason to the sudden change in pivot points in my entries.

Tanoshi da! Enjoy

And the top up is successful

-end-

2006-09-04T11:36:00.000+08:00

*Staring into the screen with a new breed of determination*

Fwa-

Suddenly, once again....

Big danger. big big danger.

It's getting harder to make up my mind nowadays. I know it has nothing to do with the weather, but I just think that my head's getting a lot more annoying due to the unpredictability of the skies.

Denial Queen stepping into the podium and addressing the masses once again.Please listen and then make your own judgement.

Speaking of judgement, I'm having a lousy time with the estimation of everything too. I might crash into a pedestrian during one of my PDL lessons and I'd plead for sudden stupidity attack and hope I get away with it.

But the damn ping pong ball in my head

The ping pong inside my head is still bouncing strong, ideas pumping too much adrenaline into the blood that charges through my veins everytime I'm at the crossroads of decision making.

Yabaii na

4 weeks into the 5th Module : Maya 3D Animation and it's Project Week already.

Installation of the programme on my PC has been suck-sessful

The licensing issue, the abnormal division of a 24 digit ethernet address...

I'm not going anywhere

Fwah

Project client : Still Thinking.
Project brief : Will Undergo Constuction. Soon. Hopefully.
Project outcome : Will garner different reaction stages of "wah piang eh".

I'm not sure I'll miss Maya 3D when it's over.

Lately, I only want to spend my time with lesser people. It's easier to keep such friendships you know.

So nowadays when my friends are getting married, they don't really bother inviting me anymore.because 80% of the time I can't or won't come. So the whole inviting thing is pointless, really.

Somehow this kind of thinking irritates me even though I appear nonchalant.

Just a thought. And a gentle reminder.

And today, I'll go out with my $5 dollars Crocs ripoffs and become the most unfashionable female outthere

Please don't stop hanging out with me because of this unruly fashion display.

2006-08-28T14:47:00.000+08:00

Random peace attack.

Since when the Hell did you get so smart?

A pretty face who can make do will carry on. And on. And on.

It's the simple reason to believe really.

How come you never address the real things in real life? Like suffering, the Middle East crisis, the CPF Goldshield thing, Singapore Idol's the Spectaculars?

I think I'm lost in some medicine prescription too because I saw Jesus playing for Blacburn on TV. To the end, I bet that was what Jesus was thinking when he brought his team on against Chelsea.

What's the color of your aura?

The colour of Aurora Borealis. Aurora Boring-Topic-alis. Let's stop talking about your crazy 6th vision now. It's such a crack that sometimes people just do too much thinking and has preplexed answers to everything.

When you're running out of spaces you can't fit in no matter what. Right.
I'm not asking anyone for an opinion here.

So marry a stinkin' rich person and everyone will understand the purpose of your existence one day. Heck, they will even remember you if you stay in the previews.

It's all about enriching contacts, this life.

What's life?

This obligation to answer is like buying the nicest shoes at the craziest SALE that you hear about.

Funeral for a Friend. What do you think of them?

This is another man's grand exit from the face of the universe and everybody whose coming to see him off will be wearing jeans and t-shirts and blouses that some people just can't carry off without looking so insanely tacky.

That's what I think of when you say "Funeral for a Friend".

Please pay attention to Conversation A:

A : But I feel so half-hearted when I have to wear the kurung.
B : It's a funeral.
A: But I wanna wear jeans...it's not like...WRONG right? To go to a funeral in jeans? My friends are all gonnabe wearing jeans. Don't wanna be the one who stands out like a sore toe.
B: Thumb. Sore THUMB.
A : The point is, it's not WRONG or anything right?
B : Of course its not.
A :Then what's the big issue about having to wear kurung? It's just a funeral! After that, it's all gonnabe over. Back to normal. Accept reality and continue with their lives. Right?
B: When YOU die, I'll bring the circus with me to YOUR funeral.

Call it crossing over to the other side or whatever -the grand exit- but the real pre-hassle to the sending off of a brother/sister from the living world is really about....fixing wardrobe malfunctions and masking beauty.

So the Devil wears Prada. And everyone else who can't afford such togs go for Levi's.
Or Giordano. Calvin and Smith. What and ever.

Someone dies and what you get to see on the saddest day are This Fashion and Levi's people.

The Rolling Stones 40 licks Tour shirts and Manchester United people.

Adidas people who can't understand the simple concept of solemnity.

The SIMPLE respect for the dead and whose left alive for another lucky day.

The SIMPLE obligation to match your tears with the $5 things that don you.

The collision of sensitivity makes it all so hard, you know.

B-B-B-B-Baby, the situation's gone c-c-c-c-crazy.

-end-

2006-08-24T16:51:00.000+08:00

Sometimes I pressure my cellphone too much.

How? What am I going to do?

My cellphone in my hand, I almost had the world installed in it.

What?

Suddenly I don't feel like talking about it anymore. Depressing, this kind of topic. I'm supposed to point to the gorgeous rolling clouds in the sky, take a big breather and then be awed by the beauty of nature as I stand facing the world once again.

At this moment, ants are crawling into my coffee.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, a plastic pingpong ball is bouncing off the inside walls. I don't know how it got in there but let's just not think about little things like that.

I don't like to kill ants. So I'm letting them enjoy the coffee.

Have you ever seen ants that got high?

Well it's not like they are not already, but I bet it's cute to see ants getting higher. I mean, people can't handle that kind of higher that ants can, can we? If we are able to flap our arms like the hummingbird's wings, we'd torch ourselves to death.

So much for wanting to be the hottest person around, huh.

Ants are wonderful.

The sphere that shaped my head, the pingpong just bounces off the surface. Maya's "nurb sphere", this head of mine. God's Lattice Tool has done wonders to not make me look like a Neanderthal, people.

Is that how to spell Neanderthal?

At times like this, you should expect this kind of question :

"Why is the traffic light Red, Yellow and Green? "

Nagase crackes me up.

All this, and I'm depressed over my cellphone.

And it's not like it's busted or anything.

And for some reason I keep pressing Ctrl+S for this blog entry. Itchy hands?

Itchy hands.

Sometimes I pressure my cellphone too much, you know?

2006-08-19T12:52:00.000+08:00

People should stop misusing the address "me" nowadays.

"Me like to play soccer too!"

"Which one do you think is better? Me think this one's better."

"Me agree that you should not continue screwing up for your future."

"What's your number? can me have it?"

.......

What's so hard about saying "I"?

2006-08-15T01:13:00.000+08:00

"What happens if we don't want to go?"
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because there are ghosts.So we must go. Yes, thank you. Now."

Life will always be full of yobos who eat only vegetables and unnamed white stuff from random corn fields.

Here in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, in the middle of confusion...Pure bliss? Temporary maybe,
but I should be enjoying temporaryism nowadays. Things get older before they are supposed to, And I'm not really a
fan of getting ahead of time, no.

Right now. I'm talking about right now - in a middle-of-the-universe-kind of way- I'm driving without a license, without a cause, without a purpose and I'm driving like there's no tomorrow.

What I'm supposed to be feeling like right now is indifference towards the person whose sitting next to me. From the rear view mirror I make out what I would always describe as a queer, intelligent and aabsurdly convincing look from
this female being.

I supposed I can call her ...what? a friend? yeah, I can live with that decision right now.

"Ghosts?" I stop a smirk from appearing all the time. You get a lot of people on crack nowadays, too.

"Yes, ghosts. They come after us, and they will catch up soon. Keep driving."

Just so you know, I didn't pick her up from anywhere before this.

I wasn't in the car before this. Hell I can't drive too.

But now I am in a car. Driving.

How?

I'd like the answer to that too, please and thank you.

Her eyes are deep set. Beautiful, harmless woman. Unfortunately, a nutcase becoming. You get a lot of that too nowadays.

"Just so you know, I can't drive," I say, and the blackness of the night just thickened drastically before our eyes.

"All is possible when you believe. You are now in the middle of your body's will. This is control, this is respect.
This is what sets you apart from all the commoners."

And I'm still waiting for the punchline to all this.

Possible idea : Yobo brings a new religion.

Well Yobo is married, and married people always think that love is the answer. I told you that before.

And Yobo's next Nirvana status would be the Dalai Lama of Listen-to-my-Advice-Only-Because-I-know-Ism.

Ocha-cha-o-cha-cha!

The thought of being in the middle of everything is supposed to generate the feeling of warmth and calmness, even excitement, and the deepening belief that you can be in control of a brewing storm.

Really, Ashton Kutcher can just fall from the skies, onto the boot of the car and shout his Latest Testament line, "You've been Punk'd!"

What I need right now is brewing coffee. And a feel good story about the princess, the pea and the 20 crazy mattresses she was made to sleep on in some castle. All that just to prove her royalty.

Those kind of fairy tales are wicked holy, you know what I mean. Nothing
beats holiness in a form of a fairy tale. Because believing a story is way better than believing a curbside prophet who wears the same "Doom is Near!" t-shirts that come in a variety of colours.

I met one, so that is the only reason I have to tell you why, now, I'm talking like a yobo.

Before we were on the road -funny that, we're cruising at 40 km/h. Thank God for BT - Yobo pulled me to the side of the
road, and we stood before a flattened frog.

"My advice to you is to write a journal entry about this situation before our eyes."

Frogs are meant to die in the middle of nowhere, and Yobo is choking back tears.

Yup. All cracked up and can't wait to have a go at the world.

What could be worse than letting a loose screw...well...loose?

"When you write, you become insanely honest. You shock yourself, but you'd be satisfied because you poured everything out."

I take note of the word "insane".

"When you're all done, your life's history marked on cheap-ass paper from a cheap-ass pen...Then you secure it with a cheap-skate lock,you know. Make sure it's YOUR treasure only."

"Because everybody lies, and they only tell the papers the real truth."

Please, I think. Don't start on the mega-cliched and stupid talk about "the Truth". Because it always starts with this :

"What is the truth? Is the truth the truth in itself or is it made that way?"

If the hairdryer was the truth, I bet people wouldn't be so awed or enthralled or excited to talk about it.

Common talk is crazed yobo talk. Speciality aside, it's just uber-annoying that some people just want to talk about
"certain things". Braindead things. Things that should be left as it WAS.

"Brian Keaner is a talented writer. I applaud his seriousness of purpose and look forward to reading more from him in the
future," this person says.

"Whose brian keaper?"

"Keaner."

"Yeah who?"

"Some author."

"Of what book?"

Me, I like to converse.

"Cult book."

"Are you in a cult?"

Me, I like to ask things I'm not supposed to ask.

"Well, no."

"Then what are we doing here on the road?"

"Because you're going to save me."

"From?"

"Ghosts."

"Eh? I don't see any."

"You really can't drive?"

"No."

"Then what do you call this now?"

"A bad dream?"

A very bad dream with me being a very bad driver. Things can't get any worse than this, right?

"We all liked to believe that when we don't want to accept things."

"Take my advice," she smiles. "When you see another dead frog in this world..."

Great.

This is gonnabe one long night.

2006-08-05T17:06:00.000+08:00

So I was bored with Coldfusion.

And I discovered........

my real japanese name.

Jeng jeng jeng.

Ke-tidak warasan padaku...

Ke-boringan tahap maksima ku...

membuat ku generate yang sedemikian :

Kartini Sorani is :

Saruwatari (monkey on a crossing bridge)
Asuka (fragrance of the bright day)

so I'm your sunny, sweet-smelling monkey thats crossing the bridge on a bright day

it looks all good.

but I'm still not amused.

http://rumandmonkey.com/widgets/toys/namegen/969/

yeah. Go crack yourself up or something.

2006-08-02T01:40:00.000+08:00

Annoying really.

Don't put thoughts in my mind just because you're tired of life.

5th cup of coffee.

Yappa!

Everyone, please don't call your friends idiots or stupid.

It's not very nice, in case you forgot.

And if you want to cry from a tragic heartbreak, please do not disrupt the AXN machine queues.

-end-

2006-07-26T00:24:00.000+08:00

I come to you having seen the future and I'll tell you this :

In the next couple of weeks, in the suburban areas of Singapore where a lot of incosiderate bastards live :

1. there will be papers everywhere
2. there will be candles everywhere
3. there will be burnt grass patches everywhere
4. there will be free food everywhere
5. there will be ashes everywhere
5. there will be a lot of inconsiderate bastards who don't know how to utilize certain facilities. Everywhere.
6. there will be joyous songs and declaration of equality among all for one day.
7. then reality will set in once again.
8. and people become inconsiderate bastards once more.

But of course no one's gonna do anything about this.

It's always the cleaners' job every time, ne?

-end-

2006-07-22T16:58:00.000+08:00

I'm kicking around a thought in my mind.

I need to build up my portfolio.

You need to have the talent to become a gangster.

TALENT!

Some things just crack myself up, you know?

So where do I get the application form for this?

To be a gangster, where do I audition?

Yusaku-san, tell me when you find the best talent agency for this.

I will get the talent ready ne!

I will keep it in my veins, this talent and I will unleash it to the world. Ne?

No education needed, eh?

All you need to know is the road to Isengard, perhaps.

Oni-san, kochira... this way, where the clapping is coming from.

This way...come and try to catch me.

MA-I-DO-A-RI!

-end-

2006-07-15T01:05:00.000+08:00

Really personal entry # I lost count even if I actually counted in the first place.

*Start*

Only 23-years-old, and I have to get serious about life.

The receptionist in my school told me that I shouldn't give lame excuses to not work.

She's 19. But it's really not about the age an the age mentality.

Well I told her I was "just a private home tutor" and I sent her twittering like a goddamn sparrow.

Deer season. Duck season. Goddamn twittering sparrow season?

"But that's easy! So that's not considered work, right..."

*Pause*

Oh. Boy.

*Playback*

"But that's easy! So that's not considered work, right..."

Wow. Not a question. It's "right..." and not "right?"

*Play*

Lately, I didn't bother letting anyone know what I am really thinking in front of their faces.

Lately, I've been the "Ok, whatever. Let's go" kind of person. I prefer to avoid talking about things that people can get so engrossed about, and it is something that I can't possibly (bother) relate to, because the communication network is already anchored to one side only, and I'm not given the mic to steal the goddamn show.

It's like trying to talk someone who absolutely loves taking his/her own picture with his/her cellphone camera until the memory runs dry...out of taking self portraits.

I know that already, about the excuses to not find a "real job". But I don't think dropping about a million of my students halfway through the year and scoring a job would do my image any better either.

That's abandonment, and that makes me feel lousy. It isn't really about image. It is about leaving annoying people that I like (that didn't come out from my mouth, did it?) halfway through a type of commitment that I can finally bring myself to commit to.

Commitment is a real pain in all the sections of the body that I don't feel like mentioning right now due to the haze that's fogging my brain and clogging my neurons, but I finally made this far in actually giving a damn to keep one responsibility going.

Keeping my head up. And adding a little "Heyyy hoooo~!" type of club holler inbetween the hard work.

At least I'm able to do that inbetween all the Hell.

But of course, being a private tutor is not hard work. It's hardly work at all. What type of HELL can a private tutor experience?

That type of mind set kills me. I'm not part of the Uncreatives, if you really need to be reminded. Boring tutors who swindle parents' money and not giving a damn about their students are Uncreatives. I'm not an Uncreative.

I'm not a goddamn twittering sparrow. And I'm not obsessed about getting serious through "real jobs".

Akiramenai.

But I admit that I like my work schedule. And I like the stress and the screams and the laughter and the knowledge exchange and the occasional masochism in my work.

What this conversation really about was money.

Because everything is about money. How much you earn and pay and complain and earn and pay and complain and all that until the day you die.

*Stop*

*Start* > New Chapter.

Haven't been reading ANY books lately. I fear that I might become a boring person as the days go by.

The last thing I want to be remembered as is a humor sellout. Reading certain books give me a sense of humor, a sense of vocabulary freedom, a sense of experimented expression that Singapore will never allow local writers to publish.

I really shouldn't have made a sweeping statement like that.

Such inferiority complex existed, ne.

*Stop*

*Start* > Chapter 2.

The Cleaning Specialist infront of me smelled like some dead plant and I had to tolerate this kind of air on such a lovely day. My mood wasn't gradually crashing - it just skyrocketed to Hell in the Lousymometer.

Even dead plants take the train nowadays. It's not annoying, no. It's heartlander life. Tolerance, it's all about tolerance.

Lately, the topic has been "ye ye oo aje". Overconfidence.

About a couple of days ago, I learnt the true meaning to "ye ye oo aje". These people were mostly involved in publicly mapping their future, displaying all ambitions to the masses and then ended up getting talked and symphatized about because things don't quite work out the way it should be.

The Uncreatives.

Look at how they breed.

*Stop*

*End*

2006-06-30T13:10:00.000+08:00

"You vote for Ma-tee-da or not ah?"

When people are being conversational, they sometimes forget such things as introductions and the fact that the person they were being conversational to could possibly be unaware of such creation that went by the name "Ma-tee-da".

Oh Obaachan (auntie, for this matter)...(Will you please just) excuse me?

"Ma-tee-da la!! Ma-tee-da!"

I was pretty sure that I was going to agitate her further if I continue to give her the "doesn't sound familiar to me" look, so I went for the other default look.

Ta-ta-daaaaaaaaaaaa~!!

It's the classic "Ohhh! THAT Ma-tee-da!" look, feel and answer. When you're acting out this look, please have enough confidence in yourself so you won't look like you just saw Godzilla stomping through Orchard Road, and the first question that came through your head was "How come Godzilla looks better in the pictures?"

Ah, I said. That Ma-tee-da. (the giant Starbucks umbrella looked lethal, I had to save myself.)

But the Obaachan stared at me with her flared red nose. "not MATEEDA! Ma-tee-da la...haiyaa...you so young...cannot pronounce your Singapore Idol finalist name poh-pe-rlee"

A.....re~ (=.=)"!!!!

So the weather made my tongue swell. Is that a problem?

I still didn't know what in the classic Levi's Blue Jeans 505 Straight Cut was Ma-tee-da by the way. And it wasn't like I really had a swollen tongue, no.

Other people with swollen tongues, stoned faces and blind self-righteousness started such conversation with me.

How, oh how, could I resist?

One day, I will learn to really ignore people without getting called a goddamn conversation terrorist.

Verbal diarrhea, that's what I'd like to describe what the Obaachan was having. In the heat of the day, at some designated bus stop in Red Hill, I met a Singapore Idol fan girl who startled the twinkling random thoughts out of me and got me involved in a really casual conversation about....

Ma-tee-da.

Wait.

Make it a Singapore Idol fan AUNTIE. Kore te destiny?? (Is this destiny?) I happen to meet weird people all the time, and it's not like I'm working at a bloody shoestore or something.

KATOP! Haven't said this for a while. KATOP, in this entry means...goddamn nice.

And the Obaachan took the same bus with me.

It was then on the bus -after much self-grumbling and trying to ignore the constant verbal diarrheas about Ma-tee-da from the Singapore Idol fan auntie- that I came to see a Singapore Idol advertisement...and MATILDA was the MA-TEE-DA this Obaachan had been talking about.

Boy, you should see her literally jumping out of her seat when she saw Ma-tee-da. Such excitement, cho genki...It was like Ma-tee-da already won Singapore Idol.

If I had been really cruel in guessing, I'd like to say that this Obaachan was around...65 yeard-old? She probably lived to her CPF savings and wasted them all in voting for Ma-tee-da, I bet.

I forget to tell you guys this. The only person I know in this year's Singapore Idol is that Paul Twohill guy. Simply because he had Ponti-Bapak hair, and the camera worshipped him. Him and Rahimah Rahim.

Because she had Ponti-Mak hair.

Is it the latest trend to have the Ponti-family hairstlye?

Ah, I told the Singapore Idol fan auntie. I don't watch Singapore Idol, sorry.

"What?!!"

She really needed to stop...being so excited in public.

"You Sinnnngggga-po-reen or not?"

No.

"Ma-la-yee-sen?"

No.

"Then what nationality are you?"

I'm...

I'm.............

I'm a Goofy Goober yeah~! YOU'RE A GOOFY GOOBER YEAH!!!

Ok, so I didn't say that. I did tell her I was Singaporean, and she condemned me for not being patriotic enough to support local artistes in the making.

Verbal diarrhea part three.

Every pathetic...I mean, patriotic Singaporean would say the same thing, ne? Suddenly I'm not patriotic because I don't care about Ma-tee-da and Singapore Idol.

I don't watch Singapore Idol, so I'm a heartless heartlander who trashes cool local bands like...like..Ahhh I will remember their names when I see them in this year's BayBeats by the Esplanade.

AH! The Marilyns.

I know the National Anthem, and singing it on National Day doesn't give me the heebie-jeebies. I know Stephanie Sun. And Moon and Night and Day and Sunrise and Sundown.
I know the pledge.
I know the mini godzilla called the Merlion.
The Esplanade.
I know Bugis by the back of my hand.

Would it give you the heebie-jeebies if I sing the National Anthem right then, oh Singapore Idol fan auntie?

Should I show some public display of affection towards my country? Like kissing the goddamn JCDecaux posters or the trash cans that lined our city?

When people are selfish, they become really stupid.

Superkellyfragilisticespealidoshes plus Kung pow chicken stupid. It's depressing to be breathing the same air as the selfish stupid people in such a hot weather. 30 degrees in the morning, and all that I get from the start of the day was people who desperately begged to be pushed into oncoming trucks.

A blind guy was standing at my bus stop, and he asked some people to watch out for his bus should it come.

The people who were supposedly helping him, ended up slapping the blind guy's back and saying "Good luck" because their buses came, and his bus wasn't in sight, still.

Obviously, Power Ranger Tin came to save Blind Man's day. Obviously he was thankful, so I didn't get an inflated head from anything as simple as that.

But the most unbelievable thing I heard was...

"Eh...he knows he's blind...he should be taking the car instead of public transport."

Sheesh. What does it take for people to understand that when you WHISPER, you aren't supposed to be heard?

Singapore!!!

A first world nation with third world residents.

-end-

2006-06-22T00:39:00.000+08:00

Purikura.

In case you don't know what purikura is, it's that Neoprints thing that every adolescent and screwed-up adults has stashed or stuck somewhere.

Waste of money. Complete waste of money. I used to think that since I've this 5.0 megapixel SLR camera I might as well take 1 GB's worth of 3004 x 2000 dimension pictures of 300 dpi each, upload them into the PC, add some corny, cho kawaii and unbelievably horrid brushes on each of these snapshots on Photoshop and then have 100 of them printed out at below 25 bucks within 20 minutes.

I used to think that purikura is just a simple waste of brainspace and shopping mall lot. Even boys who are with their girls are always caught squealing with glee when their purikura printed out from the fancy photo-taking machines.

But nowadays, your 23-year-old's attention and pride has been waning, under unnecessary pressure.

Purikura pressure. Victimised by the situation laid before my eyes, and lost!!

Unnecessary and unnatural, really. This pressure dented my dislike for purikura machines.

And yet...

After a million years since the first Neoprints came out, it was only yesterday that I have admitted to another personal principle defeat and let self-contradiction triumph.

I took a Neoprint.

Hazukashii! (*embarrassed*)

It all started because of charity and the sudden, thunderstruck feeling of wanting to experience something really new and drastic.

Kung-pow chicken drastic.

Mari and Yuko-chan were students from Komatsu High of somewhere in Japan, taken by Wid on some homestay programme. I can't keep Japanese people in my house, they'd have to sleep in the bloody store room and then I'd have to lie that that's what Malays really do to people who don't speak a damn word of English at all.
Doji and Achid manage their own family zoos, so the 2 Japanese girls stayed with Wid, who doesn't have any family zoo issues.

But for only a day.

Life has its pointless moments at times.

The whole point of homestaying is we get to know each other's culture.

I really didn't care much about culture.

Mari and Yuko were nice kids, but they didn't really understand English.

Nande monai! (nothing!)

They carried electronic dictionaries around to help them speak Ei-go (English).

They should've carried an audio enabled electronic dictionary.

Still...........!!

TIME to put my Elementary Japanese 1 into use!!

Yosha...Black Ranger Tin, ready to converse in a whole new language that she has been mastering for the past 2 months. Yoroshiku, onegaishimasu!

Ehh..........?

They reacted with surprise!

I could speak JAPANESE!

.........

Wait. What did you say?

Chotto...chotto matte kudasai~!! (wait..please wait a moment!!)

Are???

I forgot. I can speak Japanese. But I can't really understand it when natives speak.

Too fast.

Yabai!! (Dangerous)

Dangerously fast!

Wid, Achid, Doji and Tin = Power Ranger Freshmen.

Wid, Achid, Doji and Tin = Power Ranger Freshmen. Dumbfounded. Stumped.

Power Ranger Freshmen, losing to Japanese High School Girls.

Gah!!! It was a major defeat. Our hearts swelled and our eyes narrowed in confusion all the time.

How did it come to this???

We were AMBITIOUS!!

Yet this type of catastrophe happened. Conversationally, it was Grade A JustGiveTheHellUp.
I'd like to say that 30% of the time we managed to understand each other.

The other 70%, we just went shopping.

This is Singaporean culture. Everyone from every race here in Singapore, lives by 3 things

Kaimono (shopping)
Tabemono (food)
Okane (Money)

So Wid, Achid, Doji and I, we talked pictographics and sign languages, sound effects (like car crash- vroom vroom (with imaginary steering wheel)...yeeeeeeeee KER-SHAHH!!!! ) and direct translation.

Example :

Shingapooru de, Okane inai kedo, shinu.

translation : In Singapore, If no money, die.

God, will You just hit me with tonnes of money in my account in the next 24 hours and save me from this escalating embarrasement.

But the money didn't appear in my account, so the Power Ranger Freshmen remained stone-faced and proud of our terrible Japanese. Mainly because we had no choice. It was do, or just shut the Hell up.

Power Ranger Freshmen couldn't seem to shut the hell up even though the mistakes could've made the world a worse place to live in within the next 24 hours.

This type of excitement, I beg everyone to please calm down and think properly and not make us good examples for your cross-culture interaction.

Purikura-d and communication break down was the theme for the past few days.

It just so happened that at this point of time, SBS decided to release their "Speak Good English Movement" ad buses almost everywhere we went.

Ah.

Point is, the Freshmen survived.

With a purikura evidence.

-end-

2006-06-17T02:25:00.000+08:00

Such a person exists in this world.

Today, the 23-year-old me limped all the way home after prata strawberry+teh tarek at Marhaba Restaurant.

Goshiosama deshita.

Ignore that if you don't know. Duh.

Roaches. The way they make us feel.

Roaches shouldn't hurt people, ne?

It's a logic that roachophobiacs like me didn't believe at all in the first place.

Because whatever's that's got 6 little hairy legs, are bloomin' eck monsters.

And today, this belief came true :

"Roaches DO hurt people".

Shouldn't have worked so hard to believe in such logic in the first place. Maybe I wouldn't be so damned touchy/scared/grossed out when it comes to bloomin' eck monsters.

So a roach sprained my ankle.

Spineless little twit.

I, am no longer the courageous person I thought I was.

Look at my foot! It's INFLATING!

now.....Iced!

To the roach, I had admitted such a defeat and I scored a sprained ankle.

Lame. Uber lame.

So what if England won?

One day, when I get my Anti-Roach Courage Kit, I will make you roaches..

KISS.

MY.

INFLATED FOOT.

-end-

2006-06-12T20:02:00.000+08:00

Shock.

What do trembling old people carry in their red plastic bags nowadays?

Got shocked!

In the bus, on the way home from school.......

OJISAN!!! (UNCLE!!)

What are you carrying? In that normal red plastic bag in your hands, Ojisan is producing something ....silver.

Slowly and surely, the Ojisan who looked like every other old guy you'd not entertain anyhow produced something silver and flat from his big, red, Sheng-Siong plastic bag.

As Wid and I looked on from our seats, this Ojisan pulled out a....a....a..........

12 inch flat screen TV.

It couldn't be, right? Like Wagahai Shigeaki said...Let's have a look again.

12 INCH FLAT SCREEN LCD TV!!

No fake!

There was no TVMobile on the bus Wid and I were taking, but there was this techno-savvy Ojisan who was lugging around a....a...a....

12 INCH FLAT SCREEN LCD TV!!

In your normal, everyday red plastic bag!

Look! The Ojisan turned the TV on.

The power of Batteries!! It came to life, its million colors splashing onto the old, crumpled face of that Ojisan and bouncing off the metal insides of the bus that we were in.

It had the "haaaaaaaaaaaaaaallelujah" feel to it. The effect just swept everyone who saw the million colors jumping from this Ojisan's 12 INCH FLAT SCREEN LCD TV off their conversations.

The Ojisan paid no attention to the public, turned the volume up and tuned into....

Japan vs Australia?

There were 2 boys infront of us who almost stood up to see what the Ojisan was tuning into. Such high hopes they had. Maybe we all would get to see the results of Japan vs Australia after all!

Alas~!

The Ojisan found his channel, and was soon enjoying some old Taiwanese concert with some old guy singing some slow song with some orchestra band backing him.

In other words, the 12 INCH FLAT SCREEN LCD TV was useless to us youngesters.

Useless!

The MRT, nowadays, is a gas chamber.

Short people must hate the MRT rides nowadays.

That was random. Don't think too much into it.

It's a boiler room full of unsuspecting human beings who either sweat too much or they inject themselves with super strong perfume collagen-type thing so that they can gas everyone else that sweat too much.

This type of people - let's call them "Pink Freshies"- wears too much perfume because they believe that they can become air-fresheners, and that the amount of perfume they wear will be able to eliminate smelly atoms generated by the "Sweaters".

Pink Freshies vs Sweaters. The MRT has become a battle ground.

then the MRT becomes a gas chamber.

For Us who neither smell nice nor bad, We don't survive well in such condition and climate.

Yet, it's always the We who hasn't got much choice with surviving in this kind of world.

Everyday, let Us all pray for the safety of each other whenever we take the MRT. Whoever Your God maybe, right now the most important fact is that We must remain united.

It's Us against the Pink Freshies and the Sweaters. God help Us all.

My concentration in class is wavering. What is this disturbance in me? Nowadays it's just hard to concentrate on things.

Must be the Pong Pong fishes in the sea. Oh why can't I be like the Pong Pong fishes in the sea?

This type of fishy freedom is what everyone needs, but I just want to be a fish so that I don't have to think so much about living.

Thinking is so taxing.

Pong pong ...pong pong...on the surface of the water...Pong pong pong pong..

............Pong pong.........

..............................................................Pong pong........................

Pong pong......................................

..........................Pong pong......................................

..............................pong pong.......................................................

2006-06-09T00:44:00.000+08:00

What is this button?

This button says "CLICK ME".

Omoshiroi na..~.(interesting..~)

Ah! I clicked it.

Hmm...nothing seems to be happening.

Is the page loading? Reading....

................Reading.................

.........Reading....

What is this!? Something is happening to my PC!

It's jerking violently!

I jump from my chair, backing to the wall. What in the world?!

A big hand is reaching out, pushing through the LCD monitor and into reality!!

MASAKA!? (Could it be?!)

It's....it's....It's....

GODZILLA!!!!!!!

No?

ah! What is this song suddenly blasting through my speakers?!

My ears!!

The big hands slam down on the table, on top of the keyboard. Pushes the wireless mouse off the table and as it hit the ground with a loud crack, a head follows after.

BLACK HAIR!!!

Not long enough though....

Shoulders....This...this...thing is determined to pull itself out of the matrix and into my room...but what is it?

And this song...this loud loud song...throbbing eardrums....blasting my sense of hearing...

And then....

DAITE DAITE DAITE SENORITA!

it's the DAITE SENORITA!

oh no!

YAMAPI! YAMAPI pulls himself out from my PC and plants his big feet onto my mouse!

CRACK!

but I am not bothered about the mouse!

The YAMAPI smile...The YAMAPI hair...

The YAMAPI-SAMA is in my room!

And he's brought his infection to me!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..............~!!!!

The...The...The song begins to contain itself in this room.....

Familiar...

OH NO!

It's the DAITE SENORITA song!!

This DAITE SENORITA song is infecting my brains...it's infection is dangerous...it's lethal....

It's fatal!

Ah nosebleed! Nosebleed!

You haven't heard of the DAITE SENORITA syndrome?

It causes people to suddenly get up and dance the DAITE SENORITA dance.

YABAI NE!! (dangerous!!)

Oh no!!!

I am doing the DAITE SENORITA!!

HELP!!!!!

it's too late!

IT'S TOO LATE!!

I'M DOING THE DAITE SENORITA!!!!

-end-

2006-06-04T23:10:00.000+08:00

WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE SO EXCITED ABOUT!??!

No, you guys are mistaken.

Tin's not here.

I'm not Tin.

I can prove that I'm not Tin because I hadn't spoken and will not be speaking anything Japanese for this entry.

For sure. Because I can't speak Japanese or understand it at all.

I am the rebirth...the rejuvenated...the reversed osomosis of Tin.

She's out raiding the kitchen cabinets, and I, ROTin, is manning this entry.

Stop giggling.

Right now, typing on the keyboards with such lousy attempt to run 60 words under half a minute...is not Tin.

The change of topic commences now.

What are you excited about? I asked that earlier did I?

Shouldn't have typed it all out in caps. Sorry. It looked like I yelled in your face and caused your sensitive little hearts to explode.

Ah, because Tin's not here, I'm going to take this opportunity to.....express.

First of all, it's the birthday issue. 23-year-old's blues, baby.

Tin hates birthdays, but I guess I'm beginning to not really hate it that much.

Yeah, I guess I could take it nowadays.

Tin is the type of person who knows when to say "thanks", so she has some manners at least. I mean, being 23 and all...if you're still goddamn rude to the world, people would wish you dead in no time...and it sucks when it looks like everyone's ganging up on God against you, you see.

So Tin's philosophy has been : be nice, or go die.

But when people remember her birthday, and wishes her lots and lots of "Happy Birthday"s...Tin doesn't really seem too excited to say thanks.

But she will say "thanks" anyway, because she knows your handphone reminders have her birthdate recorded.

Inside, she really doesn't like to think that she's excited over such a thing like her birthday.

I've been watching this from the inside, so you can say I'm your inside scoop reporter.

But I'm not Tin.

Ah, well, for all the birthday treats and gifts and yells, I'd like to say thanks a lot. On behalf of Tin - this really stupid, selfish and unfair person - I'd like to read her Actual Thanks List.

Thanks to Wid, Doji and Achid for telling the whole damn world that Tin's 23 this year.
Thanks for the cake, and for the custom-made apron.

Tin will definitely wear it and become the next fashion hooligan,

Thanks to Noor and Mr.IdonthaveyournumbersoImmakingaWildGuessitsYouTaufiq, for the lengthy SMS-es all the way from Cairo.

Tin's a very tardy person so almost everyone in the house finds her handphone and reads her messages.

The MSN messages, I read them when Tin was not around.

Thanks to the people who tried to call Tin but she was in class the entire day and had no time to entertain all of them. The people whom Tin hasn't been contacting for a while were all calling her on this day, so thanks for the...err...attempts.

You must understand that I cannot pick up her calls, because I only exist when she's raiding the kitchen cabinet. If I were to pick up, I'd probably be smiling the entire day because people remember my birthday.

Tin's not exactly a fan of people's excitement, so please forgive her if she rolled her eyes or snapped her jaws in your face when you wished her anything that was related to "Happy" or "Birthday" somewhere between June 2nd and June 4th.

Tin will never say all of the above to you. Especially not in your face!

So I, Reversed Osomosis Tin, have expressed Tin's gratitude successfully in her obliviousness.

23 years old.

Hardly behaving like one, this Tin.

Everybody please continue to guide her towards maturity should she attempts to become your bigger sister all of a sudden.

If she overdoes it, don't hesitate to snap her like a twig.

If she gets married all of a sudden, please attend her wedding in your best fashion.

If she dies all of a sudden, please don't remember the lousiest things about her.

Last but not least, if she has grammatical / spelling error, please guide her to the troubleshooting.

Because having a 23-year-old contructing and spelling with errors will just depress the hell out of the juniors.

-peace~

2006-05-31T02:24:00.000+08:00

Since the dawn of Mankind, we have been made to understand that...

CATS DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING.

Agreed, ne?

I don't know why I keep thinking I should be a Power Ranger nowadays. Can't complain much, because I'm not the one experiencing chronic insomnia. Well maybe just a little, so technically I just contradicted my sentence by putting "chronic" in a place where I should have not put. That destroys the whole meaning of chronic if it's not, you see.

But I really think I should be a Power Ranger. I don't know why. I haven't seen Power Rangers for yonks, but I was pretty excited to see a Transformers DVD box-set. I mean...Transformers. Wow. Like...KAPOW-wow kind of wow, you see.

Of course, being a Power Ranger is also a KAPOW-wow thing!

Yosha...........It's morphin' time!! Minna-san..IKOZOU!!!

GO GO POWER RANGERSSS....ne ne neeeeeeee ne ne~ go go POWER RANGERS!!!

Oh, the least I can be is Batman. Batmannn batmann batmann...

Hey, have you guys ever come across an "F Men" outlet? Nothing serious but the name of the outlet just cracks me up.

F mennnnnnnnnn F meeeeeeeeenn F meeeeeeeeeeeen...~

Even so I am like this, I just wonder why some people are so goddamn proud that their Malay is bad.

Last night, I told my friend that "Nyantai" means "relax.

It's "santai" for God's sake.

Boy, I wanted to kill myself at that moment.

This reminds me of this family in particular that lives in my block. I always tell you weird and wired people live in Bedok Reservoir, and I'm going to introduce you to another batch of them.

Mom, Dad, Brother, kid Sister.

Fantastic Four.

For typical looking Malays, they hardly talk in Malay at all. And their accent, Lord. I swear, I swear the parents must have graduated from some British universities or at least watch "the Office" too religiously or something.

But most of the time I heard that they were mighty educated.

They hardly ever smiled at me too. What's wrong with the people in my block nowadays!? Annoy me to Hell, these type of non-smiley-back people.

But I really liked listening to Fantastic Four talking in English. I mean, I'm not easily annoyed by interesting things sometimes, and this includes listening to attempted accents in conversations. I enjoy it, I swear I always do.

But....

since the dawn of Mankind, we have been made to understand that...

CATS DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING.

There was this cute kitten whose always misunderstood as crazed by our people and it's always seen loitering around my void deck lately. Striped, man. Striped cats are like the coolest things since striped socks.

So I was waiting for the lift on my floor when Fantastic Mom and Dad appeared. Ah, they were talking in that "the Office" accent of theirs again. I didn't notice that the "be-lee-yu se-ku-wais ah prek-tee too-dey" (blue skies are pretty today. Or at least I think it's that), but I smiled at Fantastic Mom anyway because Fantastic Dad really liked looking at the be-lee-yu se-ku-wais.

It was cold, but at least Fantastic Mom managed a minute smile.

Suddenly that misunderstood-to-be-crazed-striped cat appeared. I didn't want to ask myself or Fanstastic Parents here how the cat got up to our floor, because the answer would obviously be typical options like "maybe it took the stairs" or "someone must have brought it here".

We just stood over the cat who looked at us as if we were lost on its floor.

Communication breakdown?

This battle began when might educated Fantastic Parents met misunderstood-to-be-crazed-striped cat (no proper name yet) on the 9th floor of my block.

HAJIMATE~! (start!)

Fantastic Mom : "Heeeelllooo kitty kitty kitty kitty~!"

Fantastic Dad : "Ai wondah...How diddit gok up he-ya?" (I wonder...how did it got up here. I'm trying my best, thanks. Ganbarimasu.)

Fantastic Mom : "Oi beckt it took the bloo'y lift and gockt itsell losht" (I bet it took the bloody lift and got itself lost)

Me : (thinking) Cats take lifts? (thinks again) Kets toik liffs? (laughs silently)

Fantastic Mom : "Heyyyyyy kitty kitty~" (my ears bled but no one saw it under my scarf, obviously) "Wonna go downey?"

Me : (thinking) Downey?

Fantastic Mom : "Ah you ah-lone? ya por kitty kitty. How didchu geckt upphere?" (Are you alone? Poor kitty kitty. How did you get up here?)

Fantastic Dad : "Kitty, ah you hoongory?" (kitty are you hungry?)

Fantastic Mom : "You don hev friends, kitty kitty? Poor Kitty kitty"

Now, I'd imagine what Fantastic Parents would react like if Kitty Kitty said "Yeah, I'm alone. I'm up here because some funky Obaachan (grandmother) gave me milk and now I'm just wondering which way is down. By the way, the lift is mighty slow today, I'll let the maintainence people know about this ASAP."

Demo (but), only Wagahai's cat can speak English, so this misunderstood-to-be-crazed-striped cat just looked back at Fantastic Parents with the "whatever" look cats were designed to have on their faces since the dawn of Catkind.

Me : (thinking) Oh, Allah! TASUKETE KUDASAI~! (save me)

Fantastic Mom : (pats cat's head) "Yuu must fewl so bloo'y sackd" (you must feel so bloody sad)

Fantastic Dad : "Lecktos brrring this kitty kitty to its floo-ah. Dangerous uphere, you knoW." (Let's bring this kitty kitty to its floor. dangerous up here you know)

They have lost their dignity as mighty educated Fantastic Parents just by saying "kitty kitty" like 30 thousand times per minute, instead of calling it a CAT.

Then I realized something.

When Fantastic Dad said "dangerous", he was looking accusingly at me.

eh?

Ore wa? Yabai? (Me? Dangerous?)

EHhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhH!?!!!!?!?!!?!

nanda hanashi? (What did you say?)

Fantastic Mom picked up the cat and turned to look at me the same way her Fantastic Husband was. Her lips went all the way down in a nasty frown, her eyes narrowed drastically.

Fantastic Mom : "Doncha worry poor kitty kitty...Mommy will protect you from baddies."

Still looking at me.

The lift came. The Fantastic Parents told me to go ahead without them.

CATS DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING, dagnammit.

mighty educated people are lame.

-end-

2006-05-27T14:48:00.000+08:00

(Yawn)

Lesson 11 : Build-in Classes

(Yawn.Yawn.Yawn.Cracks fingers.Yawn)

Seems like I'm mostly blogging on Saturdays now. If I used to talk about saving people and saviors and messiahs and all that, I desperately need one everytime the clock hits 1:00 pm, every Saturday in Flash class.

Boring stories from a boring person becoming. Me. Kero-Chan saves people from melting. People like smart-alec Wagahai Shigeaki. Just by turning on the air-con, he saves a posh dude with a blasted hair style (Wagahai).

Next to me Wid is eating.

So I begin to eat. M&Ms.

And I'm thinking...it's been a while, M&Ms.

Nyam.Nyam.Nyam.My neck hurts like Hell.

I'm thinking about the Shutter movie.

I swear that everytime Flash class starts, I'll force myself to believe that Jac (Flash teacher) is trying very hard to communicate with me. I bet the only person who can't save herself even if the Flash Djinn was to crawl out from the desktop and stab her right in the eyes....... is me.

Right now, I'm trying to call for functions to square 15.

225 pops up in the output window.

The Flash Djinn crawled out from the deskstop window and stabbed me in the eyes with a skewer.

NYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! (Stab.Stab.Stab)

And I, I continue to eat. Clearly I fail to cooperate in this supposedly blood bath scenario. I bet It will get tired after a few times, this determined, dedicated Flash Djinn.

A few days ago I stalked someone who lived in my block.

His name was Uchi. I don't know who he is, and I don't know his real name.
But I know he looks good. He isn't the best-looking person outthere, but compare to everyone else I've seen around my area, he's, considerably, an exception.

I'm going to kill you but he "appears" foreign. Maybe he's from China. Japan. Mongolia. Who the hell knows? He still looks like a geeky anime character with dark red hair. If he's Singaporean then it's probably the coolest discovery since...sliced bread.

The first time I saw Uchi, the Flash Djinn followed me home, and told me to give the mystery guy an instance(object) name.

Dakara (Therefore), he is Uchi.

I followed him to his door, and now I know where he lives.

I'm going to follow Single-Eyelid Girl next.

She owes me a smile.

-end-

2006-05-19T16:24:00.000+08:00

Right now, I'm stumped by the codes printed in my Flash manual.

WHY CAN'T IT BE FLASH AUTOMATIC?!

I'm stumped. For the first time ever, I don't know what the bloody HELL words are trying to tell me.

Sticks and stones can break my bones, and now actionscripts drive me goddamn crazy.

I can actually feel my brain turning into goo. Sliding down and out of my nose. Blue and green and now terminal red.

Colourful goo can't make actionscript any easier.

I probably forget to breathe. I use the word "probably" perfectly.

My eyes...MY EYES!!!!

I am usually temperamental.

It's just that most of the time, I choose to not become my own emo-turbulence. It's nice to feel so freaking mad inside, but it feels alot nicer when I refrain myself from hurting anyone at all.

People who don't really know me call this "Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww~".

People who knows me call this "what? why the hell didn't you just freak out? Stupid."

I call this "Heh."

It should be raining tonight.

Oh oh! I have a question!!

Does anybody know what I'm talking about?

Or are we experiencing major communcation breakdown?

Bum-bum-bummmmmmmmmmmmmmm....

The life of figuraMalaya is taking another adventurous turn. Not that it hasn't been adventurous. I decided that I should tell you my recent adventures with the KeTchup crew.

Wid, Doji and Achid- KeTchup crew. Historically, we owe it to PAHA, Sheila on 7, KFC, Arashi, Yankumi and Wagahai Shigeaki.

So far, Wid's the only one whose ever told me in the face to go see a psycharterist.

Is that how you spell psycharterist? sai-kar-te-rist? I don't bother looking up the dictionary. I can spell superkellyfragilisticspealidoshes but I can't spell psycharterist.

How do you spell die-o-rhea?

What is this.instancename = "value";?

Hopelessness becomes me. Nowadays, spelling easy words that I don't really use everyday is a big challenge.

I'm .....DEAD!!!!

I was told to read tutorial stuff from some sites, and you guessed it.

Stumped. Dead stumped. Dead. Stumped. Stumped dead. DEAD.

But I read stuff off the sites anyway. Maybe if the colourful goo that pools on the table space under my nose now starts to harden later, I can like plug it back into my brains via a USB cable and make it like an external harddrive or something.

Because that's where all my actionscript codes are at. Colourful goo sliding out from my nose, onto the table and soon it will harden, because my brain melted and it has got nowhere to go but down and out.

Kero-chan doesn't know how to upload pictures from his digital camera into the PC.

Everybody please laugh at him.

I need distractions, and Wagahai is perfect.

TOTSUZEN DAKEDO, SUKI!! (secret text code to Wagahai).

Beep beep beep. Message sent.

Actionscriptsdonotneedspacesbetweeninstancenames.

I'll tell you a story now.

I really hate it when people interrupt me when I'm reading. When I'm reading ANYTHING - books, magazines, street signs, advertisements on bustops or tvMobile, road signs - chances are I get lost in it. Even if it's a two-liner.

It's not really a bad habit, but it annoys people who are talking to me at the time I'm reading anything.

I'm an expert at blocking out, zoning out and orbiting out of the orbit.

Colourful goo, please harden now.

When I was reading the Catcher in the Rye for the millionth time the other day, someone kept calling me via my home number.

If I'm lazy, I'm not home.
If I'm busy, I'm not home.
If I don't feel like talking, I'm not home.

Most of the time, I say "I'm not home" myself.

But there are devils that are so goddamn persistent outthere.

My mom picked it up and she went..."Tin, it's somebody from something who wants to talk to you about something!"

Such big help.

Me : Assalamualaikom Hello moshi moshi wei?

Caller-kun : Have you read the words of God and abide to all His commands?

Me : yeah. Did you answer my salam?

Caller-kun : Oh sorry. Waalaikum salam.

Me : Who is this?

Caller-kun : who is THIS?

Me : Bye.

Caller-kun : Don't you want to talk to me or something?

Me : No.

Caller-kun : I might be your friend.

Me : so shock me.

Caller-kun : admirer?

Me : SHOCK ME, I say.

Caller-kun : What are you doing?

Me : Reading.

Caller-kun : what?

Me : Your mind.

Caller-kun : Is that possible over the phone?

Me : It's not possible.

Caller-kun : you can just say IMPOSSIBLE.

Me : I choose not to.

Caller-kun : Are you hungry?

Me : no. Are you?

Caller-kun : Onaka tsuita! (I'm hungry)

Me : Wagahai?

Caller-kun : CHIGAI! (Wrong!)

Me : Damn.

Caller-kun : I might be your stalker, you know.

Me : *giggle giggle giggle*

Caller-kun : Are you free tomorrow?

Me : No.

Caller-kun : Why?

Me : I choose not to be.

Caller-kun : All this choices...life choices? Is this what you are? Bound to such choices?

Me : You don't even know who you're calling.

Caller-kun : of course I do!

Me : Shock me.

Caller-kun : You're the person I'm calling from my phone.

Me : Wow.

Caller-kun : Are you alone?

Me : No.

Caller-kun : Are you afraid of the dark?

Me : No.

Caller-kun : Do you have a pool at the back of your house?

Me : No.

Caller-kun : I think I got the wrong number.

Me : Bye.

Caller-kun : But I might not, too.

Me : What are you doing?

Caller-kun : Nothing.

Me : You are what you do.

Caller-kun : Now that's just plain mean.

Me : I'm going to hang up now.

Caller-kun : But this is so fun!

Me : I hate it when people interrupt me when I'm reading.

Caller-kun : Ok. I'm sorry. Can I ask you one LAST question?

Me : Shoot.

Caller-kun : Are you the next Singapore Idol?

Me : Yeah.

Caller-kun : Ok then, Bye! Nice talking to you!

Me : ducks ate my brain.

Actionscripts give me split personality.

-end-

2006-05-17T13:28:00.000+08:00

time check - my time

The heat outside is killing me. In this air-conditioned room, I've come up with some random thoughts.

" Even the smartest peerson in the world gets knocked down while jay-walking "

So don't underestimate anything and anybody. This saying goes to everyone who thinks that it is just too hot these days, and that the air-conditioning has failed to deliver. Heck, if we can install any super-micro aircon in our shirts or in our body, we would. If we have the money, we would.

Put it on automatic, 16 degrees.

We really really really really would install things like that if we have the money.

The terror that we have to live with beams from the skies. We have a new dish on the menu - Stir-Fried Singaporeans.

Iyaa~ Somebody in my block hates me.

KIREI DA NA! (real hate).

Topic for today : smile. A figuraMalaya presentation / production 06. SMILE.

Is it because my smile has been a little unnatural lately?

Is this Wagahai's unnatural smile influenced on me?

What did I do to deserve rolling eyes? I'm beginning to feel very pissed at this person, who rolled her eyes at me for 3 times in our meetings at the void deck. First 2 times, I dismissed it.

But today, this morning, this girl whom I've never seen before, ROLLED her eyes at me.

SINGLE-EYELID! Single-Eyelid Girl rolled her eyes at me, then sighed.

GUSA!! GUSA!! (This is Wagahai's influence). Struck through my heart, this girl's reaction to our 3rd meeting is unacceptable.

This is not pain, this is INJUSTICE!

GrRr. Grr. Grr and Hell GRRR.

I was thinking hard, but I didn't know what I did. Honestly. I've never seen her before, but I met her 3 days since last Sunday.

I was guessing, new neighbour.

Welcome?

I take back my warmness.

I always greet everybody with a smile, even though I don't feel like smiling for so long sometimes. Just a prompt, quick smile. At least I smiled. I was willing to smile. I mustered enough care to pull a smile. I mustered enough warmness in me to smile.

Why did she roll her eyes at me?

It irritated me to Hell.

Smile, dammit.

When my sister and I met her again (for the 3rd time) this morning at the lobby, she turned to smile at my sister.

Then she rolled her eyes at me.

Single-Eyelid Girl! Such annoyance seeped through my veins and installed actions within my brain space. Telling me to just give her the ....

KARATE-CHOPPU!!

I just let anger seeth through my teeth.

Iyaa~ she HATES me.

SMILE! SMILE!!!

Why can't you SMILE AT ME?!

-end-

2006-05-13T14:36:00.000+08:00

Time check : 2 : 40 pm

I'm in Flash class right now, learning actionscripts and programming and all the complications in the world by savvy smart-asses of Macromedia.

Supplimentary class. I can't say I hate this.

The teacher just said that once I get into this line (if I ever. I hope I do. What I really need nowadays is less sleep anyway, ne?) , I'll get even lesser sleep than I deserve, because big bosses are so goddamn scary and clients are so goddamn demanding and all that eco-socio crap that I'd have to live with nowadays simply because that's reality.

First step to conquering animation power : you must be really good at spelling. You can't make mistakes because the programme is so dictonary-correct, it's straight-up American, or English.

Annoying. To Hell. But I have no choice. I like spelling anyway.

Jac (the Flash teacher) told me all this, and I had my forehead on the LCD screen hiding from her view to steal some sleep.

It wasn't intentional. Wahagai Shigeaki's not the only one whose got Sleeping Demon problems.

We're taking a break right now. I think I'm sleepy because I'm hungry to death. People die from hunger, and I don't want to be one of them simply because I'd rather sleep for a good 15 minutes rather than dragging my sorry feet downstairs to Al-Jilani's to get some tabemono (food).

Typing and eating at the same time right now. Bad habit. I wasn't brought up like this, mind you. What I'm eating is a quick yet deadly combination order of sambal squid, boneless chicken curry and steamed spinach.

I probably wasn't awake when I was ordering this. I really hate boneless chicken. Who the hell came up with that concept anyway? Toothless people should just act like toothless people, ne? Well I bought it anyway. for $5.50.

GUSA! I was robbed in the daylight. Not happy. Annoyed. But full.

First lesson in Japanese class started this morning. I was late as usual, but by 10 minutes. Walking from the Orchard MRT station to Delfi was like a never ending, mega-annoying when you're alone. I almost talked to everyone along my way just to speed up the feeling of crawling time.

Then I decided to run. In heels.

I was born standing up, so rejoice at my ability to run in heels!

Don't you think the phrase "born standing up" is funny? Imagine your mom giving birth to you and you just popped out and landed on your feet infront of everyone. With a smile. You could be THE phenomenon after Ayah Pin and Suri Cruise.

Hilarious!

I entered the class with a very enthusiastic OHAYO GOZAIMASU! (Good morning!)

Everyone agreed, I was BEYOND enthusiastic. I was almost crazed. Walking into a room full of HUH looking people wondering whose this crazed enthusiast...I killed them all with such energy.

And class began. I screwed up my Japanese about a week ago with some tourists, and I kind of swore to myself never to speak Japanese again to Japanese unless a sensei is there to breathe down my neck and to correct my grammar, tones and all that necessary crap.

Somehow I found enough confidence to go through the essential oral Japanese phrases. If people say I sound funny when I speak Japanese, you should come by and listen to the people in my class speak Japanese. They killed me . I almost rose ontop of them to be the first foreigner to master Japanese or something. It's that damn motivating, I just wanted to talk everyone else to death or something, in (broken, hopeless) Japanese.

Then I asked something silly.

"Sumimasen sensei...you said "doomo" means casual thanks right? What about like..."doomo!" like..."Doomo! Kato Shigeaki desu!"?"

"That means "Hello!" in a very casual sense."

"Oh. Ok."

"Dare Shigeaki?" (who is Shigeaki?)

KATOP!

"Er...Atashi no tomodachi desu."

Liar liar pants on fire.

Wid, Doji and Achid were laughing their pants off. They know who Shigeaki is. Wagahai Shigeaki, I just declared your name to my new teacher. I heard you slept in hip-hop clothes and that just got stuck in my mind, and I mentioned your name out of the blue because all I can think about is your clever, weird and mega-lame cat.

"Tomodachi? Boy Girl?"

"Boy."

"Japanese friend?"

"Hai"

my pants on fire! our pants are on fire!

NE, TOMODACHI? *looked at Wid, Doji and Achid*

They were still laughing.

WHY YOU??

"Can I meet him?"

"He's in Japan."

"KANSAI! KANSAI!" Wid was shouting from the other end of the table. I really didn't like the sound of KANSAI. But it is a Japanese country.

"He was born in Kansai!"

"You have his photo?"

"No."

Wid, Doji and Achid, "SHOW HER! SHOW HER!"

"Eh?~"

"Kakkoi?" (Handsome?)

"KAKKOI~!" All four of us sort of answered in unison, I instantly felt lame. We're talking about Wagahai Shigeaki, and we just admitted that you are handsome to a new teacher.

But at the end of the day she found out who Wahagai Shigeaki is.

Embarrassingly cool. Embarrasing. Cool.

I can't make up my mind.

I shall never mention your name again, Wahagai Shigeaki.

But I doubt that I'll do that.

Gimme your cat.

KATOP!

1 2 3 4 5 6 7....IT'S BIG NEWS!!

Ok class is resuming. I type fast with one hand, ne?

Now I'm feeling sleepy once again. KATOP!

-end-

2006-05-09T13:54:00.000+08:00

If you think it's impossible to completely lose conscious while still standing up on a moving vehicle, I'd like to prove you wrong.

Taking the train in the morning in Singapore is like taking the train in the morning in Singapore. It's not crowded. It's damn crowded. It's so damn crowded it's like taking the train in the morning in Singapore. If you're a train person, you'd know. I'm not a train person, so I pretty much avoid taking it unless I really really really really really to the power of infinity had no choice. So this morning, after weighing my options and sanity and level of conciousness I decided to take the train from where-else-but Bedok.

And you know that the chances of getting any seats at all to actually getting to sit in any seats at all is like 2 billion 72 million 30 thousand 450 thousand 8 hundred and 92 to the power of 234 .... to 1. Of course I can't blame that ratio, it's peak hour. I understand. I really do.

A lot of people like to tell other people that their brain is dead flat. I'd like to tell you that too, because I haven't been sleeping right for the past few days, but I guess it's just my fault because I hadn't started my video editing project sooner. Coffee didn't really help much, I didn't know how many times I konked myself out before Adobe Premier after 8 hours of trying every damn software I could download from download.com to rip a copywrited DVD.

Ah damn. I shouldn't have used the word copywrighted, ne? Legal issues aside, back to the train. If it wasn't for the strap that I was holding on to, I would've rolled back and forth on the train floor like a bloody ball. Fall over people and stuff like that. I didn't know how I did it, but I'm already beginning to think that my left arm is haunted by a Safety-First spirit triggered on Auto. I remembered trying to not fall asleep by the time I reached Kembangan, but the last train station I saw was Eunos. The next train station I woke up to was Tiong Bahru.

I fell asleep standing, and my left hand was still wrapped around the strap tight. Like I was damn awake and yappy throughout the whole journey or something. I didn't fall over anyone, I didn't drool on anything either. I just slept. Standing up. Like legs-rooted-to-the-ground kind of standing up. It was an achievement I'd like everyone to remember me by but not something I'd like to recommend to the weak-kneed, ne?

Takes a lot of yuki (courage) to do this. Yosha, atashi wa yuki no aru (courageous) desu.

oK, maybe it just takes a lot of KATOPidity. (KATOP here, means stupid).

If Wagahai Shigeaki sees me like this, he'd probably blog about me. I probably looked like I hung myself by my arm or something, with feet on the ground. A pseudo failed suicide attempt. And he'd try to control his laughter, and then he wouldn't be able to fall asleep, and then he'd get all mad because looking at such interesting sight in the morning had cost him his own sleep, and he'd blog about how I had to give back his time because I was so interesting-looking.

I still want your cat, dammit. Next time I see you, I'll wake you the hell up.

I stepped out of the train when I reached Red Hill station. Some estranged looking person was arguing with another estranged looking person. This is normalcy for me. Poeple shouldn't try to do new things all the time, they should just stick to their own kind. It's less annoying, ne?

I was performing mental segragation here, because only by that I found that morning's meaning to "normal". A group of chattering girls walked past 2 guys who were talking about interest rates in banks. An old lady was walking with her old lady friends, looking so Tai-Tai posh.

When crazy people hang out with crazy people, they'd be normal, ne?

Someone yelled "CATCH!" from somewhere, and I automatically spun to the sound like a monkey to a zookeeper's order.

A watermelon came flying at me, and I managed to catch it rugby-style before it smashed my new specs into bloody pieces. I stumbled a few steps back, almost falling into the train tracks before I caught my balance.

Then I heard the familiar sound of footsteps. Rushing footsteps, rumbling the entire MRT level. Stampede. STAMPEDE!

And then....

"Go ahead Tin. Smash the watermelon. We know you want to."

A wooden stick fell from the skies and landed right in my hand.

"SMASH IT!"

Why do I have to smash a watermelon!?!?

KATOP!!!!!!

2006-05-06T01:33:00.000+08:00

countdown : 6 hours till dawn breaks, and it's May 6th.

It's 2 am, and I'm annoying.

Voting day! Bowling day!

How hard is it to talk to a sleepy Super-Idol Aiba-chan?

WAKE UP! IT'S VOTING DAY! SINGAPORE, GANBATTE IKIMASSHOU!

It's just a game, right? All this? Wake up, Neko no Wagahai Shigeaki. Wake up. Let's become one of the party people in the house and yell "One on One"!

Super-Idol Aiba-chan is not talking to me. I need Wagahai Shigeaki's number so that I can text him, but his Neko's not giving me a chance. Hands up in the air, and ........ONE ON ONE!

This morning, at around 8 am, some group of smashingly-dressed up people gathered between my block and the one infront of mine. Too smart for morning get-up though, but boy, they irked Neko no Wagahai Shigeaki's tail to ends when they finally properly aligned themselves according to whoever that was in charge's orders.

Then they started yelling. I think they were cheering, because at some point of yelling, after the sleepy residents were rudely awakened from their superb sleep on their King Koil mattresses, it sounded like some cheer. My neurons fried faster than eggs, I think I heard something else besides English from these guys.

KATOP! I shall replace the word "Yahoo!" with KATOP!

Kibou-yell. Hands up in the air. Fight for win!! KATOP!

Yosh. Too bad, I can't understand Chinese. I'm one of those people who didn't know what the Hell the smashing-looking people were shouting about downstairs, but I ended up being one of those people who clapped their hands to Hell like I forgot how annoying rude morning wake-ups could be.

Why couldn't you shout in English?

Wagahai Shigeaki, I understand your occasional Sleeping Demon attacks. I want your number, I can make you feel better when you're on your way to law school. I'll kill the wasp that bothers you, and the rabu-rabu couples that irritate you.

and...........Can I keep your cat?

Today, I observed a few things that are just too cute to not contradict. I hate big shot posters that talk about big shot phonies selling big shot phony things to big shot phony poser people.

Phonies! Phonies on phones. Phonies on flip phones. Phonies on flippin' flip phones on JCDecaux posters. Blown up a size A1, blowdried to perfection straight from the offset oven and rollers.

"Skills matter, not age" said one.

It should've been "Skills matter, not race".

Another one said, "Everybody is welcome". It was about some open house thing.

It should've been "Everyone is welcomed".

KATOP! It's Voting day! KATOP! KATOP!

Wagahai Shigeaki, only the best-looking dude gets his picture taken no matter how horrid he looks like when he's sleeping on the train. Can I have your number?
I want to keep your cat.

They showed the people how to vote on TVMobile just now, and told me that my vote matters. My vote is also a secret.

Ooops.

Super-Idol Aiba-chan will never be caught with his things spilled all over the train station floor first thing in the morning. Because he's Super-Idol Aiba-Chan who likes to go to the Zoo and adopt leopard cubs and give them smashing names like "Shimunken"...and things like accidents don't happen to people like him.

I want to be somewhere like Super-Idol Aiba-chan.

KATOP! It's speak good English time, once again!

Bad pronounciation kills me. Someone said, "Rez-dez-vouz" right infront of my face, and I almost smacked her to death. Big shots who can't pronounce such words properly shouldn't be allowed to talk at all. Phonies. Phonies with accents. Phonies with fake accents.

REZ-DEZ-VUZ.

Sleeping Demon............Attack! Wake up, make up?

Some phonies should sleep rather than talk a lot!

SLEEPING DEMON, ATTACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-end-

2006-04-30T00:54:00.000+08:00

Where I'm studying at, the people who made the locks of the toilet doors of the building were probably Alaskan.

The logic here is that if you insert your key to open a locked door, it is always turned clockwise.

The logic to Alaskans or Icelanders is that everything is anti-clockwise. When you turn the tap and water starts flowing out, it always flows clockwise here.

In Alaska, the water turns anti-clockwise. So my door, the lock, turns in such a way.

It's damn annoying.

This is a serious matter, toilets. I'm not kidding. The toilet door on my floor are becoming a right hassle nowadays. They always lock it, for bloody flippin dophins' love. I'm not sure if the security people think its a lot safer for girls to be inside locked toilets but I'm pretty sure it feels a hell lot lousier if you're stuck outside of it without a goddamn key, and that you really have to go.

The lousiest plot will be that you already have the key and then having to turn it for a good 7 hours just to get into the toilet.
Imagine this : You really have to go, and you've to spend like 7 hours to open a goddamn door made by bloody Alaskans. Assumed, of course, about the Alaskans. I have nothing against Alaskans, just so you know although I don't think this matters at all in the first place. I really dig the whole igloo-seal-pink cheeks thing, a whole lot of it. I'd move to Alaska if I could, but I bet I wouldn't really want to because so far, I haven't seen a decent arcade on the icebergs.

This is me channelling unlimited drag-ness into your system. I'm not kidding about the toilets, ok. It's almost 3 am in the morning, and I'm ranting about toilet rights. I really do have no life, but if I were to videotape it and send it to the MDA, I bet it'd knock all the damned TP Media students' shortfilms being honored on TVMobile out cold and dead.

Sho Sakurai once told the whole wide world that you should say the word "dead" as "DEAD!!!"
I like his style, you should like his style too if you'd seen how "dead" should be expressed. Who is Sho Sakurai?

Maa~ I'm going to use the word KATOP to replace the world "unbelievable". I really like the word KATOP. I think I'm going to be obsessed with it for a while, and I'm going to jumpstart your brains by messing up my own vocabulary and then I'll call this whole KATOP drama constructive voca-creativity and all you have to do is agree.

I'm in love with myself sometimes.

Besides the usual news, I don't really know what else is going around in this world. I didn't know that North and South Korea has been bickering a lot. I bet it's about some corny matter like territories or chickens or meat buns, and I was told about Korea when my friends and I were talking about Wagahai Shigeaki's lack of exposure on stage.

Whose Wagahai Shigeaki? He's the guy who sleeps in the train with the strong belief that he has the right to sleep the way he sleeps in his own bed at home. He's really cute, I say. He is a genius in smiling, but I bet his buddies think that is KATOP!

Class will start in 6 hours, I'll probably sleep on the bus on the way to the learning centre. That is, if I get a decent seat. The last time I tried to sleep in the aisle seat I almost rolled to the front of the bus when the vehicle was doing turns and bends. I hate aisle seats to the point where I'd kill for the window seats. But I'm a nice person when I'm being nice, so I enjoy giving my seats to old people who enjoys taking the same bus as me all the time, almost everywhere. I think I'm an old-people magnet, or maybe it's just my neighbourhood. It's not really spunky here, as you can see.

I've been thinking about friendship really. I realized that I made an entry about my friends, dedicating it to them. I think I've the coolest friends in the whole wide world, because we can't get united almost all the time, though we think a lot alike. We're like freaking geniuses with no hidden agendas, secret spy agents with no targets. But I like things the way it is. I'd hate to lose the people I hang out with now, because if I lose the people I like, then all I'll ever get is people I just want to kill, right?

How does it feel like to have default friends?

Disposable friends?

I'm being touchy. I should sleep. Penguins are yelling at me to stop hating the Alaskans. I don't hate Alaskans, I really don't!

But what is it about certain people that makes you want to annoy them so damn much, but they end up wanting to hang out with you and kick your ass in bowling?

Oh, speaking of Wagahai Shigeaki... I think I have a crush on his cat. I like cats, especially Wagahai Shigeaki's cat. It's a smart cat. One that goes into University and learn oral english. Funny thing is, the cat just can't tell apart what's essential and oral english so that annoys his tail to ends.

Why should I hate Alaskans anyway? It's not their fault that their gravity force is different.

KATOP!! It's 3.30 am and I'm hungry.

I bet if the toilet doors aren't locked all the time, people might start to like the security personnels. They are nice guys, the personnels. It's just that they like to lock toilet doors.

Why don't you just lock the goddamn storeroom?

This entry has been really KATOP.

-end-

2006-04-27T16:53:00.000+08:00

It's the election fever, and everyone looks suspicious.

Not suspicious in a bad, possibly terrorist-Spy-CIA-double agent way. Just plain suspicious.

And that's suspicious, know?

I will tell you why. Just don't sue me or anything. That's like...scary. Last thing I want to get sued about is because I think everyone's suspicious, and then policemen comes barging into my door arresting me with their fancy cuffs and batons without reading this entry entirely.

Hahahaha. Just to tell you that I don't want to be sued over the matter above. Hahahaha. Ok?

"Psst."

Huh?

"Pssssst!"

What?

"For God's sake, Tin. PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSST!!!"

I woke up with a nasty start and gracefully hit my head on the open door of the cabinet above me.

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiittaiiii~

Whose there? I almost knocked myself out, I swear the bump was going to be as big as Nebraska if God ever permitted that to happen. The little stars that popped around my head and in my eyes began to fade away for decent clarity but with just the LCD light coming from my monitor, decent clarity meant being able to see everything..........at a 30 cm radius from the computer screen.

Helpful, indeed. This is part of HP's customer service promise. If it doesn't help you a lot, at least it helps you a little. You buy everything and that's what the companies promise you with.

After quality, it's just the thought that counts.

Miraculously, my head wasn't throbbing out of my skull in a matter of seconds.
In fact, I only felt a light tingle on my head. Oh my sweet, dear, worshipped to the very day I die God. Is this what they really mean by stupidity? When you knock yourself out cold but you don't feel anything anymore after a good few seconds...is my head seriously turning into a goddamn rock? Is becoming really stupid and old all about bumping your head into countless of things and not being able to feel the pain anymore?

I don't want to grow old stupid and senseless! Oh pain, please come back and split my head into 2! Give me a headache at least. Just come back!

All this paranoia attack, and Adobe Premier was still unloading its contents into drive C. I fell asleep during this. I must have travelled somewhere before I fell asleep before the PC, but my head was becoming a goddamn rock, I couldn't really bother to remember where I was about a couple of minutes ago.

But I remembered that someone was talking to me just now. Calling out my name in this dimly illuminated darkness. I couldn't turn on the lights, because I forgot to buy the lamp. Growing old and stupid : two things you don't want to be in the future. Since the future is now, I guess I'm in trouble already, ne?

"Psstt!"

Whose there, dammit?

"Over here! Look down!"

TOYOL!!! TOYOL!!!

"You didn't even look down. Don't make stupid assumptions."

I'm beginning to really hate the word "stupid" now. I'm beginning to hate that word to the point of wanting to eradicate it from the face of the universe, or at least from the pages of all dictionaries. I'm beginning to hate that word to the point of wanting to erase it from people's heads and the archives of history. Erase that part of their minds and replace it with the word "KATOP!"

Don't be a KATOP!

What does Katop really mean? Only the great Wagahai Shigeaki knows. And people who read Popolo. Or at least try to. Ok, I'll be really annoying - whoever knows the real answer...don't tell OK.

Point is, I hate the word "stupid" enough already.

Yosha, I will use KATOP to replace "stupid" for this entry. Concurred!

"TIN!"

What?! (I didn't know why I didn't dare to look down. That's the thing about me. I'm not scared of cliffs or rockclimbing or cracking eggs but silly things like random voices in the darkness freaks me out)

I did, after much consideration that I might die from shock or at least fall sick for the next 4 weeks of my life because that's what usually happens to people who sees...weird things in the darkness. Right?

It must be all of the week's boredom just blasted itself out of its contained shell somewhere at the back of my head because last week's boredom wasn't much. Boredom was constantly replaced by whacky videos, stupid jokes, high-school delinquents who were scared of cats and rotating vector graphics in 3d animation.

So I bet boredom got bored because I didn't get bored for a whole week.
This must be boredom's grand revenge on me.

Talking mice.

I rubbed my eyes. 2 mice. One white and one spotted brown. Talking to me.

Adobe Premier prompted me to run the programme after installing.

And the 2 mice scurried into the LCD light, stood on their little hind legs next to the modem and waved. Smiling and waving. At least I thought they were smiling. Cats have the smiley face all the time, but no cat has waved at me before, so my best guess was that these mice were smiling and waving judging from how their mouths turned up that way and that they were really waving judging from the way their tiny hands moved from side to side.

I'm explaining to you what I really saw.

This must be boredom's greatest revenge in the history of revenge. On me.

Eh!?

I jerked back my hands the way people jerk their hands back when they touched something hot.
I remembered the white mouse from somewhere. It had appeared once, and called me "Sucker" for no apparent reason, then disappeared in a crack. If my eyebrows could really knit together, I bet I would've produced the world's first eyebrow-engineered sweater.

If I had an available sense of humor, I'd cry at that very instant.

But I was becoming a KATOP, so I couldn't put in anything else.

You, I said, pointing an accusing finger the way a parent would point to a child when the parent thinks he/she is right all the time and the child is just being a KATOP!

You, you appeared before. What do you want now?

"I wanna introduce you to my homie," the white mice squeaked. Or should I say squeak? Mice don't talk. They squeak. But I guess I should just say that the white mice just spoke in a squeaky voice?

Just bring back the pain, oh great cabinet! Split my head!

"This is Brown mouse," the white one pointed its superbly tiny finger at the other mice. Brown mouse introduced itself once again, through beatboxing. It just began to cough out these random turntable noises through the paw on its nose.

This must be boredom's bestest, most memorable revenge on me. A beatboxing mouse.

Er...nice to meet you?

The screen flickered : "Adobe Premier is ready to be used. Restart computer now?"

"Are you voting?" White mouse said/squeaked, its black eyes full and round and full and round and full and round. One of the easiest creatures to look really bloody excited ever created by God. Kawaii (cute), and kowai(scary) at the same time.

What? Even these guys are talking about it? I was pretty bummed out over that question lately. Well, it just felt like a billion people asked me the same thing ever since the whole election thing sprang up.

Yeah. I have to. Erm...Yeah.

It's true. My area is listed down. You know I don't bother about politics, but I have to vote because I'm supposed to pick what's right for my country, because I'm at the vote-able age and because they trust my opinion because I'm at the vote-able age because that's what vote-able aged people are supposed to do.

Wid said I'm old. Doji called me Okaasan (mother).

That's what vote-able aged people are supposed to be called. Old.

I'd knit them together with my eyebrows if my eyebrows could really knit.

Brown mouse : "Who are you voting for?"

Whoever. I fail to see the big deal to this, ok? And I like it that way.

White mouse put a fist into the other palm, the way professors would put their fists into the other palms when they think they've found the answers to fix genetic engineering toasters that produced CC the cat. "I like your style."

But I can't help smiling at enthusiasts though.

"Eh?" The mice scurried towards me, across the keyboard and messing up some of my text on my open notepad. "How's that fun for you ne?"

This morning, I reached my tutee's house and there were about a 1000 PAP members -all white obviously- gathering at Ngee Ann Primary School with a million traffic police officers posted around the area. I walked past one of them, and she stopped me.

"Hellogoodmorninghowareyou?"

Eh? err...Yes. Good morning. Fine thanks.

I didn't know why, but I asked anyway. What's this all about? Voting day is May 6th, right?

"We'resettingupthepollingboothshere! Forthevoting. Areyouvoting?"

This air of enthusiasm...was choking me. This was like a seven nation army strong kind of enthusiam. The morning atmosphere was literally buzzing. With bugs and people. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Glaring white buzz.

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!

Yeah I'm voting. I have to. Because I'm at a vote-able age. That's what vote-able aged people are supposed to do right? Make the right choice, right?

This must be boredom's spectacular get-back plan. For ignoring boredom, I was sentenced to walk in buzzing atmospheres and talk to fast-talking politicians and their supporters.

The auntie -ok FINE. Middle-aged working class lady- looked at me with a huge smile that could melt the iciest of hearts, and added more buzz in the air. "Yes, yes. You are right. So you should know who to vote for already right?"

Uh...yeah. I'm supposed to think like a vote-able aged person, right?

"Whichareadoyoulivein bytheway?"

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Just to see the reaction, I said, Potong Pasir.

"Welldoesntmatterlawhereyou'refrombutyoumakesureyoumaketherightchoice. Nottellingyouwhotovotebecausethat'syourrightasaSingaporean,yousee."

This must be boredom's most perfect revenge plan on me.

I reached the foot of my block, and someone I didn't know pressed the lift for me.

He smiled, and ushered me into the lift without entering himself. I said thanks, and he bowed down, saying no problem.

If my eyebrows could knit, it really would knit a damn sweater.

"So what? What's the issue about that?" White mouse leaned against the mouse, and began to play with the scroller. This messed up my line where I was reading on my browser. "It's common courtesy."

I live in Bedok. People don't usher people in Bedok, we just wait for people inside the lift because we are already in it, or outside the lift for someone to enter and then we get inside it, or just ignore common courtesy!

"Oh."

For a million years I've lived here, I told the mice. No one was ever an USHER.

Suspicious. Maybe he wants my vote?

This must be boredom's guide to killing me softly for ignoring it for a whole week.

Brown mouse looked at me with its full and round and full and round and full and round eyes and said/squeaked. "Maybe you should restart computer now."

Ok.

2006-04-25T15:29:00.000+08:00

Ack!!

I bought Nobuta Wo Produce DVD yesterday.

Nobuta Wo Produce = Nobuta's Produce (Also titled = Nobuta's Makeover)

but mine was "Ambulance"

Nobuta Wo Produce = Ambulance

BAKAYAROU!

Well my mood is as jolly bleak as the weather is right now. It was jolly hot this morning, but I
wasn't like retarded happy about it or anything. I almost collapsed mid-cycling! I swear, whichever party that builds a gigantic 400m long shelter at the Bedok Reservoir-Tampines Connector , I will cast in my vote! Heck, I'll photocopy my piece of paper, and tick YOUR party on all of them!!
If my area doesn't have to vote, I'll cycle to YOUR area and vote for you. ne? NE?!!

Wishful thinking, know? It's raining like Hell again outside, and I think my mood's slowly lifting up...I can feel it...

Nah.

The genki obaachan (healthy old lady) complains all the time.

Yesterday's crazed heavy rain caused my mood to crash through the roof in a good way. I wasn't paying attention in class 90% of the time after that because fishes were jolly well swimming in my shoes, and I hate it when fishes swim in my shoes. That's why I like to wear boots, because fishes can't swim in boots, can they? Not when there is absolutely no water to swim in. Right?

Yosh, I will get new boots this week then.

Anyway, about yesterday. I was aloof and got lost somewhere between thinking and not thinking at all after that anyway, when in class and the airconditioning was like -10 degrees or something. When I did something on After Effects with some 3d animated vector graphic, I thought it was the coolest thing since sliced bread. I probably messed up real communication between Wid and Hirmah (I sit between them)

I'd prefer the rain to sun anytime. Heck, if I get to migrate and live happily, selfishly ever after I'd move to New Zealand and stay in the mountains. I'll learn to make fire and become a hobbit.

"THEY'RE TAKING THE HOBBITS TO ISENGARD!"

I'm sort of sleepy right now, but I can't sleep in the mid-day. People are always saying that rainy mid-days are perfect for sleeping, and they'd love to skive their jobs just to be in their beds snoring the rest of the time away.

Sleeping is a waste of time.

Well I can't blame people who whines about their jobs. They get tired everyday because they had to work for richer people.

Maybe all of you whining working people should pack up and move to New Zealand to live in the mountains.

I can't whine about mine, I'd feel really stupid if I ever do and you all are going to back up that one fact, know? Besides, my students whine a Hell lot better and I'd feel stupid for falling at such competition.

BAKAYAROU!

The bicycle chain is giving me trouble again. Argh. It keeps breaking into two. I'm waiting for it to break into pieces, just to show me that I've been a crazed bike-rider all this while, and all the damned selfish drivers who sped at the zebra-crossings were actually trying to run away and escape from me for fear I might dent their expensive cars with my crazy bicycle. Dakara (so) I'm taking it to Bruce Lee (he's the neighborhood bike shop guy and he's touchy as Hell whenever he sees signs of obvious bicycle abuse. I don't know his real name, but since he's got Bruce Lee posters all over the shop....), and he's going to blast me the fundamentals of bicycle TLC again.

Bike abuser. That's what he's calling me. I don't know how to justify myself in this kind of situation, so I just concur all the time. Well, I can't jolly-well fix the bike on my own. If I could I would, would I?

Nyah...I bet it's going to be really humid tonight.

Yeah, lately I don't have anything smart to blog about.

2006-04-15T09:53:00.000+08:00

Today, I greeted the world with a big, fat, genki "Ohayou gozaimasu!" (Good morning!) the moment I opened my eyes.

Because today....I feel like feeling the breeze!

However, I'll not decide to be like that throughout the entire day because the last thing I want to be is a hypocrite to myself. Basic theory is, when you decide on something, you should be able to keep your word, no matter how unnecesary things look like in the first place. Ne? If you decide to be happy, then be happy. No matter what.

Ah! I remember someone telling me that if I want to be really happy, I should check myself into Happy House at Woodbridge. That cracked me up the entire week, hearing someone saying things like Happy House. It's corny. Medicated-sedated-twisted kind of cornyness that even the corniest people won't be able to think of such corny name for an institution.

Should I stop? I'm beginning to give people the impression that I'm hyper today, and that reduces the chance of people thinking I should not be ablt to fall asleep in class. Eck. Not a good idea. I'll take that back?

Wait, not yet. Ha ha!

Lots of blabbering. I drank black coffee before I went to sleep last night, so if I didn't twitch a muscle in sleep, I'm twichy right now. Yeah, it's a grand excuse, ne?

I don't feel sleepy at all today. I don't usually portray the "sleepy look" even when I'm sleepy, because I have potential energy stored somewhere inside, and somehow it always becomes kinetic energy at the end of the day.
Uhm..I'm yabbering about old-school science, because I like old-school science. Old-school science rocks because old-school science is easy.

I don't portray the "super energetic look" either, so people don't usually believe it when I say "I'm really sleepy" or "I should be able to run like hell today should a crazy dog starts chasing me" UNLESS I fall asleep in class out of the blue or when something really interesting is being taught in class or in the bus or in a really crowded and noisy bus or I start talking non-stop for no apparent reason or start making drag jokes or comments like "see you next time, enzyme!" when I'm feeling like being annoying or bored.

So today, I'll appear indifferent again. I won't tell the world what I'm up to as usual, but I'll tell it drag jokes just to see the reactions to them (I like those kind of stunts, remember?), and most probably fall asleep in an important subject today but I won't tell my classmates that I'm sleepy before everything starts!

Yeah! I'll skim through the day having mixed feelings like I always do, because if I don't get mixed feelings at all, then I should be retarded. We all should be retarded, ne?

So.....Ganbare! (All the best!)

My Grandmother's staying over the weekend, but I can't be at home most of the time. It sucks, because even if I stay over at her house, I can't be in it most of the time too. Commitments that I paid to get commited to because I decided to commit myself in the first place, are screwing up my weekend with my Grandmother. Maa~ (So~) I'm pretty much turning into a goddamn psycho all by myself whenever I think about what I did in the first place is screwing up a simple just-another weekend.

Should I decide to feel fine? Even for a little bit? I can't complain a hell lot, because things aren't going to change anyway UNLESS I skip school and let 7 hours of education advance my friends wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy ahead (trust me, I've a gung ho sensei) instead of me.

AH!

Chotto matte kudasai yo! (please wait!)

I just want to give a shoutout to cars S 7899 0 and S 113 E before I go out and get fulfilling brain food. They almost knocked the guys (who were on their bicycles) infront on me down when we were starting to cross near Safra Tampines.

Please watch out when you guys are speeding at a zebra-crossing, you'll never know when you're going to hit a pedestrian. Or 2 pedestrians.

And you'll never know when you're going to get hit by an oncoming bus. Or a log lorry. Or get scratched by my key if I decide to hold it out and scratch your car when you're speeding past me.

Demo.........I'm feeling the breeze today, and I'll try not to be nasty! At all!

GANBARE!!

2006-04-07T22:50:00.000+08:00

How many idiots does it take to screw a lightbulb?

Heck, I don't know. But it takes very few of them to screw up my mood these days.

People can never guess when I'm being serious. I think it's due to the fact that I never bother answering people properly or seriously. Thing is, when I do, they look at me like I just told them a read-between-the-lines joke, or a read-between-the-lines remark, or a read-between-the-lines judgement, or I'm suffering from a rare read-between-the-lines character change.

If I talk about a hating airplane rides, people will say I'm being ridiculous. Motion sickness is ridiculous.

Ever given it a good thought on how you really want to die?

Like, what kind of impression do you want to leave when you die? You know, whenever you say "Heck, I'll never be caught dead in THAT!"...do you think you were being serious about how you want to look like before you go?

A lot of people I know would like to die in their sleep. In peace. With a smile on the face, and the whole smiling death scene wouldn't freak anyone out. In Iman. They always like to say that until it's become so cliched and predictable, which is not a bad/boring thing at all.

Yet somehow I'd like to hear a different answer, just to entertain myself and just to learn how much some other people give a damn about their big death scenes.

One answer came as, "Lived, died and went to the prom with a downright geek somewhere in between."

Then, out of the blue, I decided to give everyone a subjective note :

"Please tuck in your shirts. You'll never know when you're going to get hit by a bus. "

How you understand that phrase depends on how much you give a damn about your dying wish.

I just don't want to die with people saying, "tch" when they hear about my death scene. Boy, the last thing I want to do before I die is embarrass my parents who goes to Hell and back just to keep me healthy sideways. I mean, when it boils down to your parents, you've got to take certain matters seriously.

I want to die in a manner where people would come up to my parents during my funeral and say, "Look, your daughter may have been a little off somewhere, but we'd like to say that WORD!! to both of you."

What I'd like to die as is some heroin whose parents only hear people tell them the good stuff about me during my grand funeral. In Iman, yes, and that. It's like an added bonus, I guess. People talking nice about you when you're living, it's hella cool. People talking nice about you when you're dead and gone, and you'll be dearly missed and all that, and it's hella lot cooler, ne?

I hope that when I die, some people will still shed tears when they are on the bus and they go past the places that we've been to when I was alive, and they will still really bloody miss me and cry and will always pray for God to have mercy on my soul.

I hope that when YOU die, I'll come to your funeral and I'll tell your parents that you were once a smashing kid too, if nobody has said that to them. That you were talented and you could talk and laugh at the same time, without snorting at all! That you could kill people in badminton matches, and that you had ever rolled a bowling ball onto people's feet instead of aiming for the pins. That we had a nice picnic on the roof of the Esplanade and that your cooking sucked, but it got better before you died. That we went through fashion disasters, one after the other, before settling for the default "simple" concept because we couldn't get any more depressing to people's eyes, and that we used to think that people who had these weird life concepts like...vegans...were just going on a lifetime binge diet and that we used to take the entire stack of Burger King discounts because we just wanted to.

That kind of good stuff you know? Memorable stuff.

My friends are always asking me why I haven't been coming to their wedding ceremonies lately.

So far, I've never answered every one of them properly. Or seriously.

One of them tells me that when I get married, people are not going to come. Because I don't go to any of their weddings, so they are going to gang up on me.

I don't mind really. Just come for my funeral then.

They are beginning to dislike the new me. I'm 23 this year, and I'm still not answering people properly. Or seriously.

I keep talking about death, I'll stop now.

Thing is, I like my answers. I like to see people's reaction to my answers. I don't really care what they want to think about me right then when I'm dropping these weird answers to their seriousness, but I like to see their reactions anyway. I laugh everytime my friends say "Kansai" and "Chiba" (Japanese places) and "Cucur badak" (some traditional Malay food), and they'll say I'm being goddamn silly because it doesn't sound anywhere funny at all. But I laugh anyway, because to me, these words kill me. And I just like to see their "HEH?!" looks when they see me laughing my head off. It looks so united at times, their reactions, I think it's priceless.

So when some of my friends start asking me what I really want right now in my life, I told them that I've been wanting to get a microphone that's altered to a high-pitched tone, so that I'll sound squeaky as hell when I say "chotto matte kusadai!" (please wait a moment!) like Massuda from Japanese pop group NewS.

They gave me the "HEH!?" and I liked that sort of reaction.

So when my next door neighbour started to get fruity with me when we were waiting for the lift at the lobby the other day, I decided that one day I should really teach him a lesson on how to pick up girls. It's just something I want to do for him because I always park my bicycle infront of his house, and he seriously needs a girlfriend anyway.

But it won't be me of course. I'm just going to....produce him. I'll be his producer.

He's not a hardcore Christian, but he keeps saying that I'm blessed all the time. Even if he doesn't say it all the time in my face, I know he'll say it someday somehow. It's probably genetically embedded in his heart or something, ever since I met him.

For the past few years, ghosts have been knocking at his door.

See, I told you he was being fruity.

He told me that he'd hear girls singing at night, at 3 am in the morning. Knocks on his door and when he opens it, no one will be there. The typical pranks ghosts pull, he'd been experiencing them all for the past few years, and the latest experience was last night.

A girl sang at the foot of his door at around 4 am in the morning, and then footsteps. Back and forth, back and forth. A couple of soft knocks, and more singing.

I didn't think it was my mom.

He asked me, " nobody's been knocking on your door late at nights? "

No.

"Footsteps? Singing? Anything? "

Sometimes, I told him, I'll hear footsteps late at nights. But it's only because the floor above me is the main lift level, so everyone walks above my unit.

And you know our goddamn neighbor upstairs. They practially converted their flat into a karaoke box.

"Oh."

Great. I don't want him to attend my funeral, because he'll tell my parents how I've given him nothing but more of the hee-bee-jee-bees about his hauntings, and that'll just ruin my parents' day.

"I don't know what to do, honestly. We've ignored it for so long."

Then...uh...continue to ignore it? (I was feeling stupid and mischievious, I know).

"She's a pretty good singer though."

Well...good luck?

"Yeah ok. You're so blessed. See you later...bye!"

We went our separate ways. I kept thinking of teaching him how to pick up girls as I stared to the back of his head. If that female ghost liked to bother him so much, I bet he could become a babe-magnet someday if he'd given more attention to anything other than U2 clothes.

So I decided to make another subjective note :

Please choose our shirts wisely. You'll never know what you're going to say to a girl someday.

-end-

2006-04-03T19:27:00.000+08:00

I feel random again. Daisuki (a likeable) kind of randomness again. I'm starting to worry all kinds of people these days. Sheesh.

It's raining to hell outside and a bolt of lightening just struck the tree behind my house the other day. Uprooted the entire thing, it did. Pretty nasty sight, ne. I bet the Byakuya and Kuchiki Rukiya jumped to the moon, I say! Oh, they are there other genki (healthy) cats besides Boyot and Kerempeng. They are really genki sideways, if you know what I mean.

The area around my neighborhood is under construction, so a few nights ago the MP came to our houses to chat and stuff. I mean, these MP people only get giggly social when it's time for the ballots and neighborhood make-overs you know. When they come to ask you for your money, commitment and onepeopleonenationoneSingapore spirit, they come to your door and knock it the hell down just to ask you how long have you been living here.

The construction people sealed off the usual sheltered walkway, and made a new walkway next to it, because people don't want to go around the block just to get to the carpark and bustop. The new walkway stretches across the green grass, under four trees.

How convenient. Now that the lightening's struck one of them trees to ashes already (it's the fith tree by the way, in the same field, about a few metres from the new walkway) , i bet they are all sitting around their magic thinking mohagony-polished meeting table to assess the situation.

I bet they are going to put a make-shift shelter over our heads. Using zinc and iron and metal and nuts and bolts and stuff. But I'd like to think that the magic thinkers have a better plan ne?

Last Sunday, the Geylang district's demographic population hit an amazing record-breaking of 35% less infestation (is there such word? Eh? I'm having a chronic Bad-English Attack day. Neurons, Words and Mouth disease. Been saying the wrong things since the start of the day! Am I getting enough calcium?) by maids, Banglas, Thais, Viets, Phillipinas and whichever country that's melted together in the huge Geylang melting pot on every other ((mega dreadful) Sunday.

Thanks to Mr. Ari Wibowo for taking them all to infest Plaza Singapura. Wid, Doji and Achid went to Royal Scotts the day before to talk to God about our upcoming plans (we need MAJOR help from Him ne?) and saw Ari Wibowo surrounded by these obaachan and okasan and otousan (makciks, mums and dads) who looked like they were on official "let's welcome Ari to Singapore" business.

Taking pictures together and signing magazines and giggling and saying nothing clever kind of offiicial business. I could see that if we got another step closer to where Mr Ari Wibowo, the league of extrodinary old and giggly people would produce their super cannonball one-liner attack : "Excuse me, he's not scheduled to meet anyone now. Please don't disturb him".

They wouldn't say thanks, I bet you a million dollars they wouldn't say thanks to you after they shoo you away. They honestly wouldn't. That's the thing about these genki obaachan (healthy grandmothers) officials...they can really be goddamn rude. 'Specially when they are on their official business to ghomp kakkoi (handsome) people like Mr Ari Wibowo down.

Anyway, back to Geylang's melting pot people, I don't mean to call these maids and Banglas and all pests or stuff. They are doing the jobs us Singaporeans won't ever catch ourselves alive and dead doing ne. So, the credit of our fine and clean city goes to them too. I'm not saying they ROCK or what, but it's more like...kudos to them who sees through our dirty stuff?

Yeah, whatever. I'm not getting enough calcium, and one of my students keeps asking me what's my cholesterol level because I seem to forget his exercise book everytime I come to class. I don't usually rant when I'm by myself, because when you've got nobody to rant at, you just feel pretty goddamn stupid. So when I rant, somebody has to be there. Gives you a purpose, another attempt to seal tighter an already sealed bond of friendship, things like that. I'll call somebody to tell them about my 5 hour-long sore throat. Some people I know call other people just to tell the other people that he or she just got his or her hand slammed by the door. At 3 am in the morning. That's bloody ridiculous, but I guess that's what lonely people do when they are goddamn bored. Things like pain in the hands and a bump in the head become rant topics.

Daiso (some 2 dollar shop selling stuff from China, Japan and the likes) at IMM shopping centre was cool. I mean, why does it have to be IMM? I don't the heck know what IMM stands for ever since I knew of its existence in the "Jin kene tendang" place called Jurong East. We (the usual people. I like my circle of friends. Yeah, I like you guys. Don't start cooing over me already) didn't know there was going to be the Wajah Manja 2006 (local Malay mag about the Nu-Malays) competition.

I guess it was a big deal to these Nu-Malays who came to sour their butts off waiting for the whole ting to start since probably last night. There was going to be performances and stuff, from local artistes and Malaysians. And the Anugerah Boys. There was this little girl ( I think she won something off Suria. Like some title or something) who sold her soul to the Zulus in Africa so she could dance like a tribeswoman. It wasn't cute to me, or much less amazing at all.

I don't like certain....talents.

Zeitai yada! (Absolutely NOT)! It's more like....(hontou kowai sou!) very scary. She could do the whole hip-hop dance you normally see in hip-hop videos...and she was barely 10. Well maybe she was 11. I think it was somebody whose name sounds like Marina Square or something who called that little Zulu kid to stage to join her, and then the 2 of them called up a fan from the crowd, who also danced like the Zulus.

My Saturday was spent watching psuedo-Zulus dancing on stage.

It was an eye-sore, honestly. And I'm not saying this because I'm thinking of God, or my religion or the fact that I can't dance to save myself, or because of I hate hip hop to the core.

I'm saying this because when others are so proud to have such talent at such a young age, I'm worried about what's gone wrong in my society. First, the Wajah Manja 2006 finalists looked like they had Kingfisher nests hanging off their heads, and their clothes mismatched, they stubled across the catwalk in mock elegence...and they had to answer dumb-ass questions like, "Which Anugerah Boy would you like to marry?" because the questions were BAKAYARO! (stupid) in the first place but they were in this kind of BAKAYARO competition so they'd no choice, ne?

Sure, blame the competition. But this doesn't bother me too much compared to the psuedo-Zulus. This is the image that MY society wants to portray to the world.
Zulu steps. Zulu clothes. Zulu dancing. Zulu competitions.

The gods must be crazy part 3.

Anyway, I was thinking about the Anugerah Boys and their success. I kept thinking...Why do these girls...These screaming, fainting, crying, euphoric girls would actually want to scream at the sight of THESE boys? They can sing, I bet they can. Everyone whose a fan of theirs yells at me to get that point straight just because they don't know anything better other than being fanatic. I don't really make a big deal out of their talents, they are just carbon copies of previous talents...just like every other artists that I like. if they sound nice, then they are nice I guess.

I just think that the people who came to devote and worship these boys *cough*instead of God *cough* (no personal attacks intended!) should be able to have a certain amount of sanity when it comes to public display of impression, ne? I mean, what went wrong in our society? I'm not saying that I should be able to fix it and stuff, (heck, I'm a mess too at times) but as the days go by and all that...I just find the Nu-Malay society is really getting too mendokusai desu (tiresome and annoying) nowadays.

I'm starting to get worried that if MY generation grows INTO this type of society, what the heck is progress anyway? Zulu dancing and all that Kingfisher hair crap thing is not an advancement or progress or modern or whatever...it's just plain jane annoying.

Ok you know what, I'm tired already! Yatta! Now I can go and eat, and watch tv because I don't feel like teaching tonight! I don't feel like sleeping either, so I don't think I will.

-end-

2006-03-29T02:11:00.000+08:00

I wrote a smashing complaint letter to an empire, and all I get in return is a computer-generated reply.

"We take your highlighted matters seriously, and we will get back to you as soon as possible"

Sometimes I really want to kill people. People who generate computer emails crap to people who complain.

You don't turn away from us who are complaining to you about your problem that We are in. By coincidence or not, it's still YOUR problem with US in it.

That's just goddamn rude. It's like when you're talking about matters that seriously will screw you up, and the person listening to you ends up saying, " talk to the hand because the face doesn't wanna know."

It's like acting like a goddamn communist. Communists are rude. They go to Hell when they die because they don't bloody eat broccoli because they ain't the good guys.

I eat broccoli because I ain't a goddamn crazy communist, so I'm one of them good guys!

BAKAYARO!!

Don't people give a damn about image anymore? You know, impressions of the public? Shame? Pride? Goddamn pride? Does everybody wants to be Paris Hilton now?

What's in a name?

Someone once told me, you are the director of your own movie. The frames, the speed of the frames, the scenes, the backdrop, the characters, costume, scripting, editing, post-production, after effects hoo-ha, is in my power. I control the sound, and I control such invented destiny.

This type of belief will guarantee you success because you choose to hold your own wheel and drive.

That someone must be smoking the same dope Charles Darwin was smoking when he came up with the grand idea that we were all monkeys. Oook-Oook!

Right now I'm a character in this movie that someone ELSE created. Everything that's to do with my fate, my actions, my words, my everything...all belong to someone else now. Another director, possibly foreign with pathetic command in English and bleached blonde hair. When he yells CUT! it sounds like HUT! MUT! NUT!

I have officially become Miss Oook-Oook!

The director hands me my words. The character I'm supposed to be is just another space monkey with lots of cool friends, but still feels the void of loneliness in the heart. I get to say witty one liners that only no-brainers excel in, and I get to eat the expensive garden salad for free.

I don't eat salad. But I'm Miss Oook-Oook! so I am not scripted to complain.

In this movie I am supposed to be the one leading a smooth, care-free life. I don't bother others, I don't try to pick fights that I cannot win in at that moment, I will sail through the days creating a fantastic self-image that everybody will come to like. The other characters will think I'm a horrible person halfway through the movie (because I reveal a some of my real selfish habits to certain people), but to the general lot, they'll like me because that's what I want them to be, and I wwill do anything to put up a likeable front.

Likable enough until they will forget to know the real me.

I'll get bullied, I'll get hordes of friends, I'll get to help them in everything because I'm that damn-talented...but in my heart I'll be dreading everything until I reach home, because only my family members know what I'm really like. At home I will be a right mess, I will put my feet up on the table while eating and I will snore myself to Hell. I won't be a poser at home, because that's the only place I can ground myself to my actual roots.

In this movie, I'm supposed to be someone else. Miss Oook-Oook!

Really, this movie is all about the goddamn director and his crazy ideas.

I flip through the script book and find that my character will get trampled on a lot more that I will be able to take, but I will not bother myself with being bothered that I will channel my concentration to somewhere else. I still want to be that damn likeable to everybody even though they kill me all the time.

Because commitments are a waste of time, Love is a waste of time but friends are always there to make you want to go through the day even though you dread them so much. Friends are there to stay. Forever.

Miss Oook Oook!, your next line will be "I wonder if I publish this company's reputation to the tabloids, will they pay me till the day I die?"

I hate this movie. I hate this complaint letter and this computer generated malarkey. You don't need signatures because it's computer generated. It's the new technology. The new wave in authority sealing.

Templatism. Temporaryism. Lazysm. Manipulatism. Computer Generatedism.

You bought something off some place and they give you this smashing long love letter about how they've fallen in love with your genius choice to shop off their place, and at the very end of they give you a computer generated name.

No signature. I just think that's goddamn rude. You should at least justify the "yours sincerely" with your own signature, just to show to your customer that you actually appreciate them for making you filthy rich. All the damn CEO's, they go to all meetings but they can't sign goddamn papers when it's time for customer care.

Computer generate them, then.

Miss Oook Oook! is not pleased with the current movie, and Miss Oook Ooook! wants to freaking quit showbiz.

Miss Oook Oook!'s next line will be "thank you world, it's a wonderful world!"

REPETITIONS ARE LAME!

-end-

2006-03-23T15:31:00.000+08:00

Sometimes I like to challenge myself doing things that I know (deep deep DEEP down inside of me) I can do, but wouldn't due to certain little voices and thoughts. Things like consenquences, impressions, and ability - they all put up certain set backs for me to retreat from a certain aim.

Sometimes I don't even have an aim. I just want to do it, just to see if I could. I ran up desceding escalators before and made it, I went down the steps of Marina Square shopping center backwards (without looking over the shoulder at all) and risked my entire bone structure just for the fun of it. I reached to the top of Mt Ophir with my Dad's slippery boots, durian gloves and a long list of prayers in my heart and told some evil ghost which I saw in my room a few years ago to get the Hell out because I needed to get to school early the next morning and if I couldn't sleep I'd be washing the goddamn toilets with ko-heis. Juniors.

Things like that, and a lot more, challenges the hell out of me. I sound like a goddamn idiot, but I like being a goddamn idiot at times. Because goddamn idiots have that much courage to get themselves killed, but I am not going to die until I'm supposed to, right?

Yay. Think like a goddamn idiot. Please do not agree if you don't think so, ne?

I was probably going to look ridiculous, but today I was going to cycle to my tuition class and reach there by 20 minutes. I live near the Bedok Reservoir, and the target place was Tampines Mart. Normally, if I was following the traffic lights, my speed and the weather conditions and stuff, I need a good 40 minutes to get there. Or more.

But I challenged myself to beating the time usual by 20 minutes, without getting myself or anyone else for that matter literally killed along the way. I was going to use the usual 40 minutes route, but I was going to kill 20 extra minutes and send it to hell today.

And God's will, it rained. Not heavily, but I was sure going to look like I dove into the reservoir to save drowning turtles by the time I reached my tutee's place. (Yea, ok, it's a dry statement. There's no such thing as drowning turtles and the word "tutee". Or is there? the word "tutee" I mean, not the drowning turtles!).

Wow. now THAT'S competition. As I mounted my bike (it's new. ok. 3 weeks old) and looked up to the sputtering skies, I thought : Super-Idiot Tutor Tin, let's go!!

time : 8.30 am

So I was soon speeding down the reservoir, passing bustops and androids programmed to look like dead sleepy people waiting for their buses to come and take them into goverment slavery...I saw a couple of parents who let their kids run around the edges of bustops and pedestrian pavements, next to busy roads. Parents who couldn't wait to blame drivers or SBS should their children get knocked down and die or anything. Parents who wouldn't be held responsible because they weren't involved in the first place.

The first teachers to the children, all caught up in their Avon catalogues.

In that blur, the pace I was going at, my legs started to ache. I must have looked like a real Batman, because I was in my Bat-bicycle leaving a trail of fire as I was on a mission to save a student from Nahu's evil confusing grips. I could hear her voice saying : Nahu is boring. Nahu is boring. Nahu is boring.

well, Nahu is NOT boring, dammit.

I stood up and pedalled harder, beating down the hills, the lousy pavements, the lousy pedestrians (I had to shout in all languages I could speak in because they couldn't hear my bell and couldn't speak a damn word of English I guess. Stupid and tone deaf?), the lousy traffic lights and up the lousy bridge in the lousy weather. I'd beaten a couple of traffic lights, but most of them turned Green Men for me so I guess that helped out a lot in my goal to beat my own ability. Raindrops pelted my spectacles, and for a moment there I was thinking of inventing miniature windscreen wipers for my own benefit. I could wear goggles, but I didn't want to look dorky as hell.

I stopped at a Red Man and fished out my handphone to check the time. I don't wear watches, because I would still check my handphone or ask people about the time even when I'm wearing a watch. Plus, it restricts some of my wrist movements. I don't know how to explain it, but watches are damn annoying most of the times.

time : 8 : 39 : 56 am

I was at Safra Tampines, and I had about 10 minutes left to go down Tampines Street 20, 21, 22, 23 and Avenues whatever and reach Tampines Mart. The rain stopped sputtering, and now started spitting large balls of water onto Earth. I looked up again, and wiped my spectacles and wondered if I could really make it. My legs were shaking by the time I put one of my feet onto the ground as I waited for the Green Man, I was literally showering in my own sweat, my headscarf could barely stay on my head anymore and I was deathly afraid that I might kiss a goddamn log truck somewhere further down the road.

But I had 10 more minutes.

The Green Man appeared and I almost knocked an old lady down dead as I took off into the strong wind. Argh...my lungs weren't burning. They were already burnt and probably deflating into 2 wiggly tubes by now. My knee caps knocked against the body of my bike, and my heart was probably inflating from all the blood that was pumped into it, but had little chances of getting pumped out. My veins, if they could turn into any color, they would probably turn pink because I kept seeing so many people with Motorola V3 Pink on their ears.

I cycled and cycled and shouted and rang the bell and cycled and shouted and rang the bell some more. I'd skidded off the metal drain covers a couple of times, and I wondered why the hell do we need so much metal drain covers on the pedestrian walk?
People assumed I was goddamn late for something, but I wasn't. I really wasn't, for these rare times. I sped past shops and scared chinhuahuas and cars and other cyclists. Forget how I look, I was leaning forwards with my hands jammed tight around the bars of my bicycle, pedalling like hell was going to eat me up if I ever stopped.

time : 8 : 45 am, Ngee Ann Secondary school.

Barely 5 minutes to get past Tampines Mart and my student's block.

I zoomed past McDonald's and Watson's and KFC and Harvey Norman in 3 minutes. I crossed the road and sped past East Spring Primary school in 1 minute and a couple of seconds. Students yelped out of my way, someone shouted "CRAZY!" and some cat went "meow?"

I reached the carpark and entered the foot of the block, heading straight for the lift.

And my chain broke into 2.

time : 8 : 50 : 09 am.

I lost my 9 seconds.

UGH.

2006-03-14T23:24:00.000+08:00

There's a man who lives his life in danger. He's Secret Agent man.

And he's got a new philosophy : the "Thou Shalt Believe That There Are 2 Typeth Of Peoples in Thy World...And...."

And that's it. The rest is just fill in the blanks with what the situation you are in is like. It's subjective philosophy and it's damn scary because once a serious concept (like life and self-principles) becomes subjective, your decision is just full of other options. You make a choice, and all you get is more "other" options. Life is unpredictable, and Secret Agent man wants you to make up your damn mind through his subjective philosophy and under the influence of runaway options. To see if you crack. Crack, and you're out of life's game.

In other words, if you don't come up with anything amusing, you might as well be dead.

If you meet Secret Agent man he will always tell you that there are 2 types of people in this world, and........then he points at you and says, "FILL IN THE BLANKS!"

If you don't, then you'll never figure out life for that moment. You'll never see Secret Agent man again, because he does not live in your pace. You'll regret it forever, because Secret Agent man will not come to people whose regret is dismissing him upon meeting.

So when I stumbled into his path, Secret Agent man - with his fisherman hat and his dark green trench coat and his red cowboy boots and his plastic tommy gun, looking oh-so-very foreign - demanded, "O Daughter of Adam! Doth thy knoweth whoeth am I-eth?"

Heh? Sorry sir, I don't understand Bible language. The last thing I want to do when I die is understand Bible language.

"The power of I will compel you! It is I, Secret Agent man!"

So enthusiastic, I said to myself as I watched him spread his arms open to embrace the atmosphere. Either his smile was becoming too much of a mega-watt from all that stretching, or that he had really huge teeth that even this mouth couldn't contain.

Secret Agent man?

"Little girl, there are 2 types of people in this world..."

The next thing I knew I was talking to myself while Secret Agent man boomed into my face.

Ok I've heard about this guy before. Now I have to come up with amusing options, or I'd regret that I couldn't think of any for the rest of the day. Or the week. Or the month. I would go back thinking, why oh why didn't I think of anything funny about life?

Ok this is BAD. I wasn't a funny person. I was born zoned out, stoned, sporty. What? What? WHAT?!

WHAT DO I SAY TO SECRET AGENT MAN?????

Gay people are always happy. What makes them so happy is that they fail to see the sadness in things. It's like...that's the whole point of having the enlightment empowered into your system, know? It's wicked blinding. So, when you're goddamn happy, people call you a gay. When you're euphoric, they call the narcotics bureau and they pump your stomach into hot air balloons. When you're sad, they call you all the time. People are that damn gay all the time, at the end of the day, no matter what the hell, you just can't hate them.

Because gay people save lives. And I'm not talking about homosexuals. Open your minds and read properly, dammit.

The ones who listen to us when we pour our hearts out, they are gay people. When we're happy or heartbroken or suicidal or depressed and we need someone to turn to, these gay people are always there with friendly smiles on their faces and happy songs in their hearts.

But what do I say to Secret Agent man? That there are 2 types of people in this world, gays and non-gays?

That's offensive and definitely not amusing. Secret Agent man hates offensive options, because when you have dirty thoughts, that means you have cracked under life's power. You resort to such conformed thinking because that's your ideology.

The last thing I want to be when I die is a pervert.

"One last try, or I'll disappear forever," Secret Agent man said, hoisting his plastic tommy gun onto his shoulder. This guy, he looked like a goddamn hunter.

"There are 2 types of people in this world..."

And I realized something.

I'll tell you this Mr Secret Agent man, I said, surprised at my own voice. I was confident, I was ready to strike. The thoughts in my mind, they were running at the speed of light, sound and a Japanese bullet train. Yeah, about the Japanese train...a bit far fetched but hey. I crashed through a lot of ideologies that I managed to think about in that short time, and I found it!!

I was ready to answer Secret Agent man.

There are 2 types of people in this world.

The ones who get to eat Cinnabon, and the ones who don't.

-end-

2006-03-10T15:58:00.000+08:00

I sold my soul to Singtel mobile just to get a new phone. As I stood in line to collect my sim card at hello! Tampines, I couldn't really put a finger as to why I was actually okay with selling my soul to Singtel for another 2 years. 2 years, they all say, will fly faster than expected.

The girl and her mother infront of me were telling the cutesy customer service officer about her Internet connection problems.

And the cutesy customer officer asked, "did you plug in your modem?"

And i just sold my soul to Singtel for the next 2 years.

About the 2 years, I told "they all" that lying doesn't help facing reality. But I guess if I don't really think about the passing years, 2 years IS a short time. I just hope one day I'd wake up and people will forget my upcoming birthdays forever, that's all. In case some of you people don't notice, contrary to nice, popular and typical beliefs, I don't really like birthdays. So now you know. Be it your birthday or mine, I hate it.

I really hate birthdays to the point where when even when my friends give me presents and wish me a happy whateverageIamin, I'd have to force myself to say thanks. Because we are friends, and they bother to remember about my birthday, I feel moved all the time.

I stood in line with the cutesy customer service officer saying, "have you tried connecting your modem properly?"

I hate celebrating birthdays. I forget to buy people presents all the time, because I really hate birthdays. People think I'm selfish and steel-hearted and touchy and sensitive and possibly conceited and ancient...But I really do hate birthdays. I'd wish my friends happy birthdays and kind of involve myself in creating some form of makan-makan session and stuff like that...But I really hate birthdays.

The people behind me were grumbling down my neck, but the cutesy customer officer was not going to move the line any sooner. I heard the grumblings talking about poor little Nonoi who was murdered in step-daddy's hands. They grumbled that the step-daddy was a monster. Nonoi was just a child. Monster. That Monster!!!

If you'd asked for my opinion, I'd say that I wouldn't have known about this new nation outrage if some uncle hadn't dropped his New Paper into my face when the train I was taking jerked a little upon moving off. Yeah, nothing felt better than having a newspaper stuck to your face for a good 30 seconds or so. The news you read is literally up close and personal.

Well, I'd say Nonoi is better off dead and buried anyway. With a family history like that, Nonoi, boy aren't you just glad you're out of this world already.

I looked around the hello! shop. Boy, some of these phones were really whacked-up in design if you know what I mean. I bet Osama bin Laden's got his satellite phone stashed somewhere inside his robes and his cronies probably have them too, only that the phones would look like any other Nokia phone. No outstanding features, but with a push of a button these phones will be able to download CIA crap just by them pointing their antennas to the skies from the mountains that they are hiding in. I stood in line listening to cutesy customer service officer telling the girl and her mother that there was a possibility that the network system did not understand what they wanted. They should prompt the network service to get clarification.

I really hate it when people assume that something like network service clarification is a universal understanding.

And I really hate it when people think that by asking more questions about things like network service clarification will actually bring them to some sort of enlightment so they have the rights to hold up the reception line.

I looked at the Motorola V3i, and somehow made a silent vow that next, I would sell my soul to it if the financial weather would be good. I didn't know why, but in case you don't know I like to break spontaneous, unnecessary vows if I feel like it.

The grumblings started to take the mentos sweets in the bowl infront of me. They took 2 at first. Then 2 more. Then 1 more. Boy, I'd slap their hands back into their greedy pockets if I wasn't thinking of what MP3 I should put into my new Samsung. It won't be techno. I hate people who think that somethings like techno should be appealing to everyone and they turn their music up in holy places like the bus.

Some girls passed me by, and they told the world that they made it through Anugerah Skrin auditions and they were excited to go into the next round. Between the two of them, there was a heavy smell of some dead people perfume and a whole lot of high hopes.

And I found myself actually asking...What was Anugerah Skrin again? Oh, that.

Somehow I was even more attracted to Singapore's new speed-dating programme "A light affair".
I wondered...what would it actually be like if they had ugly people on the show looking for dates rather than lonesome, good-looking people?

The cutesy customer officer said, "Next please. How may I help you?"

I want to collect my sim card, I said. I gave her my IC because I was used to being serviced like this. I lose my phone all the time, it is killing some people. I just lost my IC about a few months ago too, so now I have a recent, decent IC photo to replace my 12-year-old face. I was a cute kid, but I didn't know what happened after that.

She smiled, looked at my IC and asked, "Is this your IC maam?"

The grumblings reached for the mentos bowl again, and I slapped their hands off.

-end-

2006-02-21T18:34:00.000+08:00

Whenever somebody I don't know stands in front of me, I'll think that he or she doesn't really like me that much. I don't know why. Psychologists have started diagnosing me with inferiority complex, but I don't think they like me that much either so they diagnosed me that way just to get rid of me.

Then they said I'd paranoia. Delusions. Demons within. Demons needed exorcism, they told me. Demons needed to be dealt with thoroughly. Freedom was achievable. They snapped their fingers infront of my eyes and said.......Listen to us.

And one of them doctors stepped forward and handed me a long wooden stick.

Where I was supposed to be at was called a ward, but they thought that my feelings needed to be prioritised because sick people are sensitive people, so they called it an office. An office with padded walls. No mahagony desktop that stretched forever, no Harvard things on the walls.

Just a plain white office with windows that you couldn't see outside if you were standing in the room itself.

Me and my wooden stick, I was standing in the middle of the scary white room. Wondering where demons played. And what was I supposed to do with a goddamn stick.

Then one of them goddamn doctors gave me a watermelon. He put it on the ground and left. Then another came in and blindfolded me.

And I asked...what's going on?

More footsteps filed into the room. They were whispering technical medical superficial terms, their pens clicking and writing on papers on the boards in their hands. Diagnosing me. All I was able to see was black, and the babbling of science and medicine.

They told me to get ready because they were going to start an observation. I was told to lift the stick high up and slam it down as hard as I could.

So I did. They were snapping their fingers at me anyway...saying : Listen to us. Listen to us. That was goddamn annoying. I figured I could probably shut them up just by going through with this session. In the darkness, I swung my wooden machete up above my head, ready to execute.

Then they started to yell my name. Everywhere, I heard my name being yelled out. Somehow I started to feel like I was in an enclosed space, in a circle.

Someone screamed...HIT THE WATERMELON!!! HIT THE WATERMELON!!! TO YOUR RIGHT!!! TIN!! TO YOUR RIGHT!!

Another one screamed...MORE TO YOUR LEFT!! COME ON!! CLOSER!! TAKE 3 STEPS FORWARD!

ONE STEP TO YOUR LEFT!!

2 MORE TO THE FRONT!!!

HIT THE GODDAMN WATERMELON!!!!

After that session, I never did go back to therapy.

So now, I think I'm in trouble again.

I kicked a pebble off the sidewalk and it flew into a man's forehead. And now he's fumigating the entire North-East sewerage system, exterminating roaches and whatever humbugs that crawls within. If he was a cartoon his ears would pump out white steam and on top of his head, things like @#@$#$@@@%% would pop up in a dialogue balloon.

So I say, sorry. tue pu chi. minta maaf. gomen nasai. sorry. sorry to hell I say, sorry to hell.

He yells, "What the hell are you thinking doing something like that!?"

His forehead isn't bleeding, yet he's making a goddamn racket in the middle of the goddamn street. Look everybody! Channel U's new reality TV show star - Super Actor Uncle Whatever. With his hand on his throbbing forehead (who are you kidding? Of course I'd know the feeling of being stoned by a flying rock. It hurts like hell) , facial expression contorted into one of them weird looking gods who, according to their kind of legends, takes care of registration entries into Hells' gates.

Boy, oh boy.

When he starts walking up to me to size me up, his footsteps thunder and the ground shook. The skies begin to fall, big fat fiery balls of foreign gas and weird atoms and poisonous substance rain down around me. The trees uproot themselves and the hills vomitted raw earth, the petrified animals and human race begin to scatter like leaves blown by powerful leaf blowers...Everyone cries for help, everyone trips and falls and tramples on each other...Mothers and sons separate, husbands and wives divorce...buildings topple like dominos...roads and bridges twist into concrete knots overthrowing vehicles in to the violent waters...

It is beginning to feel very much like doomsday right now.

He stops infront of me, his eyes blazing red. He's going to shoot laser bullets into me and vaporise me into oblivion from the inside.

"Eh girl. You try to be samseng issit?"

Eh? No uncle. I'm really sorry. I got caught up in things.

Whenever I'm down, I'd like to think that I'm the only one down at the moment. So the world, the people, the public, the cats and dogs and birds and bees...they are not my responsibility. Where I walk, I'd like to think that that place belongs to me. So I can do anything to it, because the everything that surrounds me....they don't matter at all. I just want to entertain myself and cheer myself up.

Unfortunately a mean, mean, mean pebble came along the way and I had to kick it out of my way or I'd slip and fall and become paralyzed neck down, I tell the uncle reasonably. He stares at me with his laser-gun eyes in pure disbelief, shooting dangerous atomic stuff all over the place. Of course I sound ridiculous. Who'd actuallydare to talk a lot when he/she is already in real trouble?

Me and my goddamn mouth.

"You ah! You think this your father's road is it?"

I am laughing to myself. Because I am also mentally answering him : No, I just think that it was my father's pebble. Get it?

This uncle, he likes to judge me. He says that I am a Malay gangster. He says I'm probably rotten inside out. He says that I am a hazard to the society today. I should go to a home. I should get exorcized.

HIT THE GODDAMN WATERMELON!!!! TO YOUR RIGHT!!!!NO...NO!!

Sorry, I say again. I'm not a gangster. I can't be one you see. I scare myself.

This uncle, he tells me that I have a twisted sense of humor.

I remembered the time when psychologists gave me a long wooden stick for me to smash a watermelon into pieces.

Why did I have to smash the watermelon?

Why?

The uncle rubs his head, his eyes not leaving me. Boy, his eyes are goddamn beady. How does he see things in general when they are so damn narrow? The redness of his face is gradually lightening up, and he screams at me to tell the whole damn public that he will forgive me because I just did something stupid. Stupid things are meant to slide, he says. It's no use getting so worked up and blowing things out of proportions when somebody does somethings that they are not able to think clearly and properly.

He screams at me to tell the public that he's a forgiving man, and may his god bless him for that.

Everyone is looking at me,the bad , crazy kid who kicked a pebble to a forgiving man's head and almost caused him to die out of a small bump formation.

He yells at the top of his lungs that he knows I am sorry and that I should not feel silly to keep apologizing to him. He is ok, he is ok.

I, the bad crazy kid, am standing infront of him with that much of an awareness that his spit will be flying anytime soon.

"Now," he finally stops yelling. "I am going to let you off. I think you're just being crazy. You should go and get help."

Help?

"Get a psychologist or something la girl. Yor brain twisted, understand or not?"

At this point I'm still thinking...Why did I have to hit the watermelon?

-end-

2006-02-14T19:03:00.000+08:00

"Oi, tomodachi! Nanikore?!"

I wonder if I am going to pass out in public sometimes. The Japanese doramas I watched educated me enough to understand one of my multi-faceted subconcious (it has converted to talking in Japanese nowadays) as I found myself looking at the blue skies and talking to myself again as I waited for the bus this morning.

In this heat, I began to talk to myself again. What would people really do if I fainted? I've seen some people do it before, and 3 out of 10 million people would actually risk messing up their hairstyles and prissy shirts to help.

"Tomodachi!!!!!!"

Tomodachi means "friend" in Japanese. They told me that tamagochi is friend too. I don't the hell care, I like the sound of tomodachi better. Tamagochi are for dorks, I would never keep one even if someone's life depends on it because I'm socio-un-dependable that way. The heat was worse than ever because the sun decided to shine after such heavy rain. What else can you get in Singapore besides cleanliness, the Underwater World and the Esplanade? Humid weather, that's what you get.

I raised my hand to push my specs up my nose, but ended up hitting myself instead.

"Ittai baka!!" My subconcious yelled, flinching a little. Infinite resonance in my head, my head, my head. I wonder if my hand actually had a life of its own, because I certainly instructed it to do otherwise. The sun glowered down on us, and we sweated and sweated and sweated. The people in my bustop and I, we were all waiting for our air-conditioned Messiahs. To take us where we wanted to go, we patiently wait for our saviors without much to complain about because we'd probably concur that complaining to ourselves didn't really help much.

There are many mega-annoying things that you can get just by remaining stationary at one place. You might be waiting for the bus, sitting in the library or just hanging out with your friends. Where I was at, the bustop was full of people who were rushing home from the NTUC or Sheng Siong or something, or rushing off to go somewhere. Always rushing off, us advanced nation. I'd imagine Japan would be the same. I'd probably go there to prove myself right and hopefully bump into Matsu Jun and would be able to converse in Japanese with him already because I would have taken the language before leaving for Japan.

Yeah, what dreams I have! I heard my subconcious saying NIHON? TINI-CHAANNN!! GAMBATANE!!! and I wondered if I ever lost it and told it to shut the hell up, would people runaway from me?

Hmm.

Anyway, about the mega-annoyance. While some view ignorance as bliss, there are times when you wished to all gates of hell that you were able to exercise at least some thoughts of your own. Smokers, please take note of the wind direction and your current position when you are smoking anywhere at all because not all of us are easily duped into such anti-depressants as you are. And if you want to take your charred lungs and your failed kidneys and your hopeless cancers to your grave, please don't make our appointments for us to see the A&E wards thank you. What I'm saying here is be considerate. Yeah I'm boring like this today, I'm telling you to be nice.

All the while I was looking at the backs of these smokerheads, I kept talking to myself and imagine that I was talking to them. With my serious face and all. Sometimes I'd grab their shirt collars and talk like the mafias or the yakuzas.

But some said...or what?

Boy, some people are just born rude. Sorry moms of all rude people, I'm not a mom yet so I don't understand what they mean by unconditonal maternal love towards the children.

"Oi tomodachi?"

I want to buy a videocam so I can take it to places that I go to. Then I'll upload them clips in youtube and show the whole wide world what an aspiring documentary film maker I am! Yeah! All I need is a 1000 bucks and that's possible, right? YOSH!!!

All this while I was talking to myself. A beaver probably jumped infront of the bus, so it was stalled somewhere until such traffic was cleared.

Funny, that's the same reason I use on the MRT tracks to justify why I'm always late for school. Yeah! The beavers did it, it wasn't my fault that the MRT had to perform an emergency stop.

If I ever had the license to drive, I'd drive. yeah. Then I'm good enough for the people who keep pestering me to get a license. I'll spend more than 5 bucks at 7-11 all the time, so that I can enter the lucky draws and maybe win a car for myself. I'll pester everyone to enter lucky draws as well too, because they all want me to drive right? Wow, boy, if I ever win a car, I hope it's an APV...Wow, that'd be so cool. The reason I don't take a motorcycle license is that it's depressing to spend so much money on a permit that only allows you to carry 1 person with you on a vehicle. It's a waste of time and money really. Heck, if I could, I would want to drive a goddamn Superbus!

Yeah! Maybe when I'm flithy rich some day, I'd buy a Superbus! Then I can drive around all my homies and we all can rock or something. We all can sing along to "The wheels in the bus go round and round round and round the wheels in the bus go round and round...alllllllllllll through toooooooooooooooooooooooooooooown!" Then we'll continue to sing about the people in the bus, then the driver in the bus, then the tv in the bus...and make up some more lines to the song if it ends... like the EZ Link tap in the bus goes BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...Tooopp upppp noooooooooow!

Ain't that cool? Besides, I'm a bit old-fashioned when it comes to being a woman nowadays. I mean, I can win in arm wrestlings and all that but I think that women on motorbikes are so freaking weird. I don't disrespect them women bikers though, I guess it's ok for some of us.

Wow, if I were to go to Japan on winter, I would finally be able to understand why I would need to buy them Matrix trenchcoats and all. Because some people in Singapore think that jackets like that are so cool to wear in the heat of our country and I don't understand that really. Oh, oh oh!!! And I'd have to get one of the flip phones or something, or it'd be embarrassing to confess that you're a Singaporean and you own a Nokia 6610 in Japan...it's so Hi-tekku there, say!

People are beginning to say that I'm obsessed with the Japanese. Well I don't know, I don't think so though. I just like the idea of travelling and chilling out in Japan because my tomodachis are all Japanese-obsesssed. Yeah, you guys are obsessed, it's pulling me in but I guess I'm ok. Maybe we'll get to play in the snow and get frostbites by trying to lick a lampost or something. Oh!! Maybe we can see the spring if we don't want to go in winter...we can see cherryblossoms although I don't see the interest in seeing them at all. I'd bring my videocam, and we'd make our own dorama while running around in the sakura, the blue skies and the giant moon at night!

YEAH!!!!!!

All this while, I was smiling to myself. If I were to smile by myself in public, would everyone run away?

2006-02-10T16:40:00.000+08:00

Her shirt was inside out, but I didn't want to tell her.

When you take the bus, you are just another commuter. Nobody's gonna give you "your" seat, and nobody sure as hell want to give a damn about you complaining that you can't find a decent angle to enjoy theredcollection on tvMobile.

But Ramona, Queen rah-rah Ramona, with her jacked up purple top, bright green leggings and thick glop of rebonded bleached hair, thought otherwise. She wanted my seat. She truly madly deeply wanted my seat. My seat meaning the one I was happily sitting in (two rows from the alight door, window seat, no hairy interruptions while watching Just for Laughs) because i didn't pay $1.15 worth of travel fare to seat in the crummy parts of the bus and miss Just for Laughs gigs and Diva on a Dime to a goddamn queen whose 7 years my junior.

I call this nice seating of mine the occasional good luck. *punches air in victory*

Queen rah-rah had a boyfriend. The Grand Duke of Bananas. He was ridiculously blond, had a dark yellow shirt, checkered brown pants and dirty green sneakers. He resembled so much like a banana with his posture and all, I bet he couldn't bet on himself to stand straight.

How I came to know about their relationship was that they were literally eating each other's faces while we were all waiting for the goddamn bus to arrive. Queen rah-rah, with her cheap pink lipstick and her peachy-porcelain skin, literally sat in Grand Duke Banana's skinny lap as they engage in extreme public display of revulsion.

I mean, affection. They were "talking" by the way, but Grand Duke Banana was having a delightful conversation with Queen rah-rah's chest instead.

And I was thinking...is this what you call love?

The Channel News Asia information bar that scrolls none-stop with the latest news of the morning told me that some Europeans tried to be really cheeky and decided to provoke the Muslim world. They showcased the quirky drawing of our Prophet Muhammad PBUH and told everyone that He was the real slim shady.

Big mistake. Muslims were enraged by it, obviously. I think the reason why some humans don't really fancy some of us Muslims is that when it comes down to our religion, we're not as messed up as them and their beliefs are. Hey, I'm only saying, ok. Normally, I'm not biased about socio-whatevers and my religion. I'm not pious to that extent, but for what I believe in, I try to qualify myself so that I won't forget what the hell I really am supposed to do in this world besides entertaining monkeys and passing the driving license before the coming Hari Raya . My greatest worry here on Earth is how much I'm collecting for my Afterlife, so that when I see you after we're all dead, I don't need your stupid help to save my own behind anyway.

Well, we're dead serious about our religion. And you Idonnowhattocallyouguys people bloody-well know what was going to happen if you pull stunts like that to the Muslim world, now with the whole terrorism trend being the latest fashion in the catwalks of revolutions. Huh?

I would've pounded every one of them people who don't get the idea of my religion con-freaking-cave, but then again it's all not worth my energy, my time and sure as hell my luck after I die. Instead, I chose to stay calm and rational and prayed to my God that this ends as soon as possible because I wanted to see Just for Laughs instead. There was a news flash, and it showed violence, violence, violence. Fighting is one-on-one barehanded, so don't go swinging around your M16 toys like that if you're just gonna shoot someone at a 300km range.

Tell me, what's worse that fronted cowardice?

I read the CNA bar and it told me that Muslims in that weird part of the world where they carry guns to their sleep were burning down the European ambassador buildings, and some threatened to kill Europeans they could find.
So the great mouse hunt has began, and all I could do was watch on tvMobile while Queen rah-rah whined like a goddamned she-dog that her legs hurt and that she didn't want to sit anywhere else but right here next to Grand Duke Banana aka my blessed seat.

And I heard the Grand Duke coo, "Ayang, just sit anywhere. It's not like I'm going to leave you forever or anything...Just sit down ok? I love you, I won't leave you."

16-year-olds promise mean everything when they are that little. And the world is so big, just so you remember that.

The reason why Queen Ramona wanted my seat because Grand Duke Banana was sitting next to me. Queen Ramona believed so much that lovers should not be separated when they were still allowed to breathe in this sick sad little world, and that would mean bitching about me.

Oh, the world is so so SO big, Queen rah- rah Ramona.

It hurts to watch people die in pieces, on the streets, trampled by their own brothers who use the name justice and jihad and Islam to beget more violence. And the people who started it, they just got fired from their company. Their jobs, just screwed until they find another. They could still go back to their families in their goddamn glass houses with their cleanly mowed green lawn, opened the papers, picked up red markers and circled interesting columns in the Classifieds.

Queen Ramona, her shirt was inside out. But I didn't want to tell her.

Another line scrolled by and it was by PM Lee. Encouraging Singaporean Muslims to remain rational about the situation propagated by cartoonists.

Grand Duke Banana, he enjoyed talking to Queen rah-rah Ramona's chest.

And the CNA line said : World Islamic Organization writes petition requesting apology from Denmark's cartoonists.

Queen rah-rah flipped her hair and started singing "Only one" in Grand Duke's face. Banana boy instantly lost his two front teeth, and said , "I mishhh you~"

More killed in riots propagated by Prophet Muhammad -PBUH- cartoon fury.

"I misshh you more la.."

"You look very hot today laaaa..."

"eeeeeeeeheheheee!!!! Thank yeeeee-yoooooo"

MUIS tells Singaporeans in general to write in their opinions about Singaporean Muslims.

"Where are we eating honey?"

"Dunno....whereever you go I go la..."

If you jump, I jump. Familiar stupidity. Monkey see, bigger monkey do.

I got off the bus, and Queen rah-rah Ramona literally stomped on my new shoe to jump into my seat. I turned back as the bus started to move off, to see Queen rah-rah and Banana Duke one last time.

Her shirt was inside out, but Grand Duke Banana didn't tell her.

2006-01-29T21:09:00.000+08:00

Ah, the bus life makes my smiles and laughter so easy nowadays.

I will tell you the thing that other people will tell you (if they are sure enough for themselves) when it comes to old, naggy folks you come to meet anywhere in your life here in Singapore.

Don't/never underestimate them. All these makciks and pakciks and datuks and neneks and all that's beyond the age of young, you might not be able to keep up with their pace be it good or bad or mighty slow in reflex actions. I mean, we are talking about experience versus completely-hormone-fueled-retardedness here. What kind of showdown can we expect?

the Battle of the Nags and Brags. Well because battle of the brains and brawns will be too much of a pressure for anyone.

I was stuck between a Buddhist and a Christian when I was waiting for the bus at Geylang this morning. The MP3 I had plugged into my ears threatened to detonate my ear drums to Hell, but I was bored, and I wanted to be a real jerk for a good 15 minutes to every single Bangla and Indonesian maids and holidaying Singaporeans that infested the bustop I was standing in. I have absolutely nothing against foreigners here in Singapore, but sometimes they can be a real plague at certain times you know what I mean?
I mean, when they jostle, they knock you out like a goddamn domino man.

As for a general overview, it's a really big deal if you are watching for your bus and someone STANDS infront of your face, giving you a perfect ass view of what your bus number is supposed to be. I mean, what's the big idea man? Don't stand infront of people's faces when you're at a goddamn bustop, it's goddamn rude. You are more than this world has got to offer, so I don't think you'd really like it if people said your momma is retarded enough to have given birth to a goddamn idiot like you, you see.

So don't stand infront of people's faces at bustops.

The drama between the believers (the Christian being an Indian and the Buddhist being the Chinese) started off when Doctor Melanie Chiew (the Buddhist-Chinese) picked up an empty 7-11 Big Gulp cup off the ground. LilyBet (the Indian-Christian) crossed into the bustop from across the street and Doctor Melanie started talking about something to LilyBet and I.

I smiled. And nodded. Pretension to save people's faces. Egoes. Perfect.

How sweet. Oh I had been sitting in that seat when they started talking, but I couldn't hear anything else but Switchfoot. Doc Mel put her bags next to me and said something to my face, pointing at the Big Gulp and then pointing to the trash can where she went to throw the litter in. LilyBet stood before me, and said something with a smile on her face.

All this while I was listening to Switchfoot, so I just smiled and nodded. Deaf, dumb and goddamn mute. I locked my MP3 so I couldn't turn the volume down infront of a still-talking LilyBet's face or I might shatter her heart into pieces or something.

Oh. She was talking about littering.

Sorry Doctor Melanie, Sorry God. I wasn't paying attention.

So I smiled. Nodded. Smiled some more. Pretension needs confidence and perfection, right?
Boy, if she had seen the wires on me, she'd probably shut up already and pretend that she was actually talking to the bluetooth thing that was perched on her right ear.

Sorry LilyBet. Sorry God.

Fortunately I knew how to work my MP3 altho it was in my zipped wallet, so while pretending to listen I managed to unlock the gadget and turn the volume down. LilyBet's accent killed me.
It was so heavy I swear I should have just left my MP3 alone and just walked off to somewhere else. I wouldn't be staring at asses anyway, I'd see the oncoming bus number a hell of a lot easier if standing up.

But I was lazy as hell to stand up, so I chose to stare at people's behinds. Banglas' and maids' behinds. What a scenery.

How I knew Doctor Melanie and LilyBet's names was when they sat down at my sides, and then Doc Mel intro-ed herself and then went into her life story.

Doc Mel, with her heap of curly white hair and decaying skin, with her osteopherosis back and her Shaolin black shoes...Oh, she just came back from the nearby temple. She told us she was just another humble believer praying to her god. She showed me and LilyBet her golden god resting on a hook from her golden necklace. Her sacred jades to protect her from road demons. She graduated from a university in America with a PhD in English. She took her first part-time local university studies when she was 30 although many people doubted her abilities to succeed due to such age. She was a writer and she wrote some books, but only the one that she had been writing recently would be getting the green light from the Ministry if things went well. She wrote about the Higher Power and the Universal Balance, all the boring stuff you don't need to know about her religion...She's wasting bookshelves spaces writing and publishing about her god. She thought that youngsters like me are wasting our lives with worldly pleasures and being unfillial to parents who gave birth and bred them. We, the youngsters, are throwing our lives away and not pursuing our studies for better lives. For ourselves and especially our parents.

And I kept thinking....Is this personal Doc Mel? because if it is you really should'nt have mentioned your god's name at all. Gives it a bad rep, you know?

LilyBet who was next to me, seconded every single thing Doc Mel just said. LilyBet, she liked to say "exactly!" "Really? That's good!" "We really should upgrade ourselves!" "Singapore is constantly upgrading, we must keep up the pace" "Wow!" "True, true. Youngsters nowadays."

Then a big giant sigh.

And I kept thinking...Shut up LilyBet. If you have nothing interesting to say, just shut the hell up. LilyBet smiled at me. My face, my face was frozen from all that plastic grin I kept on giving when Doc Mel looked at me when she talked. LilyBet probably assumed I was smiling kindly, so she went back entertaining Doc Mel.

I looked over the asses infront of my face, and saw that no bus was in sight.

The Doc Mel asked LilyBet..."What's your name, dear? Are you a Buddhist, dear?"

I couldn't hold back a snort-ish chuckle. Boy, Doc Mel was sure being humble. She just verbally published her autobiography and NOW she was asking for the other party's introduction.

People can be so damned rude sometimes.

Then LilyBet started talking in that oh-so-he-he-heavy accent of hers. LilyBet, with her oversized striped shirt and short wavy black hair, her gold-rimmed specs and her typical Indian head movements....Oh, she just came back from the nearby Church of somebody offering her lord some prayers for somebody. She showed Doc Mel and I her cross, and she kissed it before putting it back into her shirt. She was on her way home to buy some bananas at the NTUC to make banana fritters for her family. Oh, she did her part-time university studies in some private institution and now, although she was a wife and a mother of 3, she worked as a freelance writer for Singapore Press Holdings. She contributed in some feature writings about the local politics and all the boring stuff you don't read...and she believed that patience, perseverence and faith in her god had helped her come this far in her life.

Doc Mel seconded her with the god part. They then yabbered on about studies and how they achieved it through the challenges AGAIN. I think they were aiming at me or something because somewhere between their lords and the Singapore economical demands, they mentioned about youngsters forgetting our part in this society. And how they were drastically losing all spiritual sense. A lot of us choosing to become free-thinkers instead.
But I'd like to be positive right then..because I was starting to think that I was listening to 2 different points of belief, but they were talking in one sermon for all to hear. I've been to a Church before. I've been in lots of temples before (Oh, beautiful Bali) but I've never been to a Churchish temple, or a templish Church.

Doc Mel then turned to me, "Even Moslems! We all believe in our gods, no matter who he is. We all must have faith to pursue and overcome the demons in our lives. now what's your name child?"

Child? Oh, hell. "Uhm...Salwa." I know. I lied. So sue me.

LilyBet nudged me. "You look very young."

Tell me something Doc Mel didn't mention, LilyBet. "Yeah. Uh..Thanks."

"I see that you are a believer too, although your god is different!" Doc Mel said, nodding firmly. "Are you still schooling or studying?"

Isn't that the same? "I'm still a student."

"Where?" Doc Mel and LilyBet asked in unison.

"MIS-"

"Good school!" Doc Mel roared, almost jumping in her seat from all the excitement of this discussion. LilyBet gave me the "good on yer punk!" nod, complete with the impressed smile.

Boy, this was getting jacked up already. The bus was still nowhere in sight, and more asses just piled into the bustops and into my view.

LilyBet looked at me and said, " You are still young, you must work hard to give your family a better life. You must be kind to everyone that is in your way-"

Doc Mel : "Don't care who, Malays, Indians, Chinese, Africans...Everyone. When I was in University at American my campus was so big, it was a big melting pot of races and cultures!"

LilyBet : "Yes, because when you are kind to everyone your god will repay you with the amount of kindness you give to others. When you show them that you care, your god...our gods...we're speaking for all of us here....will show us the right way to success."

Doc Mel : "Don't be embarrassed or sad to go down on your knees and pray adn ask for his help. I always do that, no matter what, when I'm feeling sad or angry or happy...."

LilyBet : "Patience is the key to all that is good-"

"Oh look, my bus is here!"

That was me ending the conversation and cutting my self loose from religious harmony overdose. I swear I sounded DELIGHTED to see my super-packed bus. Banglas and maids...Boy, was I feeling discriminatory when I saw my bus. But I guess being stuck with Banglas and maids in my bus was a hell lot of a better situation rather than being stuck between LilyBet and Doc Mel.

As the bus came to a slow stop, Doc Mel and LilyBet waved at me, saying that it was nice to have such discussion with me. They were looking forward to bump into me again, and that I was a lovely participant again. They told me their sermon and ceremony is every Monday morning, LilyBet's sermon at 1030 am and Doc Mel's prayer ceremony at 11 am.

I waved, then jumped into the overcrowded bus. The door managed to close behind me and I turned to see them waving some more. I waved again, smiling and nodding.

Then I swear, I will never take my bus from that bustop ever again.

-end-

2006-01-26T13:18:00.000+08:00

There's somebody I know who never tells the truth about herself.
Never. Not even once to anyone. Even her own parents, her only best friends.

She never trusted anyone.

And she has this great fear that if she does tell other people the truth about herself, people will never help.
People will never be of a help. Infact, people will just be cheap mass media circuits. People will broadcast her problems to their network no matter how they swear on it to not. Psychartrists can never help her, they only tell it like that they think it is.

When news get around, people will give only sympathy. People will give money. People will give her options, homes to go to just in case. Research institute numbers, as well.

The liar she is, the faker, will be a network television star.

But people will never want to trade lives with her. Nobody knows who she really can be, but nobody wants to bother going to that extent of interchange.

Meet Fruitcake Miriam. She's Fruitcake Moses's (you might remember him from the previous posts but oh dear I haven't scripted my archives. My bad) sister, and you know what they say about Fruitcakes : they have issues with anybody.

Just so you know, I met her while she was going through my diary. That little b-

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be unkind," she said. It sounded like some sweet goodbye note.

I snatched my diary from her hands, and scowled as I tossed it into the open drawer. Then I slammed it shut with the toe of my shoe, making her flinch at the sound of anger manifesting.

That's it, if there's one thing I will inflict real attack upon anyone is that when they go through my personal things. I'm touchy like that nowadays, it's probably due to the age that I'm in.

That was when she started telling me things. Things she never told anyone before. Things she never trusted anyone to tell them anything about herself.

And I, I oh I, think that I had it all worked out.

And she, oh she and she must have thought that I actually had it all worked out.

Oh, HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!

So I listened. And she droned on and on about restoring balance to humanity so people will not be so selfish to one another.

Like, I can share my wife if you give me your soul to me kind of not-selfish.

I told her, if your dream is like that, then I'm so freakin' sorry. I'm going to be typical, I'm going to hurt you and I'm going to be happy that I do. I'm going to take this knife, gut your intestines and make them my skipping rope because I really need to lose some weight anyway.

Because what you want is never going to happen, baby.

She looks into my eyes. This girl, she doesn't cry if she knows it's just not worth wasting her tears for. She doesn't care how much things effect on other people anyway, because that's how things are suppose to be in her world.

Bloody hell idiots never fail to impress me.

And she tells me, just so you know you are my inspiration.

cue background music : you're the sunshine in my life~ you're the inspiraaaaaaaaation~

Dammit, I need to pay more attention nowadays. These "fate songs" that always play whenever events happen to me can really be hazardous should I entertain them.

Ha? What?

Fruitcake Miriam then rummaged through her bag, and produced a pathetic looking piece of paper folded into a million squares.
She opened it carefully on her lap, as if the harder movements she made would tear the pages into oblivion.
Then she gave it to me.

Stupid 'eck! It was one of my diary entries, when I was 16. The age of rebellion they say. Hell, I wasn't a rebel. I didn't even succeed in rebelling, I tell you. I loved my parents too little to let them win in the fact that they knew what I was going through.

I was suicidal. I wrote suicide notes wanting to die. die. die. Because I was scared to be hopeless.
I was scared to be the one that didn't make anything happen.
I cared too damn much what people wanted me to become.

Boy, was I melodramatic.

Then I tore the paper into tiny bits, and tossed them out into the wind beyond my window.

And I told Fruitcake Miriam, my my....give me all YOUR hopeless hearts to make ME ill?

Dear child, I'll tell you what I'm thinking right now. It may have absolutely nothing to do with you and your issues, but that was what I was supposed to be before you came along, you hear?

When being suicidal I kept thinking, hell, it would be a lot better ALIVE then being DEAD after all!

to be honest, year 2000 started off in a pretty uptight note for me.I guess it's just safe to say that I've collected a decent amount of humor to withstand the first few weeks of the new year.

Hhahahahaha. I lost my mom's handphone out of recklessness again. hahahaa. I like to think that I have butterfingers ever since I stopped playing netball and badminton for quite sometime, but... hahahahaha..... I think I'm developing a chronic case of butter-brains! I can't even pass a goddamn test, I make promises that I promise I will keep but events after events just go against me at the last bloody minutes that it just goes down to the fact that I'm getting better at giving more and more out-of-this-world excuses for breaking these promises, I can't even be on time for anything, I forget important things, my edge is wearing out because I keep making the wrong choices to blow people's brains off...AM I DYING?

Oh, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!

Infectious humor. A self-war against my own face.

I'm 23 this year. twenty- bloody 'eck -three and I've learnt to be a lot more patient, a lot more controlled with my anger, and a lot more calculative with certain people.
I choose the life I'm taking, though I have to keep repeating the same goddamn mistakes over and over again to learn ONE thing.
Hell slow, but I can only move that way.
I choose the level of patience I am able to allow running in my veins when facing difficult jerks like you, because I hate the fact that you dare to come to me and test my patience.
I choose the amount of stupidity that I am able to allow controlling me, but I guess that takes a lot more work that I think it does when I look at it theoratically.
I choose the level of caring that I give to people because I hate the fact that I should give an owl's tailfeather about others. What is in it for me?
I choose the friends I'm making, because I hate the fact that we will not work out. Now how about the people whom I've come to become "friends" with?
I'm going to delete them one by one. Tell them, hey, you know what? What do you want from me? I'm not feeling the heebie-jeebies anymore so stop calling me, dammit.

I don't want to be 16 anymore.
I don't want to make you regret ever starting anything with me.
I don't want to keep a pet, I don't want to be dead and I ceratinly don't want to waste my precious time being with a bonafide pompous like you.

I don't want to be your friend. Ever.

So Miriam, am I still your inspiration?

-end-

2006-01-20T17:21:00.000+08:00

Disclaimer : What you are about to read is my sudden personal issues of the day.
And please don't make that mistake where I actually think you guys should care about what I have to say. Like that goddamn Xiaxue who people worship so much.

Honestly, American Idol auditions rock.

Yeah I'm trying to tell you guys that without over-reacting right now. I don't really dig the whole American Idol dream gig (they did crown Donald the-bloody- Duck at one point of time), so right after the auditions end and it's all down to the preppy blondes, the moody redheads and the gays with power-packed lungs and coordinated foot spasms, I'm the audi 5000 speeding back to Everybody Loves Raymond and CSI reruns on cable tv.

Singapore Idol auditions...well..I never really saw it. I know some dude was paid by Mediacorp to become "banana man" and put on a goddamn paper bag over his head for kicks.
Then I never bothered to give a damn at all, you know? I kept thinking...why the hell are these people screaming at some Backstreet Bengs and chirping, squeaking Lians who resembled so much of Thai's red-light districts in fashion and make up? Why are these people so infatuated by 4 guys who represent the Malay Golden Lion Tamarines era?

I'm not saying Singaporean artists are not talented. Really.

Hey yeah while we're on the record, ever notice that Malays are so trying to be hip-hop hopies? Notice the way the wannabe Ciaras and Ashantis goddamn shave their eyebrows off and use dark brown eyeliner as line tool to photoshop their features, literally? The guys with their goddamn bicycle chains hanging off their necks and the oversized belt buckles and callin' themselves "pelaya" (playa. in Malay accent) all across the damned place?

Can't rap. Can't rhyme. Dark skin. Blonde hair. brown eyebrows. pink face. silver and blue eyeshadows. and obvious pencilled lips outlined to make it look like it's puffed up from a gang fight rather than Maybeline Miraculous Lip Gloss-ed?

What the hell, really. Don't get me started on the "punk" scene. The emo-punks who think jay-walking and Ashlee Simpson is so punk rock. Oh, and the latest craze, self-confessed "Japanese".
My name is Abdul Karim but people call me Ichigo Metsisuke. Itchy-go it is, mate!

My name is Nur Aisyah but people call me Orehimei.

Nama saya Salamah Binte Jonet tapi nama glamour saya ialah Sally Jones.

I love Japanese shows but I don't think I'd tell people to call me Hi Hi Puffy Ami Yumi.

Ok back to where I sidetracked.

But of course some of you guys will say that these talents do not get enough exposure to garner international attention.
So Backstreet Beng got sent off to Taiwan and Usher-poser got to record at KL. They all got together in some corny chic disaster series about stars shooting or something , with the typical good-looking co-stars to give Mediacorp the self-appointed "Best Broadcasting Station in whatever Year". Again.

Mediacorp is the ONLY station in Singapore, dammit. But of course it's the BEST.

All the good shows on Singapore TV are imported, and I will never complain about that. Well, almost all of them. Diva on a Dime rocks to hell, and I've to get on the goodamn bus for a good half an hour to watch it...but that's ok really. Singapore's like America's playmate and so some of the shows we get via import are the only the hottest from America like their Next Top Model.

And people give a damn about that. They never miss it. I just wonder why it had to be America this America that.

Ah yes, because Singapore's Next Top Model will just be another reject in the trashcans of Miss Universe. The only people who support local models that enter Miss Singapore Universe are their family members and their friends. The participating public are mostly made up of teenagers, so that really explained why they are the biggest contribution in changing the lives of goddamned frogs from their daytime jobs at wherever to catwalking frogs in the limelight.

Nothing is worse than watching catwalking frogs in slow motion on stage in the limelight. And speaking about slow motion, does anybody notice that these Miss Singapore Universe people actually do their own slow motion? Like you can see the wind is clearly blowing the hair off their faces at 1000 km/h and then the frogs have the cheek to actually do a look-over-your-shoulder-to-the-camera in a forced slow-motion kind of way?

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand...yellow-teeth smile. Is it just me or did the make-up artists simply forget that any light-colored lipstick will cause the teeth to appear yellow?

That kills me all the time. And I wonder...what's in for these voters?

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnddd......yellow-teeth smiles everybody.

Di-ding-ding-ding-ding...

However, I'd watch Tiramisu. The dialogue is not that flat, the cast deliver just nicely (altho the lady boss of the restaurant is really purely fictatious in character) and the cinematography's got this soft hue thing going on. Yeah ok maybe I can't resist beautifully-displayed food. But Tiramisu is so far in-league with Under One Roof and well, hell, Triple 9? Hey, those were the good times, yo. At least when you watch Triple 9, you kind of get the idea that it's just so cool to be a detective in Singapore.

Lifeline?

Mediacorp, if you want to be the best broadcasting station in the whole wide world, give this atrocity about Singapore's security personnels the goddamn AXE. What the hell is wrong with you casting directors?

Let's analyze, kids.

Casting directors,
You guys actually take Michelle whateverherlastnameis and give her the medic character.
you guys actually take someone like Rozza and turn her into a freaking fire-fighter?
You guys actually take post-Police Academy the Movie dimwits and expect them to be gallant?

And the MAIN plot is about love?

Ever wonder why people don't take the security personnel in Singapore SERIOUSLY?

And because of these casting directors (and coincidentally, the constant movement against terrorism trend) the Goverment of Singapore had to cook up the emergency drill at MRT stations and wherever to show people that the Singapore Security is really not like Rozza and Michelle whatever's show. Like it or not, the Goverment just saved faces again.

So, seriously. WHAT'S NEXT?

-end-

2006-01-16T02:06:00.000+08:00

He presses his ear on my closed door, and he says, "knock knock!"

I'm behind the door, on the other side, before the monitor of my PC. Locked inside a room with floor to ceiling windows and the best view of the sea in the entire coast of this neighbourhood, and I'm online getting some research done for school.

What I'm supposed to do is answer the door.

Well, that's what Life wants me to do.

What's running into my head right now is website interfaces. I want to get out of design depression. My print media masterpieces must have that supernatural power to cause people to become dumb, deaf, mute and blind in one straight shot, so I'm only thinking about myself right now.

I type out an address on the browser bar.

I type out "sucky websites" on the Google search.

Research is boring. Research is going to give me split personality.

I suck at researching.

I stare at the screen, hand on my mouse, biting my upper lip.

As if thinking. As if pending ideas.

As if.

Behind the door, outside, he knocks again. "Knock knock!"

I think I cracked my rib because everytime I breathe, a huge ice-cold stainless steel needle punctures into my lung.

Still staring at a directory list under the "Biggest mistakes Websites ever made in 2004" .

Which lung, I don't the heck know. Forgive this indecision?

Muffled voices give me split personality.

I'm yawning. My eyes are watery. I'm drinking tea. My concentration wavers from one second to another.

Blankety.

Blankety.

BLANK.

Oh, if you know how sick that all feels right now.

But you don't. You will never understand somebody no matter how much you invest yourself into that person.

Blankety BLANK.

I am the Great Yawning Anonymous One. Staring at the screen, still.

And I keep thinking... Ok. now what?

I must have looked like a real knock out. Type out a URL.

Backspace.

Now?

Type out another URL. Control X. Open a new tab. Control V.

Milk tea gives me split personality.

My fingers start to freeze over the keys again. This is worse than ATD.

"Knock knock!! anybody home?" His fist lands on the wooden door harder this time.

I yawn again. Breathe in. Breathe out. Giant needle punctures the other lung.

O-freaking-uch.

Click a link, open in new tab. Mozilla, I'm your cult devotee. Mozilla, lalalalalaaa!

"Hey!" He begins to shout, rapping on the door urgently. "Is there anybody in there? Knock knock!"

"I know you're in there."

"Open up!"

"What are you doing in there? Are you busy?"

"Can we talk?"

"HEY!"

Busybodies give me split personality.

I lean back in my cool new office chair, and pull open the desk drawer.

This is a United States Caliber .38 , model 1895. The cold, cold stained metal casing of the pistol is tingling my nerves as I clasp my fingers tighter around it.

It weighs around .92 kg. 12 inches long, size flat.

The muzzle velocity is 240 meters per second once fired.

Capacity is 6 fancy bullets.

I get up and stand before the door that he's pressing his ear on from the outside.

Busybodies give me split personality.

"HEY! KNOCK KNOCK!!"

Sighing, I press the mouth of the gun on the door, mentally calculating where his head will be at right now

I pull the long trigger pull to both turn the revolver’s cylinder to align a fresh round with the barrel.

Busybodies give me split personality.

And I sing, "yes? who is it?~"

-end-

2006-01-12T22:54:00.000+08:00

Rob Thomas takes a fortune cookie out of the red tin box that is between us, and crushes it in his big, big, big palm. He takes out destiny in the form of a rolled up piece of recycled paper, eager as a goddamn beaver to read another fortune.

And he is saying, in that sing song sort of voice, "This year, you shall get to reap what you sow!"

And then he says, "tch."

What Rob Thomas is really looking for is mishaps, mapped tragedies and false hopes. To get back at people, as in revenge...well the best revenge is living well.

I take a fortune cookie and do the same.
If people believe so much in written destiny (literally) and the power of the colliding planets moons and the whole goddamn orbiting solar system's contents in their lives... then there should be a perfectly good reason why we are trying to prove that the world works in a backward, mysterious and agitating sort of way.

Project Messiah.

We bought a huge tin of fortune cookies and will now attempt to cheat gods and goddesses and burn all their diplomas and degrees that hang on their perfectly white walls right next to their huge polished-to-goddamn-perfection mahogany desktops.

They have secretaries, and I'll eliminate them all.

At the end of the desk, the secretaries will do what they imagine gods and goddesses do. Now sitting behind the imacs, he or she type the passwords to access into gods and goddesses database, the kingdoms in the skies secrets, all 7 doors of their hells and heavens, and press enter.

This website is encrypted with rah bla bla bla bla bla bla bla blah. Blaaaaaaaaablablablabla.

Access denied.

The secretaries then type out what they think should make people feel so secure about their bosses.

Access granted.

That's how tedious imaginations can get when they are out of control.

And I say, tch.

"You'll soon fall in love. Twenty-one-ninety-nine," Rob Thomas says, reading off the white piece of paper after dusting his hands clean and unrolling it infront of his big, big, big blue eyes. He smirks and shoves the paper into my swollen, swollen, swollen red eyes.

Twenty-one-ninety-nine? What does that mean?

I haven't slept in days. Insomnia, some people diagnose me with that. These some people in their smashing white lab coats and disinfected smell and cables and metal disks that listen to your heart beat.

Free of viral threats. Free of dirt. Free of dust. Smiling. Writing. Nodding. Diagnosing. Poking.

Telling me, "We'll have to keep you here for a few days."

Stumped. 1-0 to me. Yeehaw.

What healthy people tell me is that, if the doctors don't the hell know what is wrong with you, they keep you in hospitals and act like you've got rabies. At least, a flu.

They just want to become personal space invaders, and you pay just to get your neurons fried.

So the lab rats left the exam room to concur on whatever, and I left the damn hospital.

On my cell, I told my Mom I'll see her in a few. No mom, nothing's wrong with me. No mom, no need to fetch me. Mom, I'm o-freaking-kay.

Mom, my battery is low. I'm going to a place nearby, gotta go.

Backstreet Boys words coming out of my mouth, and I used to be so anti-boybands.

I walked until I reached a nearby 7-11. That's where I met Rob Thomas.

He was going to buy a whole basket of the fortune cookies that were on sale in little clear packs on the counter. Each packet costs 20 cents.

"I want to buy destiny, and taste what it's like," Rob Thomas reasoned to the cashiers. They looked at each other, their expressions so California. Newbies. They have that label tatooed across their foreheads like all the freaking time.

me? I look at Rob Thomas, and he had the most beautiful blue eyes. Big, big, big. Blue. blue, blue. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous.

Me and Rob Thomas, we robbed the 7-11 to their very last fortune cookie stock, put them in a huge red tin box and end up on the steps of the High Court.

Savoring fate. Devouring destiny. Reading fortune after fortune after fortune. Fortune cookies taste like hard candy with no extra sugar.

"Love is knocking your door!"

"Prosperity shall come soon."

"Lady luck is on your side!"

"The Heavens are smiling down on you."

Who the hell writes these stuff?

The secretaries behind the imacs type the passwords again, trying to infiltrate top ranks in the countdown to the Final Hour.

Access denied.

They type fortune cookie crap.

Access granted.

Rob Thomas shoulders come up and down in a shrug. "Beats me. Maybe we'll find love in that year."

Twenty-one-ninety-nine. Must be an inside joke by secretaries in the skies.

Flipping the paper over, Rob Thomas squints at the chinese characters that is printed in blood red.

I should be in the hospital paying for my neurons to be fried. Feel tragic. Maybe then I might be able to fall asleep and wake up.

Wake up in a different time. Different place.

Wake up as a different person. Have multiple identities. I won't mind the confusion if it's fun.

but I just want to go back to sleep!

Rob Thomas says, "Uh, I don't think 2 full lines of this side actually translates 'You'll soon fall in love!'"

Maybe they are cursing us to hell. Misfortune cookie. Twenty-one-ninety-nine, the year we'll find love? that's just too soon, you know.

"You've heard nothing new, have you?"

like twenty-one-ninety-nine?

And he says, "can you lend me 2 dollars?"

Blue, blue, blue eyes. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous blue eyes.

I fish out my wallet. I give him a dollar.

"But I asked for 2."

I'm feeling stingy.

-end-

2006-01-03T15:13:00.000+08:00

Ever figured out why people would rather respect their favorite artists rather than their own parents?

their wives instead of their brothers and sisters? their husbands instead of their mothers? their friends instead of their fathers?

Domestic misunderstanding aside, people fail to be the somebody they are once their own fail to see the whole point of paying attention. Respect? Age?

Oh, flush it down the toilet will you.

It's all about word play really. What's in your hearts, your intention...people will never know whatever you feel until you deliver it succesfully with words. Like music. The lyrics. The powerful influence of how other people say it to you differs from the other power that fails to influence you.

What people really want to tell you is inspirational stories. Your hearts lift up listening to people who have survived a great ordeal, your eyes swell with tears at the humanity that prevails over ...well...inhumanity. People turning over new leaves and all that. People with the same, mundane, bland standard answers when you ask them why they change. You'd know what they are going to say but you asked anyway, because you, like the rest of the people, simply like listening to inspiring stories.

What people want to tell you is sympathetic honesty. So you won't get hurt listening and they'll feel better each time telling and watching you give them the "awww, congrats! I'm so glad you've seen the light!" look. Sincerity and all that, like a looped song in mp3 format playing over and over again each time somebody you know changes for the better and goes into the limelight to become another small preacher, another small god. Served with a tall glass of ice-cold ice lemon tea with a thin slice of the real lemon, you the listener couldn't resist downing it all.

What we all think we need is public sermons that address certain issues of today. Youths, particularly. Pepsi's Generation Next. The future. The afters. The leftovers.

What we all think we need is to save every damn soul that is demented with violence, horror and pure poser-ness from the music and the TV he/she worships. And we're thinking...the grass is always greener on the other side, so why not introduce the freshness and goodness of cleaner, greener grass to these lost or losing souls?

Herd them. Like cattle. With the goddamned annoying shepard dog barking in their ears.

What people will never tell you is that they enjoy having target practice. What people will never tell you is that they enjoy barking at others, just like the shepard dog to the cattle.

What we all really need is to be in the right side so that we get bragging rights.

The shepard dog, what it is really doing is performing damage control.

What people will never tell you is that you should be tied with a noose around your ungrateful neck and be dragged screaming down the PIE at 130 km/h because that is what you ACTUALLY deserve as a learning lesson. And what they will never EVER tell you is that they enjoy the attention they have given birth to and garnering.

People always think that I'm sarcastic all the time. I tell a lie and they believe me. Once I told my friend who asked me what was the most important thing to bring to Pulau Ubin for our school hike, I told her to bring her passport and the white card because she was checking out of the country for 3 days.
And she actually did.

Somehow, when I tell the truth people have a hard time believing me. Once I told another friend that she had a praying mantis at the top of her scarved head and she laughed at me. I shrugged (since she didn't want to believe me and I wasn't into trying again) and the praying mantis stayed there until we walked into the forest trail of Bukit Timah and she wanted to brush some leaves that we showering from the trees above and accidentally touched the mantis and she pretty much screamed at me for not telling her about that sooner.

So what I'm thinking is this : Every one of us, we're cold-blooded killers. We're twisted, demented, stark raving mad sick sad killers. And we kill the people we love every day, because you can kill just about anyone with words. We can even kill in our sleep, it's even more dangerous when you're awakened from a peaceful bliss.

"Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can kill you faster".

Simple and untroubled and mess-free. Just pick a target, become the shepard dog and bark at it, then pull the trigger to make yourself feel a lot better about living YOUR life.

Because the world is a much better place to live when certain things don't exist, or fail to. Trimmings here and there, you know. This is what Chuck Palahniuk says, and I'm thinking, he's right. What would you give to kill somebody you hate so much? Even things out by saying something really mean to hurt them? It will make you feel a lot better than to just seeth with anger and hate all the time.

Why not rectify the inadequates?

Because like a gun, the killer can't kill itself from pulling the trigger. That's what makes words so precious, and the job so much easier. After all, it's always easier said.

And better, you can bring them back too, with the right words. It's like saying a sacred incantation in a Wicca ritual. The people you've murdered mercilessly, you can just say sorry and they'll come back to life. You start all over again, or pick up where you left off and once again you'll be in that place where uncertainties lies ahead in these relationships.

Over at the corner of your life, the greener grass, your gun and your shepard dog waits.

-end-

2006-01-02T18:42:00.000+08:00

Disclaimer : I'm not bringing a new religion and you know what you're not supposed to do anyway if i ever did.

oh yeah. hahahahahhaha. to indicate that was just a silly joke.

"WARNING : YOU ARE NOT WANTED HERE"

Putting up that sign is the best thing that I've ever done to the front door of my apartment. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I needed that kind of help to scare away some occasional door knockers. My neighbours are real angels, I slam the door in salespeople's faces after letting them take a good hard look at my super-friendly-and-mega-fake smile (for keepsakes) and I still let the goddamned annoying kid that lives a few doors down mine come over to hog the PS2 and trash my house.

Still, I put up that sign. It was purely out of fun, at first. The huge sign was selling at 1 buck anyway and I had nothing better to do than stumble across it while promising myself "window shopping" at the neighbourhood shops.

Plus it works. Salespeople, asking-for-donation people, charity "volunteers"...they haven't been knocking down my door and poison me with guilty conscience about helping needy people anymore. Half of Singapore's population is made up of salespeople and when you get to escape from them, it feels like you've won a lifetime achievement award or something.

Yet when I was watching the TV in the middle of the dead night, someone appeared at my front door and screamed, " But I- I- It's NOT FAIR!" into the gates. It rattled the damned aluminium to hell. I really can't stand closed doors, so I merely lock the gates even though it is in the middle of the night.

I bloody well fell off my couch at the piercing noise that bloody well rudely interrupted my Brad Pitt awing moment. Picking myself up, I grumbled as I brushed off the potatoe chips that showered me. Then I stalked to the door, swearing that I was going to take the new broom that Mom bought earlier this week and beat the living lights out of whoever that had the grand idea of screaming into people's houses in the middle of the godforsaken night.

What I saw outside my door was a girl sobbing with her face in her thighs as she crumpled on the dirty concrete floor. And next to her was that hooded creature that everyone will only think about when they think that they are going to die.

Yup. Meet Death. Faceless, spontaneous and tactless being, It is.

"Oh," I said, nodding. "It's You."

Happy New Year, Tin.

I looked at the clock. It was 15 minutes past the countdown. "Uh yeah. Happy New Year to you too. Uh...What brings you here?" My eyes focused on the girl, who had now brought herself up to her feet but her chin was still glued to her chest. Her hair stuck out in all the wrong places, her clothes were tattered. She was translucent and she was floating a few inches off the ground.

My heart skipped triple. Death was standing before me, so you'd know what I was thinking.

If Death had eyes, It would roll them back in exasperation. But instead, It made a sound that was almost an arrogant snort. Sheesh. Why issit that everytime I come around, people becoem all scared and repent-ish?

Repent-ish. That cracked me up a little. Death just made a joke. "Why? You're literally uninvited. You're probably the meanest creation that we humans ever deserved."

Cut me some slack, ok. It's my job. At least I've got one, unlike a certain someone.

If Death had legs, I would've mastered enough courage to kick It in the shins.

Oh, yeah. It's not your Time. Yet. So don't bulge your eyes at me like that.

I put my eyeballs back in my sockets and relaxed a little. "So," I cleared my throat, relieved. "When's my turn?"

Tsk. God-and-Death confidentiality. You know the drill.

Oh. Yeah. Sorry. (ugh. dagnammit.)

The least you can do is live up to your country's defense motto : "Readiness is our only protection." Literally. Ha-ha. Ha.

The girl started to cry louder this time. "My family..my friends...my life...can't you give me more time to change it all...."

I glanced at Death in Its blackest of blanketed blackness. It made a movement that looked like a brief head shake and a small shrug. Ignore her. She's not happy with being dead.

"OF COURSE I'M NOT!" the girl wailed, snapping her head up at Death. The tears that streamed down her face were the color of blood. The poor soul was crying blood all over herself. "WHOEVER IN THEIR RIGHT MINDS WOULD? YOU JUST ....CAME!"

My power, my pleasure. Death mocked. I heard you say that many, many times before I came. And will you please STOP screaming at me. I can hear perfectly fine thank you.

"IT'S UNFAIR!"

Oh you are SO in denial girl.

"I WANNA GO HOME!"

What diff will that make? You'll still be dead. Har har.

Her voice dropped suddenly. "Why me?"

I don't know? What do you think?

"It's unfair!" (I wished she had other things to say but I doubted there was time to think anymore) "You could at least WARN me or something. Give me a fatal disease or whatever. So that I'd change because I'd think I was going to die! Now I'm all unprepared-"

Hey? Bla bla blaaaaaaaaaaa ok.

The girl wailed louder. I wished I could just mute her like I muted the TV. The sound of her voice just crept the creeps out of me, I might have a cardiac arrest simply by listening. It really isn't my cup of tea to watch Death become real cheeky and scaring the hell out of a terrified soul. Although I think that it is just what we deserve since we are cheeky creatures.

Pulled her out in the middle of last night's foam party. Ugh. Remind me again why I hate crowds. Guess I'm not much of a people-person. Much less a crowd-person. Semi-naked people scare me. Do they have any idea what they look like? More like hairless rodents if you ask me.

"So," I begin, scaring myself a little. The girl just sobbed in the background, all hopes lost. "what's your purpose of visit?"
I mean, what are the odds that Death comes knocking on your door in the middle of the night? It's like learning that Spiderman do exists or somehow accomplishing to blow the brains off George Bush in his White House while everybody could just thought about doing it, you know what I mean?
It's scary, exciting, exhilerating, exxagerated rush running up and down the nervous system.

Just to wish some random people a merry New Year I guess. What's your resolution?

I don't believe in resolutions.

Yeah well you're not known for keeping to your self-discipline anyway.

Oh you're one to know me too well, aren't you?

I'm Death. Duh? I know everyone's everyone.

Can I just say shut up? I offered sarcasm instead. "You do know why people don't really want you to hang around right?"

Yeah I'm pretty selfish with my contacts.

Hey, really. Goodbye? (You will never know the ultimate relief of pushing Death away until you actually did it. And succeed. Purely because you're lucky it's not your time yet).

Death made a sound that sounded like a chuckle. Fine, I'll go. See you later I guess.
It turned to float away, the black tendrils that swept the concrete floor stretching with the shadows casted by the dim light on the ceiling.

The girl began to fade in bright light. She panicked as her soul gradually vanishes into the coldness of the night air. "Wha-what's happening to me?"

Talk about limited attention span. We're going off.

"WAIT! I...THIS IS UNFAIR!!!" With the last glint of her bloody tears the soul evaporated into oblivion. The white light trailed behind slowly, before leaving me and Death alone in corridor.

It heaved a heavy sigh, I couldn't tell if it was relief or exasperation. The soul was a pain after all.
A right pain in the-

You wanna know something?

"uh...yeah?" It's going to tell me when I'm going to die, I said to myself mentally. I cocked my ear a little, suddenly a little excited.

Nobody appreciates free AND important public service anymore.

-end-

2006-01-01T01:10:00.000+08:00

- Conversation with a "matrep" -

Disclaimer : meh. no matter what, there will always be "translucent discrimination and segragation".

matrep : eh binget seh aku, binget gile punya! eh aku nak tanya kau eh, kenapa ah korang panggil kita orang matrep la, mat tappered la, minah rep la. ah? kenapa?

me : pasal korang panggil kita minah ferring?

-end-

2005-12-28T14:52:00.000+08:00

Can I just say when people think/feel/know that they are falling/have fallen/falling deeper in love they become stupid?
The feeling is like...your heart inflates and your brains deflate. Right?

This will be the point of time where Cloud 9 is not just another bar of chocolate. It exists, it's REAL. Everything else appears in a faded blur in the background, and all you can see is the lovely perfection you've come to own.

And one day when your heart breaks/shatters your brains disappear and your ego blows itself up.

This will be the point of time where you remember you have family, friends and some strangers who once told you "Don't get too serious too soon".

This will also be the point of time where you get to unscramble the 4 scathing words : TOLD. I. YOU. SO and it will eat your rusted interiors at a scathing pace.

In Room D. I am patient number 9523. The red numbers on the digital counter mounted on the whitewashed walls of this institution, it said 9402.

Statistics say humans spend 80% of their lives waiting. For everything - turns, taxis, buses, goverment grants, bills, love, luck, traffic...And here I am, waiting and waiting for my turn to see my doctor. Everyone who is fated to be in this room this very day, they all look "so-kill-me" bored. Some pore into health magazines as if they give a damn about BMI, some sleeping with their heads lolling lifelessly on their shoulders, some watching the muted television that was propped near the ceiling pretending to understand some cop show on channel 5.

Is it just me or shouldn't they just put on Mr Bean? He's audibly disabled so at least there's a reason for audio disability. You got a tv and you mute it, that kind of destroys the whole purpose of it being there, airing a cop show. And all the electricity bills that we pay to the goverment until we die...

Oh yeah. I forgot to tell you why I am here.

Well, I've a broken heart.

The counter said 9403.

Ok screw broken. It's shattered to a million pieces and I am cradling the shards of it in a clear 5 by 5 inch translucent plastic box that looks like a giant ice cube in my tired hands. I can just put it on the seat next to mine, or the floor. Somehow I don't like the idea of strangers taking a look at this broken piece and try to make lame as hell conversations to make me feel a lot better when they find out what happened. I can't stand all the fussing, you know. People who are not in my shoes are all the same : all they do is talk loud but really saying nothing.

I shift in my seat, my back swelling into numbness. The nurse comes by and gives me a saintly smile after glancing down at the box I'm literally clutching. I just have to smile back, simply because it's the most genuine one I've seen this day and watches as she stops infront of me.

"Hi there. What's there you got in your hand?"

"My broken heart." I'm tired of beating around bushes anymore. It's not healthy, it gives hives and it doesn't help solve issues. Her beady black eyes dance as I look into them, as if trying to read her mind. Ever since my heart got stepped on, everybody is evil.

"Ooh," she cooes and I bring the box to her face, where she takes a good hard look.
The nurse was the nicest creature ever created by God Almighty, they always seem to understand what I'm talking about even though I'm heavily sedated with rhinocerous tranquilizer and talking about unfairness and stuff. "You need immediate medical attention."

Glancing down at the remains of my heart, I purse my lips in thought. Well if I wait any longer I might just die without feelings. I might choke on what I used to trust - now its inside a goddamned box.

I don't have to say much after that. I am now walking in step with the nurse next to me, as if trying to synchronize to her seemingly dancing footsteps, with her asking about my family and stuff. I tell her that I've deserted my friends for this glass heart someone gave to me, and sure as hell don't want my family to know that I'm going through a stupid phase because I've come to the theory that parents who are right all along are far worse than friends who are right all along.

"Well dear," she sings, her voice sounding like peaceful music you hear in some elevators as her hand rests on my shoulder once again. I notice that she is steering me to a room that says "Counsellor" across its pink door. "I can't say what you've obviously know already, like "next time don't trust people who give you glass hearts too soon" and things like that, but I'm sure that as time go by, even though feelings hurt sometimes, you will forget to remember the heartbreak."

We stop infront of the door, and I realize that I loath counsellors as much as I loath baked beans.
New theory : what's worse than parents who are always right? Strangers with psychological qualitification who are not in your shoes but tries very hard to be simply because they can quote textbook answers and get paid handsomely for it who are always right.

"I don't want to see the counsellor. I just want this thing mended. Fixed." I shove the box to the nurse, my eyebrows knitting dangerously into the middle of my forehead. Inside, the shards of glass chinked and I wince from the pain. I want to be violent, but that's just a stupid move considering I'm in an institution. "Just take me to the doctor. I don't care how he or she is going to mend this damned thing, but I can't keep up any longer with a detached, shattered heart. It's not a blissful feeling."

I start pass the nurse, but she is quick to grab my arm and spin me back gently.

"Look, just give it a shot ok?" She said, her smiling eyes causing feel-good bubbles to gurgle in the pit of my stomach. Jeez, where do they make nurses like this?

"Talk to your counsellor. You got to try and get some basic help at the least before embarking on a journey to mend a broken heart." Her bony fingers brush the top of the box that I'm clutching. My hands are starting to shake a little, I am that damn tired of carrying it around even though it weighs less than a ton of feathers. She smiled again, the wrinkles around her eyes folding up to reveal an even angelic, trustworthy expression.

Somehow I agree to the point of nodding soundlessly. I take a deep breath and knock on the wooden door, where a female voice responded with a gentle "come in."

As I disappear through the door into the office, I look over my shoulder to see the nurse nodding assuringly, and mouthing "good luck" before the door closes completely. I sit down in the comfortable couch facing a young woman, her uniform as white as tehe walls in her office are. On the walls I see self-improvent posters amongst some medals and trophies perched on shelves.

She smiles as we shake hands. And on her hand, there is a wedding ring with a diamond cut to the size of a ping pong ball. She tells me her name. Then she asks mine. Really nicely, word by word as if she is afraid I might not be able to understand simple English.

"Are you married?" I ask out of the blue, ignoring her question. She blinks, and looks at her finger before giving it a light nod. "It's been 8 years now, I'm married to an incredible man."

At that point I stand up and without a word, stalk out. I don't want to be anywhere there anymore, all of a sudden. Behind me I hear the counsellor by the nameo of whatever calling me to come back but I am already pushing through the exit doors, still holding the box tight in my hands.

I walk briskly past the nurse who had shown me the "immediate attention" and she calls out, "Dear! Where are you going? Come back! Have you talked to your counsellor?"

"No!" I said loudly, barely looking over my shoulder as I am reaching the next pair of exit doors.

"Why?"

Because married people always think that love is the answer.

-end-

2005-12-25T20:59:00.000+08:00

Disclaimer : this event is real. Well, it was, but that's not the point. The point is, I like to smile.

- Conversations with a colleague -

me : So, how have you been?

colleague : I'm super fine! How's you? I heard you've gotten yourself into a design school, yes?

me : uhm...digital media design school yes. But I haven't started anything savvy yet, so don't talk to me about digital media design stuff. yet.

colleague : (laughs appreciatively) You still haven't changed one bit.

me : Of course. So anyway, what's up with your life? You got a job yet?

colleague : I'm a bartender now.

me : well heaven's to betsy! surprise me. You're literally an alchoholic already.

colleague : still laced with sarcasm Tin. (sticks tongue out)...yeah I'm enjoying it. I get free drinks and all, and see real party goers, those who know how to dance the night away! Man, you should see the life in the club I'm working in *whoops* party party paaaaaaaaaaarteyy!! (starts doing something like flapping arms and vibrating rear. They call this grinding. Well.)

me : Wow! Really? Well too bad man. I can't? (rolls eyes)

colleague : (stops whooping and face flushes) Oh, yea. Sorry. I'm speaking to an "US-TA-ZAH"!

me : (smirks) damn right you are.

colleague : Heheee...I'm going to drink as much as I can manage! Drink, drink and DRINK! Life is a party, you know? Gotta enjoy it before you can't anymore.

me : well. Of course when you DIE-

colleague : oh come on Tin, lighten up. I know you're a bit touchy about us malays-

me : muslims. I don't care about malays.

colleague : er ok well MUSLIMS (ridiculed smirk + casual rolling of eyes) not being as strictly pious as your kind of person are-

me : not strictly pious. but faithfully spirited in many senses if I should declare myself. And I'm not touchy.

colleague : you soooooooooo are? And stop interrupting-

me : your point being, please. (smiles)

colleague : whatever ok? Point is, I will repent...Later. Didn't God promise that all Muslims go to Heaven no matter what their lives were like here on Earth? Because we all believe in Him, His existence, His Book and everything, and that we have no Original Sin?

me : *blank look* (thinking : did colleague just said something sensible? *checks colleague for traces of mind-altering symptoms*)

colleague : hah! so? Don't worry be happy la dey! He told us to enjoy life too what! (slaps knee laughing, then shakes head at me) I'll end up in Heaven anyway.

me : so, (ignoring whatever the hell colleague just said)...you've spoken like a *cough* true *cough* believer. So when are you going to repent? I mean, stop drinking and all? It's not easy, you know.

colleague : yeah, I know that. Repent? Hmm...not now, duh Tin. I'm still young. my blood is too young to be tied down with rules and regulations and guidelines-

me : eh please ok. you're a Singaporean, you're bound by rules.

colleague : (clicks tongue at me, annoyed) I'm talking about RELIGIOUS commitment!

me : meh. you're so touchy.

colleague : am not-

me : your point being, please. (guffaws mercilessly)

colleague : (rolls eyes with an agitated "hmph!") Ok, where was I? oh yeah, religious commitments. After I find the right guy and get married and start thinking of my future.

me : you'll repent after you're married?

colleague : yeah! I mean, it's perfect right, the timing? You settle down, so you can't be as wild as you used to be. Get the idea?

me : yeah. (goes quiet)

colleague : eh Tin, why so quiet? Eh I like talking about these issues you know, with someone like you-

me : please stop saying "someone like you"-

colleague : yeah whatever. You've got the whole Islamic Ilmu thing going on with you all your life right? I'm glad we're friends!

me : Well (I have an erratic disorder called extremely sick positivity towards people at times)....when will you get married then? I mean, what's your plan?

colleague : hhmm....2010 maybe? hehehehheee...I haven't found the one yet. The one I'm with right now is just another collectible, really.

me : you've such respect for your significant other.

colleague : Well, I'm enjoying my life this way. You can't judge me you know. Doesn't mean I don't do all these things (makes face) you Muslims-

me : you realized you just detached yourself from "us Muslims", right?

colleague : OH TIN! WILL YOU GET A FREAKING LIFE? stop analyzing me, dammit.

me : I'm NOT judging you, moron will you just stop spazzing out? I'm just saying that the way you're stringing your words-

colleague : it's just WORDS Tin, WORDS! (gets excited)

me : oh shut up. (sticks out tongue and gives in) if you're gonnabe spastic about-

colleague : I'm not spastic.

me : fine. you're not. Anyway, where was you?

colleague : eh? uh...ok I can't remember! Well, I'm sorry Tin, but we see things in different light...that's what I can understand. I will return to the "Way Of Life". (air commas)

me : well, you don't say!

colleague : (ignoring me) hmm...so I hope you'll be there when I repent. Gotta need your guideance, right Ustazah? (laughs heartily) to Siratul Mustaqim and beyond, I say!

me : yeah, insya-Allah man. Well, that is if you ever make it la.

colleague : Oh don't worry. I'm going to make it. I got everything planned.

me : Oh I'm not worrying at all. I'm sure you can reason with Death or two should it comes before your wawasan 2010, that's all.

colleague : (rolls eyes)

-end-

2005-12-24T01:08:00.000+08:00

Be considerate. Or I'll introduce your celebrated gates of oral-b pearly whites to the back of your bumbling head.

As much as I'd like to think that harmonious if not exactly beautiful melodies do soar in our atmospheres that make us go 'hey everybody, we are made to love each other! So stop the bloodshed, world. PEACE!' and that technology really is celebrated and well-utilisized by us sensible creatures, and that I appreciate children being so cute annoyingly and so annoyingly energetic and all...I was fractionally a sadist while watching Narnia at Bedok Princess yesterday.

For 6 bucks, you get to sit in a 10 degree auditorium with half a tub of popcorn, no drinks at all (because they weren't selling any. So if anyone was to choke, everyone please remain calm and head for the exit in an orderly manner, right?)and noisy adolescents and retards who probably never ever been to a decent cinema in their pathetic if not hell miserable lives. I can easily forgive over excited kids, really. I mean, it was Narnia for God's sake. Funny, even the kids understood when to shut the hell up, and when to let their laughing heads roll. Kudos, really.

But I'd like to give it a go with any adult who was as goddamned deaf as a goddamned doorpost right in his/her seat everytime I hear a goddamned mobile phone ring in the middle of the movie. The polyphonics, the MP3s and even the blasted monophonics were ringing off their hooks throughout the ordeal and by the time the 4th ( I lost count after 6. Un-freaking-believable, ain't it?) mobile phone rang I was fairly shouting ,"will you just turn the goddamned thing off? Moron!"
Out of profound frustration, I actually wished I had a freaking remote control so that I could turn the volume up to drown the other "voice effects" out because once ONE git started talking, the whole room would hear it and somebody would hiss "SHH!" and another git would hiss "Shh!" as if hissing "Shh" three million times would shut the goddamned retards up.

Seriously, it was like watching a VCD on a godzilla screen with real, escaped, itchy hissing baboons. I was close to launching myself at some girls who were actually enjoying the "Shh"-ing fiasco if it wasn't for the fact that aku ni orang yang ada sedikit sebanyak beriman, tol nggak semua?
Boy, Narnia was a beautiful (a little boring though, but just a wee bit) movie and there I was shifting uneasily in my cramped seat contemplating on ripping the pretty ponytailed airheads and make them into soccer balls which I'd kick to Turkistan if I was ever able to do so.

What the hell is wrong with some people? I mean, I'm not the role model for anything nor am I even trying to be one but come on, people. Give me a break. Give another movie-goer a big break by turning off your phones and just shut the hell up. Discussion is fine, really. But there was no need to tell the whole damn world that your brother is at the interchange queing up at the ATM and that his card is chipped and now he's got to go home and get his bank book to withdraw money or he'll die staving in the middle of 7-11 or something. Like, nobody else WANTS to care, really. And phones. God, morons. Can dumbasses possibly be any dumber?

Ugh. I'm just plain pissed and I'm not sorry I've just insult some freaks.

Conclusion?
If you have the hee-bee jee-bees to be inconsiderate as hell while everyone else isn't....just shut up.

2005-12-20T01:31:00.000+08:00

A mouse once scurried onto my table, and squeaked : "YOU! Higher mammal!"

yes?

"Can you read?"

of course.

"Ok. Hold on please."

I narrowed my eyes to a squint as I stared at it. I had been staring at the monitor for a few hours, I thought I would depress the doctors of the world by going blind from trying too hard to push my face into the screen when I could just use the zoom tool on Freehand to check on my document guidelines.

The mouse was a tangled mess of light brown and white fur, its tiny pink limbs now struggling with some sort of business card that it had tucked under its tiny feet. I have learnt a long time ago (when I was 8) that mice will mean real business if you get cheeky and start chasing them around for self-amusement. Because when they bite, boy do they bite themselves to their tiny hearts' content.

I leaned closer to see what the heck was on the card, realisation hitting me like a bag of bricks on my head. I have been quite slow lately, I annoy genetically slow people. What people said was I had a lot of thoughts occupying my mind. But to be quite honest - and fair - I haven't bothered myself with that kind of energy consuming activity. I mean, it pays to think about others. I'm not getting paid, so I don't the hell want tumors growing in me from thinking about non-self-beneficial issues like people's boyfriends problems or birthday gifts or girls night outs.
If there's one thing I really like to think about, it's school and clean professional designs. I can stay aloof and think of circles and digital elements all day.

Yet, I looked at the talking mouse and weighed my sanity anyway.

So far, my weather has been like hell dandy-fine, probably because the project submission is due next week and I'm still wondering what the hell illustrates me. I have to have some sort of self-identity incorporated in my logo, and a corporate folder containing wicked letterheads, namecards and a CD interface layout.

ALAS! There will be alignments. Thing is, I don't just suck at alignments of duplex documents. I BLOODY AS HELL SUCK at it. I've a lousy history of snapping images and texts into double-sided documents so that they won't look disoriented before the final cut, I annoy 5 print shops already.

I swear project submissions scare me so much these days, I dream about logos when I go to sleep. Until this one is over, I'm just going to go a bit off-center for a while.

I blinked at the struggling mouse as it finally clutched the sides of the plain white card and with great difficulty propped itself up on its hind legs, with me saying absolutely nothing. I was probably dreaming to complete my daydreams. Or dumbfounded because a mouse was talking to me, callling me higher mammal and stuff.

So I waited. The mouse was cute to heck anyway.

"Well," it squeaked as it held the card up to my face, covering its own in the process. "What does this say then Miss higher Mammal?"

uh.............Sucker?

It nodded eagerly. "So long then!"

The mouse disappeared with a loud crack. And I went back to doing my project, not sure of how to react to all that had happened.

So I made a complete random conclusion.

I give peanuts, I get monkeys. I give money, I get bastards.

My options are always little and not very amusing.

-end-

2005-12-17T00:31:00.000+08:00

I want you all to excuse my french. If you've never heard me swear or curse before, please don't die in front of the pc. That would simply be tragic, especally when someone walks in and sees that you're dead before my blog. Because I'm not going to swear, really. I'm going to tell you some stories about people who really swear in their lives. Every day. These guys swear so much, you'd think they'll end up in Hell only because of that and nothing else. It's amazingly crude. Terrible but great.

Great.

I hate the Post Office on lunch hour. People want to post evertyhing at this time, it's ridiculous. Some wanted to ship pots and pans. POTS AND PANS! What the hell, really. What the hell.
While that POTS AND PANS person is being the Great Pansy at the Frontest of Lines, I'm standing in the long line of que that leads to the few counters that are open.

The rest of us are just a bunch of other pansies. The feeling is stupendous, it's stupid. I feel superkellyfragilisticespealidoshes stupid, right here trying to pay my bills at lunch hour. What the hell was I thinking? Oh yeah right, I wasn't thinking at all. My feet just marched me out to the place and now I'm complaining.

I'm bored, so I start to pretend and imagine things.

Right now I'm a small superheroin. All of us, we are actually superheroes. Only that we are different in powers and fanbases but we all have one common goal : to register our self-identity with the authorities. Because you need a license to do everything in Singapore, even when you give people Aids in your profession. It's true! The goverment androids behind the counters, they will give us each superheroes a White Card for us to stain our lives on. Because we are what we think, what we express, whatever. So we are responsible for everything. Accidents? Injuries? Lawsuits? Don't blame the androids if you let your own creation spin you out of control because if you do, they will confiscate your White Card, your license, your car and you need to pay even more to get it all back.

So I decide that I should stain my White Card with my newly developed superheroin power : the ability to chuck chocolate bombs and cause slight neuron malfunction. I never want to hurt anyone really badly, because that will just kill the whole excitement too quickly.

In the palm of my hands I have a heart made out of chocolate, and it's melting. Dripping to the floor and all over my new sneakers. I'm thinking, I should hurl this baby at someone.

Melts in your mouth not in your hand is MnM's only I guess. So I'm picking a target right now. The thing is, everybody earns the spot in the target practice board...so it's kind of hard to make up my mind. I would eat the chocolate, but not off the palm of my own hand. Ironic, eh?

All of us superheroes, we all have this nahillistic attitude to show off. Some came in looking like trucks ran over them. Thrice. Some still wears spandex, it's down right rude. Some look likethey step out of Marvel comics, it's so cool. I am a caped crusader, pseudo batwoman with a lifetime investment on my EZ link. Chocolate bombs are my weaponry. Other than that I can nag a hell lot.

A girl goes up to the counter and slams her White Card down, and she says, "I want to register myself as a beautiful bitch. Babe in total control of herself, that is. I'm not a real bitch.But I've full of fucking attitude, I ain't scared of no other bitches howlin at my playground. She better be hearin' mine, though, coz I'm gonna smack every other bitch down coz I'm the best bitch there is!"

Jeez, does she even UNDERSTAND what the hell she was saying? Why would anyone want to be a total bitch and then EXPLAIN herself? Babe in total control of herself? This is like TGIF : Thank God it's Friday. It's cheesy, and plain depressing. I shut up, I don't want to be smacked by a poser. She flicks her hair, it's black with orange streaks. Her skin is dark, her eyebrows stencilled too thin. Her tattoos snaked across her arms like wild fire, it makes me think of typical Ah-Beng shirts She thinks she looks like Alicia Keys but honestly it's Alicia PleaseLockHerUp. My heart (the real one) is starting to CRY, for God's sake.

But her license is granted, and now she's Queen Bitch. Well, she looks scary beyond all reasons so I think that's an added bonus.

I keep my chocolate bomb at arms length. I need to throw this at somebody, but who? There are a couple of heavily made-up girls with bandages on their heads upfront. I wonder what they are registering as.

"We want to be the role models for all true moslem women!"

Backtrack. Did I mention bandaged heads? Yeah, colorful bandages too. It's the new trend among many girls nowadays, it's an alternative to the usual "tudong" we all normally wear. it's a lot more fashionable really and it goes perfectly well with latex or PVC-type clothes. Because nowdays covering yourself means making sure that your brains don't fall out off your skull and out of your nose. And that's just it. Clothes? What clothes?

But their license is granted and they prance out, their shirts 3 times smaller than their bandages.
I don't think so I want to chuck things at people with beliefs but no common sense, so I turn to someone else. Sheesh, trying to make someone behave funny sure takes a lot of patience.

Then a certain someone goes up to the counter, and he says, "I want to register myself to my true love. Everything else doesn't matter at all. I only want to be my love's superhero!"

The android ask ,"What about your friends, sir?"

"Oh. Boo-hoo then."

I lean back and throw my chocolate bomb to the back of his head. Sweetness splatter everywhere, all over the androids and squeaky clean floors of the post office. The target stars to shake a little, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Everyone sort of jump back, but no one runs away.
We are all superheroes, and superheroes need to look brave. All the time.

An android reach across the table and slaps the man who is drenched in chocolate sauce. He stops twitching and his eyes drops back into view behind his lashes. He cocks his head, then cocks it the other way.

The androids grant him his license and he twitches his way out. His neurons are probably frying right now, and he is resisting it.

I stop him as he jerks past me on his toes.

"Oh Boo-hoo then," I tell him, smiling at the anger seething into his pupils. His mouth contorts into an opening which nothingness seeps out of, and I shove him to the ground. He howls something, his nerves screwing up drastically from my chocolate bombing. I think he's cursing me to Hell, his arms and legs wrapping themselves around his body. I bet it's not the best feeling in the world to be crushed by your own spastic limbs.

I bet it hurts. Right? Right? What's that? What? I can't freaking hear you man.

I smirk as I look around. Nobody pays attention to our little fight, because superheroes don't bother breaking up other superheroes fights. Nobody pays attention to him, because he's not yelling help. He's yelling somethings dramatic, it's all just worth watching and giving reviews.

You don't forget your friends. Ever.

-end-

Oh god, I'm bored!

2005-12-08T01:31:00.000+08:00

If I wasn't going crazy, then there was always a perfect explanation on why was seeing everything in slow motion right then.

I blinked, then rubbed my eyes behind my glasses.

Falling silent, I felt my eyebrows gathering in the middle of my forehead. My friends were still talking, but their animation had slowed drastically. Turning my head to the rest of the surrounding made my panic worse : every single customer in the joint were moving at 8 times lesser than their normal speed. Their gestures became predictable, their movements blurred in motion and their voices blown out of decibel proportions, probably to the lowest and slowest audio key understandable to anyone who gives a damn about audio decibels and keys and all that. My brain perception was going at 10km/hr and nobody noticed I was zoning out; successfully defying the gravity of space and time while looking like a normal nobody waiting for herself to make up her mind on what to eat at the mamak restaurant.

Reaching for the menu, I shut my eyes and tried shaking my head extra hard. Class wasn't a killer, but the end of it was. For the first time ever I wished class would never ever end, but that's just asking too damn much really. When I opened my eyes, a glowing pink star fell onto the yellow-top table.

Heh? I WAS hungry as hell, but not to the point that I was seeing really weird stuff like-

More glittering pink stars rained on me, scattering graciously all over everything. Pink and purple neon stars sparkled and blinded my already pixelated vision in slow motion. All over my friends' heads and their bags...but they seemed to have noticed absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. I looked up to the skies where stars were invisible in the inked oblivion, at the same time wondering if that very nothingness was going to freaking fall on us or something. You know how God likes to surprise us humans, so I'm not wrong to say that we should be watching out for the signs, know?

The words in my mind, they were falling apart. I couldn't bring myself to get attention now that the atmosphere seemed to have darkened consiberably. Now all I was seeing was blinding specks showering down on a very oblivious ring of people, and I was freaking out alone because a purple star had fallen into my Horlick-peng. It was the end of the world, and I was going to be caught dead without even getting the chance to order my favorite dish!

But it wasn't the end of the world of course. well, not YET. Pink and purple sparkles from the skies before Armegeddon? That's just too damn much to ask for, really.

Your question right now is as good as mine was. What the hell was going on here?!

Then someone slid into the seat opposite of me, and I snapped myhead to the sudden presence, hurting my eyes as I did so. Suddenly, blinding yellow light splashed from above, as if someone just tried to be funny and set up a spotlight in the middle of the air and had turned it on at this scheduled moment.

A set of pearly whites greeted me, then a short wave of the hand.
And the stars burst wildly around him.

Dork, I labelled him the first time I saw him in the class and it is still self-explanatory. He placed his bag into the empty seat next to him and said something to my face with his chin in his other palm. His figure was outlined in the strong light, like an angel from the heavens.
Arriving into my life. And to add some spice, arriving into my life at the mamak restaurant while I was contemplating on Bryani Mutton instead of Tom yam Mee.

What complications. My face must have looked like a truck had run over my toes thrice or something because his smile was growing wider and started to become a chuckle as he waited for my response to whatever he just said.

I was seeing all this in slow motion. And somewhere arriving in my thoughts, Peter Frampton's "Baby I love your way" streamed into play.

My ears were ringing from all the muffled voices that were talking around me yet his voice became as clear as a worshipped diamond, spearing through the noise like a silver bullet at point blank.

I confess. I am taking full responsibility for the dramatisation of this guy. The whole neon lights and Haaaaaaaaalllelujah! angel spotlights effects, I was responsible for it all. And I still am.

Scanning the menu, he then asked me, "what do you recommend ah? I never eat here before man."

More stars danced around him and I was the only one who was seeing all this.

And I was thinking, he's such a beautiful dork. Nobody agreed with me and my thoughts of him though, they told me I better get my eyes checked because I must have really done it with the online-in-the-dark habit. I shut up after that, the situation was hopeless 6 times personified.

Of course, I didn't tell them I like him a lot. A great deal of a whole lot. He's my beautiful dork, and everyone else can go and die or something like that.

You wonder about the slow-motion atmosphere around us. Well, to make a long story short, everything else disappeared. And was going to stay that way for a while.

Personally - somewhere REALLY deep down inside where I don't really bother to keep in touch with since its always forgotten to be remembered- I'd bet on myself (it's healthier that way. I bet myself to Swensen's Earthquake over something and if things don't turn out the way it should I'm in a win-win situation. See? Smart!) that he can't stand out of the crowd even when he is screaming his head off singing to Tatu or something. Not even a 3 persons crowd, I swear. He has the poster boy face for common faces of Singaporeans, really.

Honestly, I swear, I don't know what is so cute about him. Yes, I used the word CUTE. He's so bloody cute it's like...a fatal infection spreading into my system. I get nervous when he comes around, but I am also your Oscar Winning Actress for my role in "Steady Kacang Saje, Step Maintain : The Movie". There is something about the way he smiles, he laughs, he talks. The way he looks when he's paying attention to something, or when he disagrees. Or when he's in the limelight for presentations on whatever.

There's always that stupid something I'll never ever be able to put a finger on. He impresses the hell out of me, I'm scratching my own head!

I stepped on my own foot as I shuffled in my shoes under the table and said something like "Grand Central Station" instead of the great bryani mutton or something. He nodded, then ordered the Grand Central Station.

I mean, the great bryani mutton. Dagnammit.

I smiled. I must have looked beyond dorky, but I smiled at him anyway.

I like my beautiful dork and he's not your average jackass. Yeay.

Now you wonder if he likes me back.

Well aren't you all the faster-moving type.

-end-

2005-12-04T23:51:00.000+08:00

Sometimes, even a Ferrero Rocher chocolate bouquet can't save everyone. Darn it to heck.

Side note : Some weddings can be depressing as hell. Especially the make-up. You make-up "artists" should have earned your golden tickets to hell for creating monsters on BESIDES Halloween. Darn you all to heck (note that I'm not swearing today)! If I get married (if) I'll make sure I won't look like Narcissa Malfoy in Ron Weasely's dress robes and have pimp-a-ble looking girls as my kendarats. Aku paling pantang kalau semua orang tak glamour in MY wedding day ok. If you're not dressed well enough then you all will be eating in the musolla, iaitu tempat solat untuk orang yang ingat lagi dia ada Iman dan Tuhan, tent and pimp-a-ble looking kendarats will attend to you shortly.

Ok now back to the main story here.

Holding my D50 in one hand, I sat on my legs before the beautiful Bride. I told her, smile for the camera, it's your happy day! (This was really me, with the genuine excitement and happiness).

Big mistake.

She turned to my camera. And her exact reply was : Even if I marry him today, and we divorce tomorrow, I'll be okay with all of it.

Don't you hate it when someone just killed you like that? Out of the blue, BAM! and your face becomes a crumpled paper ball, ready to be chucked out any how.

My head, oh God my head suddenly rang off its crook. I cleared my throat, and busied myself with the settings. D50 is already an "OK" for an amatuer photographer, the official wedding cameraman said. I chanted that line to myself to make myself feel better, and not get attached to the words she just said.

Because I was there to self-improvise. Because practice makes perfect. Always look on the bright side of life. Always.

He ever hit me once, you know. And I forgive him because he's sorry. He cried. For me.

And now, I shall bring forth the old Revelation for all tweedledumbs and tweedle-a-whole-lot-dumbers : When idiots and idiots get together, they all try to become smart.

I turned the dial to Manual, some familiar tips and tricks notes from my short photography classes scrolling into thought. I clicked on White Balance, and tried to concentrate on it.

He called me names, embrrass me in public, yell and scream at me when I'm wrong. He cursed my parents once too! But it's ok. People change. He doesn't mean what he says sometimes, because he's only angry. He cools down fast.

And now, I shall bring forth the new Revelation for all tweedledumbs and tweedle-a-whole-lot-dumbers : When smarts and smarts get together, they all put a whole new meaning to extreme, unreliable, hyper-pathetic, melodramatic, melancholic, godsdamned depressing idiocity.

It's my wedding day, and I feel absolutely NOTHING. I should feel nervous, right?

What would appear to anyone who walked into the air-conditioned master bedroom, with the maroon drapes hanging off the corners of the walls and unified into a ball of white roses in the middle of the ceiling above the cream-and-crimson bedspread would be a lovely, grand ambience of a wonderful marriage happening between two destined souls. All the gifts for her husband-to-be, a strapping 6-footer, were tagged with red roses and white ribbons ending at tendrils on silver plates. Expensive gifts, I'm randomly adding facts here.

The Bride, with her raven hair pulled into a super tight bun pierced with glittering pins and live white roses, smiled. Her smile was cold, and it pierced through my HEART for God's sake. You could call this a "just sad" smile.

I turned the shutter speed to 15 secs. Because practice makes perfect, I told myself.
I kept talking to myself to stop the Bride from getting through me. Sticks and stones can break your bones, they say. But words, God's Be, words can kill me the fastest.

She just bloo- i mean, jolly well KILLED me.
Right then, what was already forming inside my heart was a gaping hole from the stabbing coldness she just shot me with. This is the part where I overdramatically stop myself from launching into any form of emotional attachment, but I ran over the damned policy in a snap anyway.

And I asked her : Why are you doing this to yourself?

Pink unicorns. Pink unicorns flew down and ate my brain. She smiled again, then tilt her tired neck until a familiar crick was heard. Her heavily made-up eyes weighed her soul down, and in her glittery off-white get up the Bride was a walking corpse in a dandy fine wardrobe. She wasn't tired because she wasn't yawning at all. Her fingers were HORRIBLY drawn in henna, I would've fired her mak andam *make-up "artist"* for public display of vandalism or something.

The Bride was feeling sick and ready to hurl. On her wedding day, the Bride just felt extremely disgusted. I looked away from her eyes, her appearence. This was life on the murder scene, literally. It was murdering ME, of all people. I don't understand it all, and you know that too damn well because you're thinking what I'm thinking right now.

Why, for all our sanity's sake dear lovely girl, are you still marrying someone you just bloody give up your life on ALREADY?

I can't cancel this. The whole family will get a bad name for my decision. Besides, it's too late already. She wanted to weep, her eyes were starting to shine.

Then the godsdamn- I mean, the god blessed criminal- i mean, make-up *artist* walked in and the Bride automatically perked up, her smile stretched into eternity as she got herself touched up. (self note : seriously fire the *artist* and ban her from every practice thats to do with coloring people on their must-remember days)

I wanted to strangle to Bride, surprisingly. what PHONY! Here she was talking about all this crap about being a real woman about these things, probably about relationship woes, and how an amatuer like me should not make her an example of life...Well she got that example part right. Self-respect? Heck, she misinterpreted girl power or something?

Or did pink unicorns really came down and ate her godsdamn- i mean, flippin' eck brain?

That, kids, was another one of those excuses you don't normally hear from people who want to justify themselves, self-install artificial intelligence, save some face and take one good, long hard look at good points of nasty people. And waste their lives doing so.

Today, alot of people were being extremely corny towards their own problems.

I glanced to the door when I heard heavy footsteps coming closer. The-husband-to-be appeared looking all dandy fine in his bloo- i mean, jolly nice wedding outfit. He looked at his Bride, and pulled back a smug smile, his hands resting on his hips now.

His Bride-to-be smiled back graciously, blinded by her knight in his shining whatevers.

I finalized my D50's settings just as the cameraman and his crew entered after the Groom. The cameraman made the newly weds pose for him on the make-up table, and pointed his lens at them as he got to one knee for a nice angle shot.

He said, smile for the camera, this is your happy day!

And the Newly Weds smiled. Their secret frozen in kilobytes of the digital SLR card, phonies to their next generation to come. The Groom put his hand onto the Bride's shoulder, and pulled another smug smile on his face.

I smirked loud enough for the Groom to glance at me.

And I said : " Smug bastard. "

-end-

2005-12-02T21:33:00.000+08:00

The Library was as old as I could remember, and the croobies who claimed that place was haunted told me that it was the only place that I've got to get the book that I was looking for. Inside those rusted walls and the rotten smell of silver fishes in mountains and mountains of decaying books......... that was where I would find my solution.

The Reference Section, kid.

Great. Boredom, geez. That particular section REEKS of it.

Then, probably out of random thought, the croobies told me : Wierd things happen when you THINK you're alone.

And they cackled.
Croobies are creepy, I swear to God. They are normal people with too little time for any form of interaction and they cackle ALOT. I call them croobies simply because it was the first word that popped into my head. It was a first-impression word-invention kind of thing. I do it all the time, to anyone.

I took the bullet elevator, alone. Hardly anybody my age ever hung out in this Library. The only thing I actually came close to liking was the janitor, old man Bambooza. He was bloody cool, with his white dreadlocks and all that Bohemian style everyone was being so bloody phony-and-poser about nowadays, but he wasn't a poser. And you would actually think he knew every damned thing that was to do with the books that you ever showed to him simply because he could tell you a thing or two about them. Yeah, he was as old as the Library, believe me. He was probably the reason why the Library's air conditioning was still working.

About the current situation I was put into, I couldn't grumble myself to hell of course. That would make me so bloody depressed that I was going to do something I would rather not do, but I had to do it anyway, and if I continued to complain it would just destroy all sense known to me right then.

At the distance, in my mind, I could still hear the croobies cackling. Random thought.

I walked into the dilapidated doors of the Reference Section, and a book tried to murder me.

I went to get some knowledge wedged into my brains and what I got instead was a god damned thick-as-hell book falling ontop of my head. I jerked back and into a pile of neatly stacked encyclopedias. I froze, listening to the tower of compiled knowledge demolished by my stupid reflex action before slowly (and dramatically, heh. I can't help it. I like being dramatic. as hell. ) turning around to look at the mess I made.

The thick book fell right at the spot I was standing at just now and all I cared about then was the library's creepy silence resounding in my the walls of my head. I was expecting the (crackling) PA system to call me up to the front desk or something, and I would get a long telling off by that ageing librarian who could only hiss at me at the top of her deflating lungs because silence was bloody golden.

I listened a little while longer, still frozen in that stupid stance. Nobody came. A relieved sigh escaped from my dry lips. The last thing I wanted to get myself into was a longer timeframe in that place. Then, muttering, I snapped my head to the murderous thick book and stalked over to pick it up.

I held the the tonne-heavy book, and realized that there was no title to it. Stupid book, I snorted as I blindly flipped through the pages. The paper smelt like burnt apple cider, my neurons were swelling from the odour. Scrunching my nose, I was prepared to slam the book close, before it bloody cut me.

OUCH!!! dammit. I was yelping at myself, it was bloody depressing. When I looked down at the page that cut me, all I saw was this :

Wierd things happen when you THINK you're alone.

Damned croobies, I swear. The cut tingled all of a sudden, and I dropped the book right on my freaking foot. Yelping to myself again, I decided to just forget about whatever that was starting to freak me out, and jogged into another aisle as quickly as I could.

I started to think that I should be running away from something. Run, and run to hell.

My lungs burned as I picked up my pace, my worn out shoes shredding the dirty carpet as I screeched at the corners. The air seemed to have dropped, and if I wasn't going crazy I could swear that I was starting to see everything in slow motion right then. I was running, but I was considerably slowing down. The air dropped to the coldest, and my vision pixelated drastically.

The words chanted itself in my frantic mind. Tonight I'm going to watch myself die.

I shut my eyes, shaking my head hard. Blindly running through aisles and aisles of stinking words, I slapped my freezing hand onto my heart, and felt that it was still beating. It must be the blood in me, I was still alive though I couldn't see anything clear now.

Tonight, I'm going to watch myself die.

And i crashed into the front desk, head first.

-end-

2005-11-25T00:53:00.000+08:00

(Bloody Public Transportations to the End of the Metropolitan World! Part Duex)

I don't want my license anymore.

I freaking need it.

I don't want to think about buying cars anymore. I, by the Grace of Our God, need one.

Everytime I stand to wait for the bus, particularly 21, I'll think : Argh...I think I'm losing myself.

I think of revenge when I board the bus. Seriously, I'm not kidding.

I honestly think I'm barking mad, and a little paranoid when it comes to taking any form of public transportations. I live in Bedok, you know...where people don't really die because the amount of people you see at Bedok every day seem to kick demographic ass...and I just can't accept the fact that I'm always one of those people who has to stand in buses 80% of the time.

Statistics say that we spend most of our lifetime waiting. Hmph.

Basic form of thought : I pay, I get.

Hmph.

I don't mean to be revengeful as hell, but I can be rather inconsiderate when I get grumpy. So when I do finally get a seat, I'll be inconsiderate as hell. I'm calculative and crummy like that but I can't say it's nature or anything. It's just conscience thinking of options to not pay attention to everything else because it's due MY time. I'll call this light-hearted revenge, because I'm entitled to becoming pretentious (like the classic suddenly-fall-asleep trick. That's so cheap) when I invest myself in my EZ-LINK, and I want my worth.

Ahhh...you guys will do the same thing. Don't lie. You guys suck at lying, because you over-react to this, sooner or later. ah ah ah. *giggles*

But yeah, we all know we'll can it for as long as we can hold on, being patient, and considerate. We all wait for that opportune moment where we can launch our light-hearted revenge with some "fate songs" (you know, ideal default songs that come streaming out of the blue due to uncomfortability or nervousness or whatever) playing inside our heads to make ourselves feel a lot better because we'll feel like we've "stolen" some people's "rights".

When in light-hearted revenge danger, play dead! In this case, suddenly fall asleep!

the worsE case scenario is that the bus will be full of kids. I don't mind if I feel like I'm taking a school bus, but imagine this : lots and lots and lots of YAPPING kids. The mouths of the future ranting about homework, grades, boys, Ryan Cabrerra, Lindsay Vs Hillary....I automatically feel like I'm the faint-hearted one here, my "fate songs" fighting a losing battle with these goddamned yapping cocker spaniels in Bata canvas shoes. Oh God, you don't know how many times I say my prayers and feel like duct-taping their mouths.

the worsT case scenario is when I'm freakishly tired, and I take a seat, and I won't give it up for the damn world, and people don't get it, and they say I'm rude.

I don't know why I can get so far-fetched with ideas at times, but sometimes I think people will end up talking about my parents if I'm clearly ill-mannered towards anybody. You know, I worry that they'll say..."What a rude girl! Your parents never teach you manners issit?" or something like it (people and elaborations. You gotta give props to that)...It's barking ridiculous if you're the type to think that people can't possibly be THAT smart in thinking about the idea of things.

But it's bloody hell annoying, never the less. Unfair, and bloody hell annoying.

I watch the roads go by wherever I'm at when on the bus. I think that self-reflection only happens when you're bored to hell, and half the time you're bored to hell when you're on the bus. Or anything moving. Like when I was on the plane to Bali about a month ago, I was thinking of death and never seeing anyone ever again. I was bored, and I ended up thinking about plane crashes. Unhealthy really. I was drunk with Pepsi by the time I started to get airsick, and I think that was funny.

But I find that I think about yesterdays more than tomorrows, because I liked the idea of things happening then. I mean, I was a reckless kid and I wasted some years of my life simply contemplating and sliding in and out of issues but you know why they call that history, know?

So I'm thinking all the time...If things get harder to resist, I'm going to go and put an end to all the thinking, and just give them all hell. History's education is a bloody hell of a long-winded one if you look at it in one way, but it does wonders by repeating itself. Really. I know I'm telling you the DUH things right now, and you're still looking for the EZLINK life investment to my babbling about History's wonders connection....but hey, stay with me ok?

So anyway, I'll continue to wage my light-hearted revenge on people who WANTS my seat more than I do. It's a self-promise, man.

-end-

2005-11-23T00:14:00.000+08:00

the questions for today's generation will be : Dear doctor, can you please tell me what's right for me?

Once unharmed, you transform yourselves into " a bullet through a flock of doves "...you resort to escapisms of all kinds, because that's all that you've got.

Every drink, every drug, every pain you inflict yourselves with, there will awlays be 2 results : Either you feel a lot stronger and typically invincible to anything, or that you will worsen the wounds that you are trying to erase.

And then there will be the people who ignore or care about you. They'll ask you things, when you're in your low millions vomiting your guts out, numbed from all the pain and torment that you've been through.

Some people will help you sew your shadow back on, maybe because they know you can't make it on your own, and that's the easiest sympathy they can give you.
Some people won't. They'll leave you completely alone, ostracize you from your own reflection so you can't even talk to yourself. You can't go crazy, you can't go back, you can't fall madly in love with insanity, you have no time, you have no rights to feel miserable and sober up.

Some of these people will put you in a padded room that's so glaring white, just to make you feel like you'll have nothing else to dislodge yourself from.

Butterflies do get hurt, no matter how beautiful they are.

It's kind of funny how people spoon feed you all the time and you won't be listening to them anyway.

Here's a thought : When we all go out at the same time, whose going to clean up our mess?

That's what we're all really about : The mess maker, and the mess cleaner.

In this world, one of us has to survive. To tell everyone else that it will all be just fine. We all learnt that we can't the heck care enough about superficial things like image, because it's whats inside our hearts that matter. We are all going to rebel for or from whatever things we believe in, but we won't understand why people voice out opinions and diss each other.

Voice of Unity says : It will work out fine if nobody pays any attention to "media generators". Speak, only when you need to.

Voice of Individuality says : then show me how.

Vice of Unity says : See, when people develop a united mindset, messages are pretty easy to get across. We should've stuck to the term "us" rather than "I" sometimes. One fine day people develop the ideaology that we are all individuals, and are entitled to each his own. "I" would rather die than eat what "we" eat. "I" would rather retreat to violence rather than following "our" peace.

Voice of Inviduality says : It's just the stone cold truth : people are exhausted with surprises. If I were to show you how you should behave, you'll just close your eyes and return to te back of your head. You have your own worries, priorities, whatever. My feelings mean nothing at all really.

Blame my obsession with reading between the lines. It happens all the time, I can't help myself. I don't have the crazed amount of paranoia running in my blood but it is just so hard to make out what people are really trying to say, even when I've analyzed it until I realize that I can't bat my eyes anymore.

Voice of Unity says : We are slowly bleeding, but we pretend that we're not. Excruciating as it is, we prefer to grow into something so strong, so powerful, so invincible... that we're able to stop our own hearts from beating.

Voice of Individulaity says : I'm always going to be fine. No matter what happens. I'm always going to be fine.

-end-

2005-11-21T12:11:00.000+08:00

First, I want to thank Ari for "letting me use this video". So much, man. He's alaways one of them i'm-smart-but-I-can-be-really-fruity-if-you-push-me-wrong-buttons kind of blogger, so do check out his blog under the Headliners of my Blogfest tour.

An Afternoon WIth the Hijjabed

5 women, 5 opinions, many of those typical people-will-surely-ask questions. and their answers (yes..this is the most anticipated of them all!)

All I can say is : Look, kids, don't get so touchy about what you're about to see. it's educational. really.

and the streaming, obviously, depends on your connection speed I guess. Whatever, I get disconnected all the time, but eventually I'm done with the video.

And dammit, this is NOT A GHOST VIDEO. why issit everytime I want to send something that doesn't have a band name to its file name, people think I'm sending GHOST VIDS. I'm freaked out by ghost vids too ok, no matter what you think I think of ghosts.

Oh yeah, I'm adding a "hahahahahahaa" to all this ghost vid thing because you guys think I might be lashing out at you guys. Sorry. I'm supposed to be this chilled-out-humorous-happy-go-lucky-kindov person, and I forget to put the "hahahahahhaa" in some of my statements. my fault, sorry.

Enjoy.

-end-

p.s : there is such song called Minah Tudong? (0.+ )" .... and these Hijjabed women reminds me of a few people I know...it's hilarious.

2005-11-20T22:28:00.000+08:00

" Obvious Questions People Tend to Ask Because They Really Want to Try And Keep The Coversation Going. Or to Brag About Their Kids. Or to Actually Ask How Are You But It Comes Out Differently. Whichever Reason It Maybe, OK. "

" You mean you haven't gotten your license? "
" No. "
" So you're not driving? "

" Have you eaten?"
" Yes. Have you? "
" Yes! It's curry meat with bread right? "

" HEY TIN! YOU CAN'T CROSS THE ROAD NOW! "
" it's the green man. "
" Oh issit really? "

" Where did you buy your shoes? "
" City Square JB. "
" JB...As in Johore Bahru? "
" Uhm...Yeah? "
" For how much? "
" just 27 bucks. "
"As in....RM? "

" Have you heard about Azahari's letter to his family? "
" Yeah " (actually no. He wrote what?)
" It was sweet. Did you know he wrote it BEFORE he was murdered? "

" I can't wait to watch Harry Potter! Have you seen it? "
" Yeah. It's good. I'm a Harry Potter fan, so it's cool to me. I'd give it a 7 / 10 "
" Wow, you really like Harry Potter don't you? Are you like...a fan? "

" Can you please tell me how to get to the National Library from here. "
" Just walk straight, you'll see a junction and just cross it. It's humungous, you can't possibly miss it. "
" This is Seiyu right? " (fyi, the Seiyu sign was above MY head, in font size 1000)

" Do you know anything about the man who ate human babies? "
" Yeah. "
" He must be a real cannibal, isn't he? "

Duh.

-end-

2005-11-20T00:50:00.000+08:00

I can't get the damned navigation bar at the top of this window to go away. Yeah you HTML-worshippers can laugh at me now, this thing is driving me crazy. Somebody please help. I'm on my knees pretty pretty please. I managed to turn the thing into WHITE, but it destroyed my interface. pergh. Life is mean.

WWE's Eddie Guererro passed away a couple of days ago. Yeah well, Mr "Cheat Lies and Steal" (air commas meaning not literally), now Mr Dead Buried and Gone (no air commas meaning literally). Oh, he was a pro-wrestler. He "cheated and lied and stole" championship matches and belts and all that, you know..the script thing in WWE is actually corny as hell, but it's like you end up watching it anyway because of the high-flying action and stuff. You really get lousy actors in WWE, but you'll curse them to hel anywayl if they kicked your favorite's ass. Meh.

When I told my Dad he was like ...Alah~ dah memang ajal dia pon..Tuhan lebih sayang kan dia tuuuu~

Boy that cracked me up. You get weird receptions when you think you've lived your life or something, so when you say something like that to someone who doesn't quite HAVE a life at all, it sounds fruity in an funny sort of way. Never mind, it's my feelings anyway.

Speaking about fruity, I was thinking that if I had a time-travelling gadget thingy in my hands all the time, I'd actually want to abuse it to get some really smashing results, so that everyone would be really happy and content with ANYTHING that they encounter and own. I'd go back and forth in time and fix everything, because time travelling is easy. You can never make mistakes if you can control Time, it's a deep-down-from-the-bottom-of-my-broken-heart basic admittence thing.

You see, everyone has been a right bastard about everything, it was defeating the purpose of a more convenient outlook in life. Bleak, bleak, so freaking bleak the future seems to be turning into. I'm not being really typical here. All the philosophical ho-hums sound so cheap to me, it was starting to make me think that we all are tired of trying to understand each other. Simply because NOBODY is doing anything about an already brainstormed plan.

Bah. I hate the goddamned nav bar.

-end-

2005-11-17T01:27:00.000+08:00

I'm going to quote some people here, but I won't mention names. This irony has been going on since the day people decided that quoting people wouldn't be a direct link to anything, especially trouble, if they don't mention names.

Pressure and threats are so passe. Cigarettes and alchohol, meh. We destroyed that cool bubble already.

Now let's analyze these words : "I believe in you, don't worry."

It's so popular, it's like, the new gay. Everyone will say it, everyone will get caught up with thoughts of inspiration. To inspire others, sweep them off their pretty little feet and show them how to see the Light or something.

Because words like these can own people. The cause and effect, it's powerful enough to put you under pressure. Put you out in the streets homeless and cold and hungry and superbly pissed with everything that goes wrong because all of it happens consecutively...to YOU. The amount of load on your shoulders drag your senses down to the point where you won't really mind jumping infront of a speeding bus instead of thinking of ways to win over the winning depression.

Analyze this : "I have faith in you."

You're on your knees now on the dirty ground, hands behind your head. Someone phony pushes the automatic to the back of your head, ready to shoot you execution-style if you dare move. The person doesn't mean to attack you this way, but this is the only way you can learn something.

Your only worry in your head is that phony's courage. Will he or won't he shoot you? If he does, will he panic?

The stress level, man.

If I was held at gun-point I'd better do what the phony said.

-end-

2005-11-14T12:34:00.000+08:00

This is one of those days where I feel like everything I've been to feels like a friggin' tomb, and that there are dead bodies everywhere answering phone calls from the living to keep up reminding them that the wicked will go to Hell, and that religions should really stop writing about ironic fiction.

This is one of those days where I hang onto EVERY WORD some people say, even if it's a bad joke they are telling. And that I would believe that not many people really get their life's due because they had to die, and some undeserving living would always win, and it all seemed rather unfair.

This is one of those days where I expect anybody that's special in my list to give me a heartwarming smile and a little bit more of the usual attnetion because I'm giving them the humane treatment. And that I would really be calculative if I wasn't getting off my expectations.

This is one of those days where I put lemon in my tea because drinking just tea feels silly.

This is one of those days where I went into the kitchen with my usual gigantic mug and peering into the jar just to see that my 60 2-in-1 Coffee Hock packets had run out, and that I had to drink the stupid "original jamaican flavor" brewed coffee I got from KL at about 3 years ago from this place called CoffeeClub Express or something...and that it tasted lousy to Hell..but I had no choice because nobody else was going to Sheng Siong to get Coffee Hock anytime soon.

I panic easily. And brewed coffeeclubexpresscoffee ain't gonna cut me into pieces.

2005-11-12T00:40:00.000+08:00

She cracked the egg with one hand, and it fascinated the hell out of me.

She smiled at the camera and said..."Next, we cream the ingredients until light and fluffy."

She had really stubby fingers, they looked like little sausages. And she cracked the egg with just one hand, and the egg shell split into two instead of a million pieces.

I kept forgetting her name, but when cracked the god damned egg, I almost felt a bit useless. I'm not a kitchen idiot, but at that moment, at the sight of the perfectly cracked egg...Man, I felt like I should devote my life to cracking eggs THAT way.

I looked at my fingers.

Maybe it IS true to what they say : Ladies with stubby fingers are perfectly professional egg-crackers.

My fingers aren't stubby. Bah.

The way I crack eggs, you can't say anything. You either would have no comment, think that I'm being ridiculous because it's just eggs and whichever way it was cracked it would still look the same in the batter...or your eyebrows would go really high up your forehead. No details here, I don't wanna depress the hell out of everybody, especially egg lovers. (Eggheads).

I don't like eggs, but I'm not your extreme anti-eggs maniac. Eggs can rock, it's just that if you eat it once too often it doesn't really rock, you know. It can be really bloody...well...blah, because you taste it all the time.
I like to see certain people work with eggs, or tomatoes. Like the way they cut the tomatoes, it looks so bloody easy if your Ginzu knife literally slices the air or something. Some people don't even LOOK when they slice things like these, it freaks me out sometimes.

I baked a cake today with the usual little trouble of cracking eggs. That's me for you. The hardest things in life come in really small, fragile and tangible things like eggs to me. I can break someone's nose, climb a bloody mountain without safety gear, maintain a straight face in sappy-as-hell movies.....but I'd have the biggest trouble cracking an egg nicely.

-end-

2005-11-10T01:10:00.000+08:00

I just kept staring at the piece of crap that was duplex-printed. For 6 bucks. I couldn't believe it, it was a god-damned daylight of a robbery. Although it was close to 7pm, but I wasn't talking in literal when it came to the time of the day. It was almost automatic : I just involuntarily reached out for the penknife that was on top of the cutting table and suddenly felt like I wanted to save everyone from getting this kind of printing production.

Realization dawned upon me : I'm not gonna get a stupid D for my color concept module just because the god-damned printers screwed 6 bucks off me.

I've sat down for days now, working on this barn-door card for Creative Zen (mock-up client. Don't get touchy. We all start with mock-ups before screwing up the real thing). Freehand was a right hassle, although I got used to it being one and we became almost the greatest of friends. I'm convincing myself that is true, so you should be convinced too, because we already are! Ok, so I was thinking of Zen Vision, the super-cool-as-hell-PSP-ish portable media player, and I had almost all the resources at the ends of my bleeding fingertips.
Did i say bleeding? Well it takes alot of sacrificial hell to create magic, and your fingers suffer first. Trust me.

And it takes double the sacrificial Hell to BECOME a magician. I haven't been one, and I'm trying to be. Try that for imagination.

Color concept. Uh-oh. Major problem here, Agent Tin. My ideas ran out of colors when I saw the models of Zen Vision : they came in magnesium Black and White ONLY. Ah damn, I should've seen that coming. Things like these, they need to look sophisticated and super-sombre to prove their "cutting-edge super-futuristic" look.

Me and colors, man. I'm hopeless. I like safe colors. I adore everything dark, I wear black all the time. I'm at the point of trouble where I need to think through severe panic mode. I'm at the point of an anxiety attack that was so bad I didn't know what the hell I should start with in the first place.

Someone told me "COLORS ARE SIMPLE TO WORK WITH! TRUST ME!"

I hate confident people who say TRUST ME.

I used to take arts when I was at school, and I used to paint a great deal just to make the grade. I used to know a lot of colors when I was experimenting with being an artist. I EVER had a fall-back plan to become a cartoonist. The dream. I hadn't touched a damn paint ever since I graduated, and now I'm in color concept module in my course. The FIRST module, and I'm thinking that I'm gonna screw up simply because of zoned-out printer colors and trying to mix and match things with SAFE colors.

I didn't know Creativity could desert me at this point of time...I was trying to think like a designer...I was trying to put my mind into work with the concept of "commercialized artwork" but I started to panic.

My options : Black, white, grey, green.

I'm starting to panic. My due is on Monday, and I'm freaking panicking.

-end-

P/S : This one's for you Grandma.

" You rock! "

2005-11-03T22:52:00.000+08:00

Apologize. Like you really mean it.

Every year we celebrate Hari Raya with this theme. Whether you see your family members everyday, every week, every month, almost all the time or once a year, you'll say "Selamat Hari Raya Maaf Zahir dan Batin!" which basically means, 'Hey everybody, it's zero-zero again!' in a celebratory mood. This is the time of year where you don't cut yourself to dress nicely for eyes to see. Point is, whether your clothes are new or not, you'll still, for once, want to look somewhere near presentable and your achievement is unbelievable!

I was cleaning the house, doing my project, semi-painting and mopping the floor on Raya's Eve before I realized that I was bleeding half to death.

OK so I was exxagerrating. But it was hectic. I went to school anyway (altho I could skip it. But trust me, I was never excited to go to SCHOOL before.) because I was too lazy to continue to stay at home.... just to get my preview submission on CREATIVE re-altered by my mentor. Some printing mishaps, and 90% of the design went on a collision course to Hell. But hey...all's fair in graphics and printing war eh?

So today, on Hari Raya itself, I realized that I've become what most adults have become nowadays : a so-called pee-doe-file. You know, when you think you actually really like kids in a twisted kind of way and no matter how hard you try to get back to your siratul-mustaqim and pay attention to their elder brothers or something you'd still be cooing over the children?

Well, I can't help it. I saw one of my relative's children who look like the miniature version of aaron aziz, and altho i don't really like aaron aziz too hot, I still coo over that kid. Then there are some "good looking" kids. The reason why i put them "" is that it's weird to say that kids are good-looking. You can say cute, it's only appropriate. But some of these kids I saw today, boy were they handsome.

err.................ok. so that's all. A lot happened, but I can't relate well at the moment. My relatives are like abundant, man and all i can think about is getting my d50 ready the next time the kids come to my house.

I love kids.

Certain kids.

SELAMAT HARI RAYA TO EVERYBODY! it's back to square one, folks!

2005-10-30T23:20:00.000+08:00

So my greatest fall-back plan would be creating another excuse for a self-reflection. It's a lousy ambition, really. But I can't lose what I never had anyway, so might as well dramatize it. Make a cheap indie-tv-b movie kind of thing, you know. That way at least people would think that I'm somewhere near the borders of trying to be cool and interesting. and smart too.

People revealed a lot to me today, I almost feel like I'm the guy who sits behind them claustrophobically-designed booths with the mesh windows in a churches listening to people who never get bored of saying their confessions simply because they don't ever learn. I'm starting to look at some people with a newfound outlook : sometimes, they don't care what you think, they just want you to listen to them. And just listen. They'd appreciate your presence, thank your parents for your miraculous birth, and bless your life.

He confesses, I have a dirty mind. I really do.

She confesses, sometimes I think that it's useless for us to cover ourselves up because other girls have already portrayed what our bodies would look LIKE to the opposite sex. I feel cheap, no matter how I dress.

He confesses, my parents are dying and I hope they'll just die sooner.

She confesses, I'm full of angst and hang out with the wrong people. Because my parents don't like to see me grow up and have guy friends. Now I will wear all black, I'm a rebel, I scream at my parents with new found pride! But I won't destroy my IC, that's against the law.

He confesses, I don't like cheap girls. I like those with a to-die-for figure, great tanned legs and super-kawaii smile. She has to be able to pull of mini skirts and tiny tops, but not to the extend that she looks cheap.

She confesses, I will cover up after I'm married. Now, I just want to have fun, and flaunt everything.

He confesses, I hate my life. I like simple plan though. Oh, and I'm super gay too.

They'll smile like they mean it, and you'll feel so proud insects with lovely wings pop up in your stomach. You'll smile back graciously, feeling your face flush with this honesty that's on the pedestial lane up and down your spine...wow! you'll feel like you've saved another life, and that makes a lot of difference in yours.

All you have to do is listen. Don't talk. Only talk when you have to press the panic button and end the life-saving moments.

Today some kids smiled at me like they meant it. I was proud for 2 minutes, before I realize that I couldn't trap them forever in this inspiring moment. I can't keep them safe, I can't tell them that what they just said to me was going to be confidential. I can't tell them that they can't trust me.

I just listened.

All they wanted from me was another reason to not make them sick of living.

But the rule is : I can't stop them from what they really want. They are the choice-holders, and the choice-choosers. It's their lives, and I only play a minute part of it.

Yet, they confessed themselves to me.

I felt proud, really I swear in the name of God I was really bloody proud that they'd turned to me in the first place.

Just one thing, I said before they all left me for their own free will in the outside world.

Whatever happens to you, don't you EVER dare quote me.

-end-

2005-10-27T02:05:00.000+08:00

disclaimer : I don't own "She". I just "know" her.

Scarred, she wrote :

" you don't understand. I NEED coffee and sugar. I won't call this an addiction, it's just too deep of a meaning to say that I'm addicted to coffee. I'd say i have a profound attraction to drinking it. Obsession? well, I'd call it semi-worshipping. I know it tastes weird to some people, but seriously. When it comes to coffee, you just can't compare it to vodka or coke or tea. I mean, it isn't you know. it's coffee. and coffee rocks socks in drawers in a god damned warehouse.

Oh, and one more thing. I NEED to hear the sound of magic when it rains outside. I don't really enjoy the sun too hot, so i kind of wished that it would rain everyday. A day ago it rained to my ankles over at my estate, and I wasn't even sore that it destroyed my favorite pair of socks. I mean, I love to wear boots and all but that day I wasn't feeling boot-ish. So yeah, the socks were soaked but I was grinning to the skies like a madwoman.

It was just a few hours ago that I realized that for as long as I've lived I've never been honest with people. Seriously. I haven't been honest with myself, so let alone people. I guess that's why some people just think I'm a 1 dimensional kind of person. The truth is, I can't be honest about that too. haha. I've always got something to say you know, but I like to be considerate as hell I don't the hell know why. I don' really lie or misdirect topics....but I'm likely the one who likes to fade into black because everyone's standing in grey areas.
People, they like to think the way they like to think. Have no fear, live your life, .........words, dammit. WORDS! Talking is always free and easy. I can't be brutally honest about anything and people preach to me all they want.

but hell, whose going to save me?

I hate violent people. I hate people inflicting violence. Yet, I kill people in their sleep, because I'm invincible when they are blissfully blind. Yet, I have violent thoughts. I want to see flowers wilt and die when I touch them. I'd throw acid to someone's face, and then make sure that he or she runs out of places to run away from me. I want to remember the terror. I want to enjoy the feeling of not being completely honest, but at least a little satisfaction for my actions.

I want to justify myself on a whim of insanity. Because that way I'd kill an entire nation and still escape the Chair.

I had to turn my back to myself. I'm all about self-hate. I'm all about coffee and cigarettes just because I won't give into alchoholism. I'm a racist who doesn't like being one ALL the time. See?

I have common sense. I don't do self-mutilation, because I hate myself emotionally and I need to look presentable anyway, so people can read me like a god damned book in their hands. Because that way I can surprise the hell out of them, and they'd remember me forever for what I've become.
I have to explain this because people are so narrow-minded. These very people who counselled me, hell, their fathers are MPs with money-printing machines in their basements. While stressing over the fact that the ERP is everywhere, they tried to give a right damn about real issues like me. How to Make A Suicidal Feel Awesome 101, they told me all the right answers.

They gave me all the right looks. The dramatization of the therapist and the patient, hell THIS IS CLASSIC! I lied at one spot, yabber away, and therapists invaded my mind.

I'd discriminate idiots, yeah for sure. I've salt water in my eyes, and I'd discriminate those who doesn't. I'd hold on to some people, but that's all I can say for all the times I've tried to stay calm and relaxed with a smile on my face and a song in my heart....because I have common sense!!!!

I need coffee. It's getting harder to resist temptations nowadays. Bed of roses, hell yeah this is classic.

love, She. "

2005-10-24T13:01:00.000+08:00

Obviously things were going to get a little bit out of hands here.
I smiled at him kindly. The ginzu knife glistened in his back, jutting of his bloody rotting skin.
It looked horrible. Disgusting. Horrific.
I didn’t know if it hurt, because I wasn’t the one feeling it.
What was life like bleeding on the floor?
He stared into the palms of his hands, where the blackened soil particles wedged themselves between the lines of fate that he used to tell me he could read. Palmology or something like it.
Ridiculousology is more like it, I said. It was never enough to be able to read your fate. You’ve to anticipate it.
That’s the whole point of being in a joy ride, isn’t it?
He hated joy rides. It only made him hurl.
He wasn’t the one for me, but he was always there to avenge me whenever I fall down dead. When my heart stopped, my blood frozen over, my lips cracked into a huge O as I dramatically let the life being taken out of me, he would be there. It was wicked, if you look at it in another angle.
And I would come back to life, breathing once again. I’d appreciate what he had done for me, then I’d forget him. I’d never make him leave though, it was a hopeless romantic kind of thing.
Let me explain how we got into his mess.
He told me that television is humanity’s way to create mindsets. Brainwash them, and they will sell their grave lots for what they think they needed most in life. Like Ipods and MP3 player phones and Vans skate shoes.
Because unlike the dead, the living needs to flaunt their style, stab people in the backs, things like that. Being dead doesn’t allow you to do anything basically. He told me, being dead is like sleeping forever.
It was all a waste of time.
No, he wasn’t the crazy believer in religions. He ousted scientology. He went for Palmology instead. One-eyed joker, this guy.
I told him, you can’t get that from reading off your palms. They’re dirty.
And he told me , would I lie to you?
I didn’t answer him. I came from an entirely different upbringing, but we had geeky interests.
People would gun people like him down. Bury him and build a condominium lot over his grave. People would forget him as he rotted back to what he was.
But he would never let them forget him. To them, he was something they could never ever kill.
A smile. A nod. Another smile. Another nod.
I was there to be his bobbing-head car decoration in a form of a bunny. Smile. Nod. Bob head.
To the end, that was where he was planning to take the world. To the very end where everything would fade into black and white, and he would be the only one in color.
The survivor. The messiah. The crazed.
But I didn’t leave him side because he was losing it.
What mattered to me was what people think of him.
What mattered to me MOST was my name. My clean name. Now because of him, and his rampage of Palmological intelligence I was becoming Black Mariah all of a sudden. People wouldn’t look at me.
If they ever did, they’d be sympathetic. Sorry. They’d wish me the best of luck. In a morbid sense.
My pride…now another lame gameshow on TRL.
Someone told me to take care of this. Take care of him.
So I did. My face in red, and his life was never going to be the same again.
I was shaking in my little boots, but angels cut my tongue.
Another smile. A nod. And I took care of him.
The knife wedged on his back, I didn’t mean to hurt him.
But he was too dangerous. If sticks and stones couldn’t break him bones, then I would just plunge a kitchen utensil through his heart from the back. Satisfication manifested.
I hope he’d die and rot in hell for all the things he’d done to other people.
Because my name was beginning to get the dirt from people.
Oh baby, I told him. You had to lose.
I sat on my knees next to him. He keeled over his, one side of his face on the floor. His dirty hands fell to his side, and the growing pool of blood touched the fabric of my clothes. Staining my shoes.
He was still breathing. He was spurting out these words that registered nothing to me. The blood seeped up his throat, and he coughed out what he was holding on forever within him. It splattered on the floor in a sickening mix of meat chunks, adding more artistry to the blood masterpiece formed around his body.
I couldn’t touch his hair. I couldn’t touch his skin.
Oh baby, I told him. I can’t lose my pride.
He sputtered some more.
Another smile on my face. Closed my sweaty palms around the wooden handle of the ginzu on his back.
And twisted it hard.
Thank you

2005-10-05T14:28:00.000+08:00

In this story, I'd like to establish the fact that I can't be held responsible for anything at all. Evon should not touch her face in the first place, yet she did.

It shattered into a million pieces.

And I'd like to establish this face again : I can't be held responsible.

Typically, somewhere inbetween Life and Death we tend to think about all the things we should have done to change our destiny(s. What we think should happen, should have happened. What we imagined, devoured, fantasied and sketched with Crayolas should have been real. Or at least, somewhere near real.

And then we think : damn, we should've just kept our options to minimum.

Sitting cross-legged on the newly-polished floor, Evon counted the cracks on the pavement. Her gnarled green fingers danced on the cold cement lightly, or too much pressure might break them dead things off.

And Evon said, "Bury me with Chanel this time, will you? I hate Maybeline, makes me feel like a cheap ho."

Once upon a time Evon told me that make-up was invented by a stout little nerd with oily red hair, a bumped nose and the world's pressure resting on her bony little shoulders. This creator wanted to enchance the way she looked, so she started painting her face. Watercolors tended to run down her dry skin, while Arcrylic destroyed it completely. The little girl never found out how to work her way around with look enhancement, and died trying.

A few days later, they buried her in her lousy wardrobe and the colorful chalks of her class on her face.

So Evon concluded : even make-up can't hide who we really are. In the end, we still go back the same. It's the things that we have done while living makes a difference to how people will bury us and remember us after we die.

The most important thing to NOT do is to touch our skins and sigh.

The other most important thing to NOT do is let people touch your skin and judge you.

Personality. PERSONALITY!

I never regarded that story as making any sense at all. I mean, no one's dumb enough to paint her face with acrylic.

I guess it was typical of Evon. It was one of Evon's specialties : whipping up make believe stories to make people feel better about themselves when they were in their own skins. You see, if I was to steal anything off Evon, it would be her imagination. It was a glittering pot of shiny things, and it was always taken care of by a cute little purple pony with a pink horn on its head.

Because no matter how crappy Evon sounded, people still listened.

But now, Evon dug herself out from her own grave just to tell me that her make-up was melting and that was ruining her rep as the newbie over at the other side.

No matter how crappy Evon sounded, people still listened.

I told her, I don't wear make up. You know that.

Evon pouted. "Well then you should've told me earlier before I ran after you the other night. I still have asthma mind you."

I don't suppose you'd stand and wave your hand to hell if you'd seen somebody dead running at your direction and calling out your name, do you?

A running corpse, calling out your name.

Do you?

Well last night I didn't think so to. Until Evon jammed her hands between the doors of my elevator and grinned the Evon-only grin, I was sure as hell screaming like a madman.

I stared at her crummy-looking fingers and said, so what makes you change your mind about make up? you used to be so...pro-personality.

"You know what I said about how you should shine in your own special way because then people won't be superficial with you?"

Personality precedes looks. Cliched philosophy made so unique by Evon only.

I said, yeah.

Evon shakes off her dusty hair, almost taking her head apart from her rotten neck. "Yes, yes. Personality is important. Sets you apart from others."

"People can't touch you."

"People can't touch your skin."

"People can't judge you."

Then what was the whole deal about Chanel?

"Well back then my skin wasn't rotting."

Then she touched her face.

-end-

2005-10-02T22:31:00.000+08:00

Bali. Kuta. Jimbaran Beach.

Today marks the second Bali bombing proudly brought to you by your neighborhood terrorists Jemaah Islamiyah.

We were there, the Uniquely Jabez's Class. We were warned before our trip that our resort was amazingly near to a bomb threat area and all that. But alhamdulillah, nothing disasterous happened. All we couldn't get was lobsters in Jimbaran Beach's seaside bbq dinner and the best bargains in Kuta square...and we thought that was horrible.

I, of course, would love to think that this was all a huge conspiracy theory by the great gatsbys to misdirect facts and all that X-files crap. Obviously everyone doesn't blame everyone because everyone has become so touchy and sensitive about these issues yet fingers are pointing everywhere at the same time....but hell, some people actually love pointing fingers to themselves, you know what I'm saying? It's like running into the middle of a gunfight and getting the tickles when getting shot, then getting a slot in prime time...it's flattering, really!

and giving them WAYYYYYYYYYYYYY too much credit.

everything will try to make sense, but at the end of the day we can only do so much.
Politicians can keep on holding talks, surveying the areas. People can stay and help.

Sympathy. Give me sympathy and empathy and love beyond all of Man's capabilities to love.

Give me common sense. education. money. black coffee. religion. humanity.

It's so much better when everybody is in, know?

-end-

2005-10-01T23:47:00.000+08:00

Yes, before you say anything at all about the banner up here, yes, I like MCR. I like them enough to make a banner out of them. I can't believe they shot Mikey in the Ghost of you vid, but good guys die first, know?

Pueh..I was tired of MSN Spaces. I thought by signing up there I'd stop thinking about HTML altogether or something...but it was beginning to kill me that I couldn't customzie a goddamn thing but to shift boxes about in Explorer 6.

So I moved back. Still in the same unit, still the same person, but of course with another different course of meal to offer for thought.

boy, that was lame.

-end-

2005-08-14T01:03:00.000+08:00

I started a joke.
Now everyone's mad at me.

2005-08-11T01:09:00.000+08:00

Hey, if the world thinks you're worthy of something, then you should be able to kick yourself on the side of your head and be prepared to get a bleeding nose because you've done something to make the people think that way.

The little things that kill, you know.

I don't know why I'm turning this blog into personal whinings and stuff but it's my blog. The whinings, occasional.
I've been reading some people's thoughts and opinions about blogs being annoying, and lives should be kept personal and not for the www. That's people and other people's businesses minded and published for you, a daily dose of psuedo free speech via psuedo free will. By the way, I still don't get it why they made the blog thing as a 4PM debate topic. Of many events that have been happening lately, I just wonder why people even bother to study so far.

Job application hasn't really been easy for me. Reason being that I'm a Malay. and according to the people I've been really nice to, the Malays in their departments are lazy. They can't meet the datelines for their assignments, take lots of leave and are running a freakshow.

Seems unfair, isn't it? Rounding off just like that. The nerve. I felt like I was just sucker punched in the teeth and couldn't wait to send deadly sound waves thru the phoneline into their ear so their heads would explode and I'd feel good about having done so.

Over at the other end of the phoneline I found myself to be listening to 2 senior managers whose had enough of their own people and could only rant about it.
It got me wondering what the hell is wrong with the senior managers. I mean, you are the head of a department. You see people dragging you down, staining your name then laughing it off with other goofed-up jokers and you tell ME, some hobo in search for financial nirvana, that you are not hiring Malays because they are LAZY?

I mean, can't you fire them or something? Huh, SENIOR MANAGERS? God. It's bloody ironic how you let some LAZY Malays play you like that.

Then again, I guess it's just the truth isn't it? I'm not saying that it's ENTIRELY true about Malays being LAZY, but I've seen such cases that killed me. Completely.

What kills me the most is that BECAUSE of them LAZY Malays jacking off in their professions, or the LACK of it, other Malays can't get their shot in the chance arena. It's hard, unless if you're one of the people who can get into an organization anywhere anytime simply because your aunt or sister or grandmother's postman's wife recommends you, and you become all Mr. Brightside-ish about it.

Sigh. It's always about the future, the racial harmony and the National Day motivational speech on every 9th of Aug. The day after that, it's back to reality.

2005-08-03T17:02:00.000+08:00

The Future is for us to make.

I passed by a banner design with that slogan on and it has a huge question mark at the end of the "make". So it's lke..."The Future is for us to make?"

So Singapore will be having it's 40th birthday bash this month on the 8th.
It'll be the same thing every year : we will be promised of something different every year.

The other day a friend of mine decided to go multiracial and take up chinese. Why?
Because Chinese is biligualism.
Well, at least he's doing something to swim with the crowd.

NKF rocked the nation with major embezzlement issues. I don't need to say anything more.

Today another person was murdered. Yesterday someone else was murdered.
I just wonder what people are thinking when they think of murdering someone in Singapore.
I mean, how do they get away with it?
How far can they go? You murder someone at Woodlands and the furthest you can go in 20 minutes is....Pasir Ris?
Johore Baru.
Right.

Somebody told me a joke about Ayah Pin and the ATM machines. Apparently the joke said that the goverment was going to shut down all ATM Machines because Ayah Pin flew up to the skies with our Pin numbers.

You do know that the first few lines of the joke terrified some people? Shutting down ATM Machines is like cutting off water supply to Singapore.

Then somebody told me that some private institute here in Singapore conned the kids that went to take up a 4k diploma only to find out that their diplomas aren't recognised.
Now some Singaporeans want to form an organisation to promote anti-private institution daylight robbery awareness to all.

A local bank won't grant a study loan to a its member and credit card holder. No bad financial bad flags history, squeaky clean record-holder.
Why?

And to think, Singapore is a VERY small country.

Happy birthday Singapore. The Future is ours to make.

-end-

2005-07-29T03:07:00.000+08:00

However you guys wanna see this, i don't enjoy corny-ness.

ironic huh?

Well it's another day in Tin-dom. Tin-dom. It's like everyone in my "dom" are made out of tins and scraps of other metal or anything that closely resembles metal. yeah...i mean, why not? I do have my own world. Over here, my people are called Tin-heads.

Hello Mr Tin-head. Mrs Tin-head. How's Tin-head junior doing?

Smashing.

So anyway it's a cloudy day for me today, with rolling thunder and some lightning at certain times. I don't understand why I'm just fairly pissed at many things that come across my erratic wrath.

It's supposed to be a bloody beautiful day. Suddenly, lo and behold! It becomes one of those days where you know you're mad solely because it's got a lot to do with the people around you, you know?

And you know it's none of your business to care about certain petty things but it triggers your nerves and you're mad anyway. Why not go all the way right?

Absolutely smashing. Sabar.

Back in the golden days where you could weigh someone or something out time and time again and still remained civilized, "sabar" was a term that would never ever get over-used. For every new situation that required "kesabaran", people saw the term "sabar" in a whole new meaning. In a whole new perspective.

And we would try to understand that we would need to weigh out our options in approaching these certain matters because they were justified and deserving enough for our precious precious preciousssssssss time.

Back then, you'd feel fine after using your "kesabaran".

Now I know it's time for us to fade. Because we want it all today.
A thousand knives behind human backs and the irony is that we do it all for protection.

See, I met some people a few days ago. I'd like to call them Truth-ophobiacs.
The entire family. Truth-ophobiacs.
They couldn't tell the truth. Scared to tell the truth.
So Truth came knocking down their well-renovated door. Their gate remained closed, locked from the inside.
No keys. The Truth-ophobiacs couldn't free themselves.
Or they just wouldn't?
So these Truth-ophobiacs, they lied. Lied to the Truth.
Stupid stupid stupid little idiots.
See, the Truth had everything to kill these Truth-ophobiacs.
And these Truth-ophobiacs knew.
Now the Truth-ophobiacs knew what the Truth could do to them, so the Truth-ophobiacs reproduced. Hoping to form a battalion of other Pro-Liars to threaten the Truth.
Shouts of starting a war began to rise into the stinking air.
Shouts of anger.
Shouts of threat.
The big bad Truth-ophobiacs battalion all ready to send the Truth back where it came from.
The Truth froze.
It couldn't respond to this overwhelming power.
But the smile remained on the Truth's face.
Because the Truth knew, it would never be too late.
The Truth-ophobiacs cursed.
Behind their locked gates. The place where they chose to stand in.
Protected.
Such assumption should really be re-considered.

The Truth scribbled down something on its wordpad, and passed it to the Truth-ophobiacs thru their locked gates. Then left without as much as a flat goodbye.

and the note said, "I'm going to tell."

Still, the Truth-ophobiacs thought it was kidding.

Such a sad story.

Like a can of hairspray exploding in our faces we still try to lie our ways out.
Repay distortion with mutilation.
Sleazy little P2P-ophobiacs, why even try?
You'd hate it if you feel or think you are part of a conspiracy that will shoot you in your own head.
And the irony is that the last thing you'll ever want to do is die in your own blood.
Choke on your own medium rare sirloin steak with barbeque sauce because another person with the higher power and the truck load of cash tells you to.

Sleazy little Truth-ophobiacs.

Grand ain't it? The world today brought to you live by your own doing.

-end-

2005-07-18T18:23:00.000+08:00

I tried doing the yoga this morning. To make a long story short I fell asleep while trying to "connect with God using the inner strength".

Why yoga?

I, for one, do not know how to act my age. I, for one, am probably not proud of it at times, but there's always the last laugh.
I will try to act my age though. So watch out for the circus freakshow coming soon to your town.

As usual I was trying to do something with this life of mine and I still haven't come up with anything spectacular or at least respectful.

I, for one, cannot shut up whenever I'm with people. It's possible that I'm opiniated, maybe biased and quite possibly jaded, or just to put it in a plain non-comical sense, a total dumb ass about many things.
So nowadays I'm trying to be the Unsung Hero instead of the Singing Idiot.

Many weeks have gone unnoticed in my days, I've met a few interesting people who couldn't wait to dig up the past. Some of them are totally cool people who knows what I was like, and what I'm still like. Some of them are just in my life once again simply because they are going to get married and lead a happier life than I am in right now.

So we meet up and he/she starts doing life comparisons. How he/she has always been the "Had it All Worked Out People" and how I was still struggling to grow up and develop a form of conscience. How I still am.

So i told God, I don't mind. There's always the last laugh.

So i told them "Had it All Worked Out People", thank you for the invitations.

Most of my friends are back and are nastier than ever. Apparently they enjoy picking on me the most, just because I had something to say about them. Oh and I'm probably getting dumber and ignorant and negligent and psychically bigger and super-blur lately. I don't know what's my problem. Distractions maybe. Good guess. I don't even know why I've been so out-of-contact.

I was at the Espalande the other day for the Baybeats Festival 05. I went with Wyd after making some calls and getting answers from people who are still stretched out in their beds.
We saw Lucy in the Loo, the Marilyns and Serenaide and listening to many other bands as we walked around a bit. I still couldn't find anything uniquely interesting about most of the bands their music and performances but we had a great time with live music and ended up buying Lucy's EP because it was only selling at 5 dollars. Plus their Roadie was cute. I swear to God he was. But nothing happened, as usual. Maybe if Achid was there things might have been a lot different.
Muck's Ducktoi came with Freelove and boy were we all over the place trying to identify the guy. The thing about us is that we've only heard 2 songs of Muck's saw their video clips at their website, and it was pretty much a hairy experience because they all have lousy hairdos that cover their entire faces.

Some people.

Oh well. It would've been an almost honor if we actually met Ducktoi.

About the people at Baybeats? I've no comments. My eyes burned, but it at the back of my head it will forever be an interesting sight.

This has been a very uniteresting post. I shall end it here.

2005-06-20T00:42:00.000+08:00

i don't wanna be there when you're going down. I don't wanna be there when you hit the ground.

sengal.

ladies and gentlemen, we're trying very hard to communicate through haywire emotions right now. If you're sad, don't get psychotic. Ifyou're angry, bottle it up. Fasten your seatbelts even if it's just a typical ride.

Because when things get a little too easy, you'd wanna let everything out.

remember if you're angry, think about it.

Shut up, and think about it.

malas?

ah tu kau punya pasal kan.

-end-

2005-06-15T01:56:00.000+08:00

So I couldn't play a damn tune on this guitar. This cheap as hell guitar I bought from Batam, I still wonder why I splurged on it. If guitar-freaks see my guitar they'd probably freak and die or something. Or smash it to pieces. Or just freak. Or die.

Sudden giddyness and death. All because of this cheap as hell guitar I bought for 70 bucks.

But today I was buzzing with a strange kind of love. For a miliscule moment I decided to be the one that saves me from being such a wallflower for the past few years.

I decided that I would create a bloody tune on this cheap as hell guitar. A tune that everyone would pay attention to, because I had something really important to say.

*sits on high stool and starts to strum*

You don't know how much I need you.

While you're around I don't feel blue.

And when we kiss I know that you need me too.

I can't believe I found a love that's so pure and true.

*pauses*

here's to the old-fashioned losers outthere. those who are left waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

*picks up guitar and strums again*

But it all was bullshit.

It was a goddam joke.

And when I think of you and I,

I hope you EFFING choke.

I hope you're glad with what you've done to me.

*pauses*

no drugs, no alchohol, no stress, no cry, no money, no life, no car and no one.

*takes a deep breath and strums again*

I lay in bed all day long feeling melancholy.

You left me here all alone, tears running constantly.

Oh somebody kill me please,

somebody kill me plee-ase,

I'm on my knees,

pretty pretty please,

kill me.

I want to die.

Put a bullet in my head..........

that's all for tonight folks!

2005-06-02T18:46:00.000+08:00

at 22, I'm supposed to be 22.

Act 22.

Behave 22.

Eat 22.

Drink 22.

Sleep 22.

Lick 22.

Envision 22.

BE 22!!!!

YES! with the legal-age power invested in me by the Almighty, I shall take another step into ADULTHOOD!

give me.....RESPONSIBILITY!

give me....POSITIVITY!

give me...ENTHUSIASM!

oh.....DECISIONS! DIRECTIONS!

NO TYPOS!

give me............CHARISMA!

STYLE!

give me.....PRESS ME PERSONALITY!!

give me....SPIRITUALITY! (if there's such word)

*cracks head*

well I can always wait until the next time.

to the whole wide world, happy birthday to me.

2005-05-31T13:26:00.000+08:00

WE WANT YOUR SOUL!!!

That, my friend, is a scary song.

Last night I found myself to be in a brainwashing facility. I'm not kidding.

Them. Them in black suits looking so full of life per se. Consultants, consultants and more consultants. Everywhere you see, Them stands with pride and boosted self-esteem.

Watching. Consulting. Watching. Consulting. Getting paid for all the honesty that they have to say.

Through promotions for life in infinite memberships, you just wonder if Them had these people who are looking for a purpose to not go home after work and check on their families to sign their names in their own blood for prolonged life.

One of Them approached, and asked, "Are you joining us for one of our programs?"

In the very heart of this City, this is what really happens to some people the moment the sun goes down and they get out of their offices. In a strategy to keep the adrenaline pumping for health, Them put the people on machines before a mosaic of broadcasted politicians and screwed visionaries telling the people that they are not so far from saving the world. On mute.

The people, their visions concentrated to the lies that came without hooks, were made to listen to the blaring stereo above their heads that screamed....WE WANT YOUR SOUL! WE WANT YOUR SOUL!!

I said, "I don't think so. No thanks."

You wanna follow something, give yourself a reason to never make you ill.

With the muted politicians and their muted promises, the mind-ogling song penetrating into your thoughts, intergrating into your rushing bloodstream....it all seemed to be a whacked out conspiracy.

Different people has different views. Different people has different opions, wants, needs, goals, visions, motives.

Different people has different common senses.

For the last time I gave a good hard look at the facility.

You wanna follow something, give yourself a reason to never make you ill.

-end-

listening to : My chemical Romance - I'm not ok I promise

2005-05-24T17:21:00.000+08:00

Ha ha.

So the whole point of having a gargantuan steering wheel for your life and a higher power sitting behind it is the sort of idea only believers of God, Universe, Karma, Fate and Destiny would actually come close to accept and keep on accepting.

Understand the un-understandable.

Ha ha.

The thing about God is that He should be making your Life a little bit better especially when you've been holding on for so long. No crazy antics, no talking to strangers in the dark. You declared abstinence from every damn blasphemy and its brothers that you could just because you need to keep the faith alive and the hopes returned.

The other thing about God is that He works in mysterious ways. The gargantuan know-it-all driver behind your wheel of life, He keeps you alive in His own way. He won't tell you're the only one because you don't want to feel like you're the only one alive in His world.

And if you say that this life ain't good enough, run your own show with everyone else who says that their lives ain't good enough so they are running their own shows.

Ha ha.

God, after all, didn't create an entire universe just to suit your mood.

Ha ha.

You know, Oprah Winfrey (que screams of hysteria : thanks for Miss/Mrs Messiah!) opens my eyes wider that any other shows on tv. Oprah, she's telling you to live your life and find somebody to die for.

Oprah, she's telling you that religions don't help self-mutilating addicts. Interventionists do.

Interventionists. Ha ha. People has the power to create so LO AND BEHOLD!

Then comes the Deep Few and they say, Don't believe the Truth.

Another one comes and says, the Truth is the only thing that sets you free!

You hear the angels calling somewhere, but you're not sure if they are even angels who watch over you now. Put on some make-up, shed more clothes and still be ignored.

Angels, they don't cry. They don't talk you out of things. They don't wear Gucci suits and have their hairs Vidal-Sassoned. They sure as hell don't tell Death to go away and come again another day. They don't really know what you're doing, but they know what they are supposed to do.

Today, unless if you offer /are offered any price, here lies your attempt to gain undivided attention. In a room full of carbon copies you try to be the NTU graduate and find ways to stand out.

Ha ha.

If you're smart and you don't look like one everybody puts a price tag on you.

Here lies your attempt to regain your lost faith on everyone.

Here lies your attempt to regain their lost faith in you.

Here lies your attempt to fly. To love. To care. To pay your bills on time. To earn your second chances. To gain some emotional slack.

Stay and let the day fade away. Here lies your attempt to stare down the Sun.

Here lies the times when you turn back and look at the damage you've done to yourself.

Here lies Karma.

Here lies God.

Here lies money and people who treat you as an object.

Here lies the Universe.

Here lies authenticity.

Here lies a little motivation.

Keep on smiling.

Ha ha.

2005-05-19T21:53:00.000+08:00

- what happened at the department meeting -

supervisor : the management wants to extend your normal working hours to another 2 hours. they will be no transportation but you can take a cab home and obtain a receit so that the company will pay you back, your allowance will still be the normal fixed one but you will have food allowance but only for morning shift. If the response is good, the management will proceed. so what do you guys think?

me : up yours?

- what really happened at the department meeting -

supervisor : the management wants to extend your normal working hours to another 2 hours. they will be no transportation but you can take a cab home and obtain a receit so that the company will pay you back, your allowance will still be the normal fixed one but you will have food allowance but only for morning shift. If the response is good, the management will proceed. so what do you guys think?

me : up yours!!

-end-

listening to Incubus : Warning

2005-05-14T20:04:00.000+08:00

Salsa Queen came into being when people stuffed their worlds into their own plastic bags, creating fiction for reality in their own context and taking everything into their own pretext. When paraphrasing life means survival of the fittest, nothing will ever be recognized as good enough.

"I have an open door policy when it comes to putting the blame on somebody else."

What they don't teach you in school is that when Salsa Queen speaks, everybody listens. It's not like you are forced to listen. You just automatically force yourself to shut up in her Majesty's voice. Your intentions trigger nothing but utter submission to her profound wisdom.

She stretched her arm out, as if speaking to her subjects, whose faces looked oh-so-priceless witnessing such graceful gesture. Her bejewelled hand flourishes into a bejewelled open palm, the rings sparkling your eyesight blind. Yet, nobody turned away from the blinding effect.

Nobody knew what they wished for could be dangerous. In a Land before Time, according to the Salsa Queen, we made a promise to a greater power that we would discover gravity and be extra careful of the steps we take towards our destiny.

Absolutely smashing.

The reason we were never promised anything but the Ultimate Truth was because we'd screw ourselves up trying to focus somewhere in between finding our purpose here on earth.

They don't teach you that in schools.

"Only when I talk about muse and music that people become bored," sighed the Queen. The dance fanatic she is, she never fails to take life as the Para-para mat she designed. One step here, 2 taps there, turn around then wave your arms like you just don't care.

"Image shames what we create."

The sea of eyes focused on her spread palm, caught in the colorful sparkles like moths to a burning flame. They moved closer to observe the wonder of her power, void of doubts, ready to be sacrificed just to make it in their lives.

"I love me. Do you get it?"

I nodded knowing that she already came, saw and conquered.

In a Land before Time, we were promised of health and wealth. Nobody karaokes, because everybody was promised of endless sunshine. According to the Salsa Queen, the Gucci sucker she is, people have arrested personalities and they forget about the consenquences from dreaming about their fate.

-end-

p/s : if you don't understand this entry, I don't either. My brains turned into opals but my fingers just went on typing.

2005-05-11T21:26:00.000+08:00

For the record, i'm still not clear on what i'm supposed to do in my work.

Among chinese-speaking Malays, malay speaking Chinese and Kedah-accented Indians (imagine that!), I find myself to be the roadkill every now and then. The Machines I work with, have really nasty highlights in their what you can safely certify as ancient hairstyles. The real Machines I work with, whines when I leave the station and by the time I return, Someone Else will be there to be my trainer. Communication breakdown is inevitable between me and everybody, except to the supervisor.

It's complicated really and I fail at the job description because like said, I don't the heck get what I'm suppose to do there. Worse, I don't know whose fault is it : Is it me whose having the ultimate hellova headaches trying to blend in and cope, or is it just everybody else who keeps changing the Z's into J's and the R's to L's when they speak, so I'll get to hear "wong jiro jiro rot trlacking insigh der mesen" instead of "one zero zero lot tracking inside the machine".

Every time I come home I find myself wondering : will I prove to myself that I can last here for more than 3 weeks?

Self-challenges emit self and social pity. We'll see if this roadkill gets to have another shot in living. Maybe this time I'll return to my station with a permanent trainer.

Whatever. I'm quitting anyway.

You know if there's one of the most confusing things that confuses me time and time again is how my memories assemble themselves. I'm not much of an IKEA person so DIY seems pretty intense for me. Sometimes my thoughts clash and I'll fall out of place trying to answer or do the right thing, and I'll probably look 99% like a freaking moron. the other 1%, you'd spare me because you know what I'm like, and that's not helping to boost me either.

I was listening to these songs that electrocuted my memory box into a frenzy. Everything I've lived for, the people I've known and come to like and hate and the things that we've done to keep any sort of spirit alive comes back to me in a long waiting line inside my head. I'm okay with most of the memories, but there are some which I wished had been exposed to the trials in living. I mean, some of them never got the chance to prove something, or at least even try to prove something because I was too much of a girl cynic. I've lost my identities so many times whilst witnessing everyday changes like Time, characters, friendships...and most of it, I'd accept it as it is because I've done my part in trying to be a part of everything.

But there were some tangible issues that I could've put my hands on and tried to change its course. Most of the time I did try to, but it was always hard work coming only from my part. I'd regret thinking before I act sometimes, because I'd regret to see these things I've tried to gain slip away to someone or something else that didn't have to do much but in the end had the best laugh.

Fate, aku hanya lah orang yang penuh rasa cemburu bila kau tak disamping ku.

-end-

2005-05-08T01:25:00.000+08:00

Zahid dropped dead in surprise when we asked him when he's gonna come to Singapore. I didn't think he knew that he's got a fanbase here (as said in the album. maybe its just another one of Cat Farish's fault but oh heck), but we pretty much told him that he does in some of us who blew up someone else's electricity bills and entertainment system to watch and catch up with Akademi Fantasia 2 just because at that time we were that damn far from Bukit Bintang and ACCIDENTALLY turned on Astro@Ria while on a merciless yet fun adventure of budget travelling.

So I didn't start the story properly. Wid and I went to Danga Bay for tv3's Sure Heboh carnival but we got distracted by everything else at City Square, JB so we didn't reach there until it was like 2 or 3 in the noon. Pretty much went into every shop and didn't buy anything. I hate the Singaporean in me.

The weather was sweltering hot and apparently the entire Malaysia was at Danga Bay (the soon-to-be Esplanade,Escape,whateverwhatever. Basically your typical largest family entertainment complex by the unswimmable sea) for the carnival. its pretty much a cool carnival if you think clowns, stiltwalkers and Ruffedge are still in. Yeah Ruffedge. You can't forget them nowadays, because they keep performing the same damn songs over and over again.

Before I told Ruffedge to go home and plant corns for their future, we walked past the Power Roots booth and discovered another batch suffering from a chronic case of extreme fanatism. Of course we had to wonder who was there. Oh, if you're wondering what the heck Power Roots is, well it's an energy drink thing that gives you......kecergasan tanpaaaaaaa bataasan! Yeah well it's a tongkat ali , kacip fatimah thing, but everybody says its Power Roots so...whatever.
The force that drove these pre-adolescent loonies into absolute madness were Zahid and Farah from Akademi Fantasia 2.

Boy, we were like....wee?

Everyone was kind of squishing everyone when the autograph session started. We switched into that corny ImStill16YearsOld mood so we queued up to get squished by fans but determined not to walk away from Danga Bay without anything from that Squish Fest. All the makciks and the pakciks were massive AF2 fans as well, and we got jotos-ed so many times we couldn't feel anything anymore, save for the killer heat that beat us down like ...a killer wave? Whatever, yeah.

So we finally get to meet Zahid and Farah and we looked like Hell of course. oh, the horror, the shame. Zahid's a pretty cool and funny guy although he looks cocky and stuck up and stuff. His Gatsby hair was the inspiration for all things pointy as hell right then. And he was....big.
We were probably the longest to talk to them (though i didn't say much to Farah because Wid said almost everything and I couldn't concentrate on her and Wid's yabbering about wanting to come to Sg "sesaaaaaaaaaaangat") before Security let in the Crazed loose.

Operation : Evac!

We got out of there, told Ruffedge to go home, met Nana n Adi Fasha AF1, downed 7 litres or so of isotonic drinks and talked to God back at City Square.

Then in a snap, we were pretty much angry with ourselves and everyone else who voluntarily as well as accidentally got caught in our wrath's path.

Whoever You are, I swear to God till the hounds of Hell that You will rot in Hell for all the trouble You put us through after gaining then losing so much. Your heartlessness as well as idiocity will put You on the front page of every straight's times, having only dentures to be identified and confirmed as a was by the CSI's.

Your heartlessness as well as your system will justify the ass that's sitting in your head one day and You'll see us sitting at the corner saying fuck You.

Understand?

and, excuse my french.

-end-

2005-04-28T18:57:00.000+08:00

So an HR representative said to me, "please push in your chairs when you left your station."

wrong tenses drive me crazy.

the people who always have the smartest things to say once said, you can never be too sure what's going on until you realize you're in it but feeling like you're out of it, and you just don't know what to do because you can't really put too much expectations on it.

In other words that probably doesn't really contribute to what you just read or may not make any sense at all, sometimes everything that surrounds you will leave you wondering just how people make it in this life to wherever they are today. And that's just because you're looking into their little world from the outer perspective.

Could it be any harder? You thought you could blind yourself with laughter or something and pass it around like some crazy contagious disease. So that everyone will get to be in the same state as you are long before they could use you up.

You know what I'm just tired. I'm typing whatever that's forming inside my son of nutcracker headache because if I don't, I'll be thinking about sweet revenges till i go to sleep. Don't take this the wrong way, it's not about sadistic thoughts or mapped out terror attempts by me. Lately the Circle of Life formed a new set of tones and tunes for unlimited power, indisputable pleasure and unimportant pressure.

So right now i'm staring into a little world. the world of chances. In the palm of my hand it offers so many reasons worth living for. So many reasons worth fighting for. So far away from glassy eyes looking at me going, "perfect practice drives quality marketing for total customer satisfaction at the lowest possible offered price." So far away from HRs who can't pronounce Rs and Ls properly and they still get through the day being understood.

One day you'll look at the great blue sky, and actually own the world.

Then you look back down to your workstation and realize you actually have to share your own world with other people who look at the great blue sky and actually own their worlds.

I told you i'm tired.

-end-

2005-04-16T02:10:00.000+08:00

So as Life passes me in a really bright blur, it holds up its DGcam and takes another picture of me.

FLASH! Another candid up the wall. And I am frowning. I'm almost angry. Probably close to turning crazy. You know the normalcy of getting wound up. Some fruity people have all the damn words in the whole wide words to string up a description about the muscles in their faces sagging into a close resemblance of a really hungry bulldog, but the idea is simple and you get what I mean.

Once again, all I do is growl while keeping my head down and my vision straight. I'd kill anyone right now just for the fun of it at point blank, step on the dead's head and yawn out of boredom.
Then I'd plead insanity. I'm almost there anyway.
I side step Life and its new Konica Minolta and shoot a deadly stare that stabs it through the back of its holistic head.

It snaps another nasty picture of me. FLASH! Another candid up the wall. Why? Can't tell?
Last thing I want to have in Life's infinite album collection is my re-adjusted face when I run into a car. So I keep my eyes out for the road. I don't care where I'm going right now, just as long as there's food just around every other bend.

How I make my Life worthwhile is that I tell it with a smile.

FLASH! Another candid up the wall. This time I'm just staring ahead, my eyeballs sore from being awake all the time. That damn glamorous, me and my dead stare. Again, Life asks...Why? Can't tell?

You know that feeling when you look at something you raelly do not like at all and you get all melodramatic by shaking uncontrollably because it is just an initial reaction you do not plan on doing?
Sometimes all the curse words form a disciplinary straight line at the base of your throat but you can only THINK of one to summarize.
Sometimes you can't THINK at all, it might slip past your tongue and cause a right hoo-haa with the morally uptight.
Sometimes you wonder why the hell is this happening to you because you THINK you already sort it out and is really all right and stable enough to continue with the facts?
Then you discover you're still confused over the ironed out matter because what you keep as memories are talking to you at nights, never making you forget.
Then everything else comes into the main frame. The unimportant ones spinning your thoughts into a vortex of perfect turbulence...making you write in your diaries what you wish for everyday for the rest of your life.
Subconciously, you are acknowledging your daily happenings to a creation that does not have a say in your life.
Conciously you are recording down details of today on papers, wasting ink to form a story for people to read only after you are dead.

Superficially, your hobby is writing. What you write is just another personal expression.

The truth is, you can't let people read what you write in your diaries.

Another secret told to a book who has no right over you.

That's why you should only read about people when they are dead and buried.

When you know you are simply safe from being labelled a betrayer to your own kin.

FLASH! Life takes another candid into his MMC. Me clawing my face with my own hands.

What I am angry at right now is the fact that I am not taking the correct medicine to heal some broken whatnots inside. On purpose, I decide to take on something better than what's prescribed.

FLASH! Another candid up the wall. Me smiling without tearing my face apart. Willing enough, I must say.

How I make my Life worthwhile is to tell it with a smile.

-end-

2005-04-03T20:14:00.000+08:00

Over at the other end of this overpopulated planet a very hungry and frustrated feng shui master once said...the universe's answer to imbalance is to make more coffee, produce more reality tv shows, stop piracy, cut down GST and bridge an understanding to the Hanyuts.
Think about the Domino effect.

Don't trust the voiceovers in commercials. Don't step on the toilet bowl. Nothing big..it's just common courtesy. Do you know what civilization's greatest weakness is? Dirty bathrooms right next to closed cashier counters in a SALE. You can destroy an empire by just being temperamental in a queue. Or discovering that wet towels can be found literally inside a toilet bowl.
Think about the Domino effect.

Comatozed citizens of this demographically outrageous planet...if you're not bilingual, probably 10 people in the office is. Reference is not futile. Focus on dictation and not racial background.

Justify piracy. Screw GST.

Think about the Domino effect.

-end-

2005-03-30T16:46:00.000+08:00

if you're looking for a person who likes to do practical stuff on the job, call me.

if you're looking for a person who can design decent graphics, call me.

if you're quitting your job and thinking of someone to replace you, call me.

i can read, i can type, i can design, i can get serious, i can joke, i can kill, i can talk, i can come up with ideas, i can eat and laugh at the same, i can learn and i can write.

so call me.
call me.
call ME.

-end-