Great!

Yea great, just messed up my template. Will get it fixed asap!

Leaving soon

I'll be again independent of the internet for a little less than a week as I will be terminating my internet connection. Why? It's simply because I'll leaving down under for a while. ALong while, enough for a women to conceive 1 kid and halfway through another. After I finish up what I need to do in a few days time, I'll sneak in a post to wrap my stay down under pretty soon.

There's gotta be more to it

Had 4 glasses of Shiraz in the evening at the End of Year Exhibition. Got home and JC left me a msg on MSN asking me if I would like to get down this club called Metro and I gave it a a little thought, afterall her boyfriend is back at home, sick. What's there to lose yea? Got down to the club alone and met her there. Wasn't that I expected really, not even close, didn't even scratch my teeth. Had a talk with my mate before I headed down, his suggested 2 options, one, get down and get pissed or stay at home, get a good bottle of wine and get pissed. Obviously I chosed to get pissed at the club. Right, an addition 3 Johnie cokes. Thing is, conversation was pretty stale and dancefloors was slow. Maybe it was just me, everything seems to be a turn off. Din't even feel like drinking much. Maybe. Left pretty soon after that, what's the point after all eh?

At the Docklands

The breeze on my face where the sun sets in its place,
Purple traded for the night as the orange sky is laid to rest,
The calm of the harbour shared the scene,
While I traded thoughts for a summer’s grin.

The Unknown, 26/11/04

The ironic agony

It’s ironic that the best pleasures in life are the worst for a person. It’s agonising that it’s the sin that pleases the flesh most and the flesh in turn satisfies the mind. Take alcohol for an example. I once read that if alcohol is discovered say in this century, it would probably be banned; classified as a dangerous drug, along with the likes of ecstasy and other party drugs. It’s a mind altering substance and to a certain point it could be physiologically addictive.

I stayed clear of alcohol for 2 years now. Just turn the hands of time a few full circles back and there I was, a binge drinker. I’ve stopped for 2 years, tried to adopt a better or more politically correct lifestyle and yet, no matter how hard I try, the past still have a grip on me.

Here I am had about 4 glasses of red and they really help me spill out what’s on my mind which is something which is really hard for me to do sober. Perhaps it’s the inhabitation on the conscious by the alcohol which makes it really easy for me to decipher what’s on my subconscious. To me that’s relaxing in the sense that I’ve always been bugged by what’s on my subconscious.

Subconsciously, I long for what I’ve lost. I tried, consciously to resolve my fall but nevertheless doing things correctly isn’t easy. Never was. I gave up drinking, clubbing and well; too bad I still smoke, trying to earn my way back to society. It didn’t work, maybe it did but for sure I am very disappointed with the progress of it all.

Four glasses of wine, two taken slow, two down the throat and I feel at peace. Peace I could never gain in a rational state of mine. It’s open, thoughts flow like smooth champagne. It’s easier for me to think, it’s almost like an orgasm, where thoughts are so clear, as if time just stood still. It’s there, just reach out for it. Suddenly things become so clear, so logical and so defined. It’s an agony isn’t it? That’s what I call the agony of irony.

Melancholic

To be born blind is bad but to be born fine and turn blind is worse. Similarly, to be fucked in the head (depressed) is bad but to be fucked in the head and knowing it is worse. Anyone wish to disagree?

Part 1: On Choices

A few nights ago I attended a farewell party of a mate’s girl leaving for Syria for a commissioned photography work. So there I was, sipping, more aptly said downing my Carlton Draught. You see, I was a little out of place due to the fact I was the only bloody Asian that made it, the rest there were a bloody bunch of literature geeks enjoying alcohol over endless games of backgammon. So there I was planted on the couch, finishing my beer conversing with this lady (girl’s mom) who is also a little out of water in the so-called party scene. Our conversation was naturally steered to the topic of immigrants (should have seen that coming now yea?) and one very particular point that was raised by her was how people resist change because they are afraid of it. Change, now that ring a bell.

(Note the paragraph; someone commented that I should introduce paragraphs to facilitate easy reading. Easy on the eyes she says.)

I am more or less familiar with change, you may say who isn’t? Let’s explore change a little further. Change itself is unavoidable (anyone who has worn the same underpants since you’re a kid, you need help.). Some changes affect us more significant than others; it is the changes which is the result of our very own decisions that carry the heaviest impact in our life. They no doubt affect us the most. They are the one which can boost our ego, fill our wallets, dry our bank accounts or even force us to change the way we live, our outlook on life (on other people’s life) and these are the bits that tend to haunt us and linger around a bit more, least that’s for me.

Looking back, there are two major decisions which I’ve made so far in life which ultimately lead to very significant changes, which make them very significant decisions. Funny thing is these decisions aren’t often made out of the blue but yet they still zip pass our mind when we made them, often going unnoticed for years unlike say the decision made to drink a mixture beer and whisky with a sprinkle of cigarette ash; that’s regret and a night by toilet bowl.

Going back to the point or rather back about eight years ago, I was in Form Two (secondary two) when I was fourteen. I could still remember clearly, that was the time where the class is still trying to settle down; trying to strike equilibrium, who and who’s not in the food chain (yea, kind of like those teen flicks). So, where did I stand back then? I probably was grouped in along the masses, although I often drifted along. Somehow, the oh-so-cliché conversations and ad nauseam politics of the majority did not quite appeal to me. As a result, I ended up doing the ping-pong thing between the normal freaks and the freaks that ensured sufficient chalk was wasted by being used as projectiles from the very back of the class. Yes, those annoying, ever-laughing ones and the funny thing is that they aren’t borderline grade pupils. They leave the rest in chalk dust with almost excellent grades (“ape ni? Kerja tak siap tapi markah bukan main tinggi” remarked the science teacher; in English it says “work not done, yet bloody high marks”). I found that interesting.

Not surprisingly, over the next twelve months or so I grew closer to the chalk-throwing group. The reason being the majority didn’t make me laugh enough, being a tad dry on humour whiles the other; they were wasted long before alcohol became regular consumption. Jokes were good. Poking fun at the fat bastard (no offences, just being true to the event) was even better. Setting fire to the waste paper bin that was to my credit. Hours seemed to tick like minutes while homework tend to pile and exercise books shredded pages for projectiles when chalk ran ridiculously low. Yea that wickedly evil sense of humour so obnoxious the teachers can’t choose to ignore drew me closer to them. They were in no doubt offensive; trouble to the rest they may be but hey, the jokes were good, they still are!

The line came close at the end of the year after the final exams when I discovered a little something as I was drifting around. The chalk throwers were absent, the rest weren’t. A little conversation they had with the English teacher was overheard by me. They were bustling with joy. They should, they were busy electing themselves to participate in an English Quintet held out of state. So you ask, what’s wrong with the picture? The bloody painting was! People who were barely scoring a meagre B for the language doing representing the school for an English Quintet? Why aren’t chalk-throwing first-class students being selected? They may have thrown chalks but they are the best when it comes to the language English. They weren’t even made notice of the event. Get the picture now? I questioned the action of the majority It sure had me questioning their integrity. To me that’s blatantly ungraceful; there you are, students whom others look upon, whom teachers pet, stabbing the rest in the back. A quick buzz to the chalk people after school and unrest were ensured.

The chalk-throwing people are a closed bunch. They moved as a pack, they stayed as a pack. Those of you who have been to school, hopefully, would know better how a pack is. You don’t join them, you can’t. You can talk to them, you can hang around them, laugh with them but you will never be one of them and hear about things they say about you behind your back. Instead, you had to be invited into the pack. The phone call I made was the invitation. I chose to make that call.

Silly-school-kiddie shits you say yea? Not actually, looking back now after almost a decade of silly shits, the group did eventually stayed on, evolved and became the table talk of the staffroom by the time we hit From 4. Unfortunately we were not talked about in a delightful manner. The teachers felt threatened, they always do when one exhibits a little too much independence compared to the rest. Soon, we were branded as rebels, worse still, they called us the black sheep of the class and things started to wane and wither.

Still, today, out of the five, three of us still remained as we did back then; laughing as we did eight years ago on recycled jokes and events untold, and yes we still refer to ourselves as the group like we did back then. Funny how things change and how some stays the same yea? The rest of them, truth and honour proved too much for them to sallow as they went their separate ways and bit the hand that fed them.

So much for the group, as for me, what did I get out of all this mumbo-jumbo? It was that phone call which made me part of the group and it was through the group that my principles were formed. Those principles were to eventually lead to me making that second significant decision; her. What about her you ask? Well, I choose to leave that for another post, another day.

Ps: Yes, this post appears to be as dry as gin and not as tasteful as tonic. I wrote this dead sober.

Time and time again

Time is gonna change you, once it gets you on the run, gets you on the run

(Ben Harper – There will be a light)

I’m a sucker for nostalgia, really. I have a habit of setting high goals and most of the time I do end up achieving them or just getting close enough for me to be contented. Well, anyway, that was in the past. Time and time again I find myself sitting with a cup of tea over thoughts. Such times I browse through memories and see events from the past unfold themselves as fresh as olives in Tuscany. This act of browsing would soon lead to the act of questioning. “Where did I go wrong?” One would be amazed at the numerous times I’ve asked myself the very same question. “Did I go wrong?” Yes, I did. Somewhere along the lines, something went very, very wrong. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be sitting at the corner with these little thoughts. Perhaps I’ve mellowed down, in my ways and attitude towards life but that shouldn’t be the case now should it? I mean, I am supposed to be in prime age, where only stars are out of reach, maybe even not. Yet, everything breezes by as I gentle stroll down memory lane. Somehow or rather, things have certainly changed, I’ve changed. How much have I changed? Pretty much to some, none to the rest I guess. I’ve distanced myself from the ever bustling society, instead I opt to bask alone in the sun and really get into my cup of coffee. I hesitate to retaliate; now I listen. I no longer run and climb high and low instead I walk real slowly by the riverside watching the rest of the world pass me by. I’ve certainly mellow down haven’t I? Maybe it’s for the better maybe not. I had dreams and hopes high as Everest. Those have been pretty much reduced to a more realistic scale, maybe even less. True enough what they say, once bitten twice shy. At times I wish I wasn’t thrown the brick when I was speeding through life, but then again, I wouldn’t have learn my lesson now would I?

Into the night

A rush, glancing from a distance as I drifted away to subconscious. Mate sat still, half wasted. Bodies brushed against mine as I looked for a familiar sight, I let a silent sigh. Crowds of people, bodies moved in rhythm to each other. I saw myself wasted away, a glance none I had. I sat still as the floor was emptied, concoctions of emotions bellowed me. It was loud indeed. Still portraits played in my mind, bodies moving swift as I stood still. Thoughts rushed through my head while the music kept pumping. People, wannabe rock-stars, P. Diddy’s and Britney Spears danced their way through the night. Angels were out to play, devils pouncing all the way. It was melancholic, almost surreal. People met, girls get picked. Alas, the music fades and all that was left was an empty dance floor and bottles waiting to be picked. My mate and I slowly disappeared into the leaving crowd, knowing it wasn’t our night. All faded into silence as we emerged from heterotopia. All was gone. All that was left was a faint memory, naïve to senses of the night. We left alone, no numbers, no hugs and no hurrays. Alas! I remember better days, where the nights were always young, where people came out to play and play they did. I recall very well, senses provoked as we slipped and sipped each others bodily language. All that is left now are merely memories of sweeter days. I long for those time and time again.

….and I can’t fucking post this shit because the fucking net connection is down again. Leftovers for the morning. Fuck!

I need my fix.

Striking a balance, that strikes my mind every time I think about my life. Life, indeed it has been a hangover, a very long one since 2001. If only it was a hangover, pop a couple of painkillers, down a couple bottle of Gatorade and I’ll be back on my feet, only it’s not. 2001, it certainly been a few years, looking back there’s 1997, every more years to add. The significance of events, they unfold themselves like bloody clothes left too long in the drier. It’s a hangover because I’ve been sober; no longer intoxicated by the life I live. I’m no longer living by the high of success, ultimately no longer immortal. It’s funny how life takes a turn, one event leads to a chain of others, every single one systematically tailored to bring me down to my knees to sober me up. I miss that feeling, the tickle down my neck I get back in those good old days. I was flying high, mountains did not bother me, and easy did I scale them. They didn’t bother me, those dreams, rather nightmares. Since that day when it all came crumbling down, I hung by a thin strand of thread not wanting to give in. I screwed up, I messed up and I should have seen it, in the end, even she left. Not to be mistaken, I did love her, I did want her but it was the significance of me which she carried that makes me long for her. She reminded me of my days of achievements, my days of high immortality. She’s long gone and I’m sober. She left along with 2001.

Deep shit

I have a paper at 2pm tomorrow. That leaves me less than 12 hours to study. I started studying 2 hours ago. I can't study. I find it hard to concentrate. I am suffering from bouts of depression and the freaking wet weather ain't helping.

I'm officially 22

Birthdays are amazing. Mine was mind blowing. There wasn't any big parties, drunken acts etc, just a awesome dinner with EL and a little traditional cake cutting thingy with the rest of the Malaysians. What amaze me are the events prior to and after my "big day". I flushed my high distinction for design down the drain which on a larger picture, i flushed my oppourtuniy to potentially put an end to the bouts of depression I've been going through. That was two days to my birthday. On my birthday I unfortunately to have unknowingly offended a friend, a close friend. Today, that close friend took it out on me by rubbing in how and why I fucked up my design, right down to the finest most minute detail with not a grain of sugar to soften the bitterness. To paraphrase, it's like having blurry vision and a cut, where you can feel the pain but can't see the cut then this person comes along and forced a pair of glasses onto you. Your sight becomes instantly clear and all you see is your limb ripped off, dangling by the skin. That's probably how I feel at the moment. Ripped apart, stabbed again at the same spot and dipped in salt. I can't possibly write anymore.