Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Comic Relief - Not
Again, Blogger chooses to hate me, so no Comic Relief tonight.
Don't worry, loyal fans, I'm alright.
That being said, Aston's has a tendency to never disappoint, an observation which I was reminded of so deliciously tonight.
Don't worry, loyal fans, I'm alright.
That being said, Aston's has a tendency to never disappoint, an observation which I was reminded of so deliciously tonight.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Monday, November 05, 2007
Comic Relief #45
By the time most of you read this, it would be our 78 month anniversary. To the one who I celebrate it with, thank you, sorry and I'll talk to you soon.
Rumpled Sheets
Staring across my checkered sheets, blanket thrown back over a strage lump which I assume is a collection of socks and books, I see the door of my room. And find myself wondering about things.
People change all the time. Be it for good or bad, change is the only constant in this big party we call life. I remember my first day at school when I was in Primary 1, Secondary 1, JC 1 and now here. Add the "school" on Tekong, and I've had my fair share of first day changes, which are usually some of the most traumatic someone can have.
Sometimes you don't realise how big a change something really is until you're on the verge of making it. Then it hits you, like a truck in the chest. Shit, really? Yeah.
You catch your breath, your heart skips a beat. But not the feel-good kind of heart-skipping breath-catching. It's more along the lines of fear and hesitation, confusion and depression perhaps. So you call off your decision, like how you've postponed everything.
And you sit alone, silent except for the incessant cackling of the air-conditioning, wondering.
Wondering about the consequences of going through with something you're so afraid to do. Wondering if it's all one big ungly mistake. But when you're stuck between a rock and a hard place, you're faced with but the illusion of choice. Hobson's choice.
We all make decisions, but in the end, our decisions make us.
I haven't made mine yet.
What does that say?
People change all the time. Be it for good or bad, change is the only constant in this big party we call life. I remember my first day at school when I was in Primary 1, Secondary 1, JC 1 and now here. Add the "school" on Tekong, and I've had my fair share of first day changes, which are usually some of the most traumatic someone can have.
Sometimes you don't realise how big a change something really is until you're on the verge of making it. Then it hits you, like a truck in the chest. Shit, really? Yeah.
You catch your breath, your heart skips a beat. But not the feel-good kind of heart-skipping breath-catching. It's more along the lines of fear and hesitation, confusion and depression perhaps. So you call off your decision, like how you've postponed everything.
And you sit alone, silent except for the incessant cackling of the air-conditioning, wondering.
Wondering about the consequences of going through with something you're so afraid to do. Wondering if it's all one big ungly mistake. But when you're stuck between a rock and a hard place, you're faced with but the illusion of choice. Hobson's choice.
We all make decisions, but in the end, our decisions make us.
I haven't made mine yet.
What does that say?
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Double Jeopardy
What do you do when you are wrongly accused, judged and punished for something that you didn't do? Do you come out of the whole ordeal and try to make amends for whatever had contributed to the whole situation?
Or do you go ahead and do what you are said to have done and be what you are called?
I loved the concept of double jeopardy that was the focal point in the movie of the same name. You can't get punished twice for the exact same crime once you've been handed and have served your sentence. Woman is accused of killing husband, goes to prison, comes out and sees husband. Plots to kill him. In public.
In real life, few such dramatics occur (You blow his head off in the middle of Mardi Gras and walk away) though it can be equally argued that life is but a play and we are but players in this huge drama.
When someone is wrongly accused of something, despite his denial, by someone supposedly close to him, what are his options?
When you judge someone guilty, you can only really do it once.
Or do you go ahead and do what you are said to have done and be what you are called?
I loved the concept of double jeopardy that was the focal point in the movie of the same name. You can't get punished twice for the exact same crime once you've been handed and have served your sentence. Woman is accused of killing husband, goes to prison, comes out and sees husband. Plots to kill him. In public.
In real life, few such dramatics occur (You blow his head off in the middle of Mardi Gras and walk away) though it can be equally argued that life is but a play and we are but players in this huge drama.
When someone is wrongly accused of something, despite his denial, by someone supposedly close to him, what are his options?
When you judge someone guilty, you can only really do it once.
Writer's Block
I started off this post with a few cliche phrases and whatnot, knowing full well that I hate them. Since then, I've revised it about seventeen times, all the while trying to get rid of a bothersome itch between my shoulderblades and having the feeling of an important idea just at the edge of your mind, tantalisingly out of reach.
Fuck.
There goes another three annoyingly idiotic paragraphs.
Screw this.
Everyone deserves a second chance, I'm told.
But do they really?
Fuck.
There goes another three annoyingly idiotic paragraphs.
Screw this.
Everyone deserves a second chance, I'm told.
But do they really?
Friday, November 02, 2007
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Comic Relief #34
So, Lars and the Real Girl is actually brilliant. I say "actually" like I didn't expect it, but that's false. The trailers already looked great. To anyone who watches the movie and doesn't like it, GTFO.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
Tribute
A good friend of mine recently told me (again) how lucky I was to have someone like her.
Another good friend of mine once told me that she was the good-looking one in the relationship.
Someone once patted me on the back after learning that I've stuck with her for more than half a decade, and I never felt prouder.
I remember the feeling of my gut sinking when she sank to the turf that dark day.
I can remember the adolescent excitement I used to have when mIRC told me that ^JeRSeY^ was online.
I still have ticket stubs, faded beyond recognition. Some of those movies we didn't even "watch"...
I still feel the sweat of anxiousness of a first date whenever I come by to pick her up.
Her voice still lingers on in my head, echoing like there is nothing else in there.
The towel I walked so far to get, the striped one, is still an important part of our life, even if I have no idea where it is now.
When I was lying in that hospital bed, feeling like roadkill, she came in and made me feel better with some "traditional medicine".
Purple thin ones at the viewing mall.
The CD I made her, she broke in front of my face, breaking my heart. She's done it so many times, but has always made up for it.
The only girl I've ever cried for.
The only girl I've ever truly smiled for.
I love her.
Another good friend of mine once told me that she was the good-looking one in the relationship.
Someone once patted me on the back after learning that I've stuck with her for more than half a decade, and I never felt prouder.
I remember the feeling of my gut sinking when she sank to the turf that dark day.
I can remember the adolescent excitement I used to have when mIRC told me that ^JeRSeY^ was online.
I still have ticket stubs, faded beyond recognition. Some of those movies we didn't even "watch"...
I still feel the sweat of anxiousness of a first date whenever I come by to pick her up.
Her voice still lingers on in my head, echoing like there is nothing else in there.
The towel I walked so far to get, the striped one, is still an important part of our life, even if I have no idea where it is now.
When I was lying in that hospital bed, feeling like roadkill, she came in and made me feel better with some "traditional medicine".
Purple thin ones at the viewing mall.
The CD I made her, she broke in front of my face, breaking my heart. She's done it so many times, but has always made up for it.
The only girl I've ever cried for.
The only girl I've ever truly smiled for.
I love her.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Crash
Everything that has a beginning has an end.
Seems that everything has crashed just a little in recent times. Blue screens, dead Macs, lonely ties, flashless cameras, unscored penalties, yellowed text-books and clown smiles are but a few of the things spiralling around the people around me right now, even as I try to hold on to some semblance of sanity in this wild world.
Unfortunately, many of us never get to test the afore-mentioned quote; many things don't even have beginnings. More often than not, though, many of us simply fail to believe that the beginnings could or should happen at all, living simply with a pang of regret and doubt swirling in their being until something trivial distracts them for a time. A frayed knot, hanging by a door-jamb? I'm afraid not.
Others do make the proactive attempt to initiate something. Chasing a dream is almost always noble, though sometimes the magic of a dream is in the journey, and not the destination. Other times you might need to realise that some dreams need more than one mind, heart or body to be truly fulfilled, and that the distinction between dream and reality can be so hazy yet tangible at the same time.
There are few things less awkward, if not painful, than waiting for a response. Hoping for one, and knowing deep down that there is every chance you'll be disappointed. It's one thing to put up a brave face and smile at the cameras, but every photo has its negative, and behind every shot there lies a story waiting to be told. A picture paints a thousand words, but often they remain unspoken in more ways than one.
To some, the single-minded pursuit of apparent perfection is a virtue, to others, a fault. A scholar can be branded a heretic, a diligent student can be labelled a geek. But we all know that textbooks don't hold all the answers. If life is but a huge math problem, the formula to solve it has not been proven yet; we are all but random variables in its twists and turns. You don't study for life, in any way you look at it.
Then there are the times where things are so plain to see for just about everybody else except those invovled in the act. It's like watching a film with unrestricted narration; you see the bomb, you know the bomb is there, but the hero can't detect it because of an inconvenient shadow. What will happen, as the hero and heroine remain oblivious to their surroundings, caught up in their own world of happy thoughts and sparkling lights?
Sometimes relief comes in the things we take for granted. It is said you don't know what you have till it's gone, and I do believe it's very true. Sometimes all it takes is a brief absence, the threat of separation, for someone to cherish another even more dearly, clutched to their heart the thing that seems to fill their world with meaning and light, music and laughter.
Of course, at times things go awry and the only person to blame is staring right back at you in that blue screen. Maybe things could have been sorted out before, maybe the memories could have been saved. Perhaps it isn't truly your fault, perhaps your innocence is hardly feigned. But crashes always happen, and while they rarely reign in the end of all things, they can be a pain, in more ways than one.
Seems that everything has crashed just a little in recent times. Blue screens, dead Macs, lonely ties, flashless cameras, unscored penalties, yellowed text-books and clown smiles are but a few of the things spiralling around the people around me right now, even as I try to hold on to some semblance of sanity in this wild world.
Unfortunately, many of us never get to test the afore-mentioned quote; many things don't even have beginnings. More often than not, though, many of us simply fail to believe that the beginnings could or should happen at all, living simply with a pang of regret and doubt swirling in their being until something trivial distracts them for a time. A frayed knot, hanging by a door-jamb? I'm afraid not.
Others do make the proactive attempt to initiate something. Chasing a dream is almost always noble, though sometimes the magic of a dream is in the journey, and not the destination. Other times you might need to realise that some dreams need more than one mind, heart or body to be truly fulfilled, and that the distinction between dream and reality can be so hazy yet tangible at the same time.
There are few things less awkward, if not painful, than waiting for a response. Hoping for one, and knowing deep down that there is every chance you'll be disappointed. It's one thing to put up a brave face and smile at the cameras, but every photo has its negative, and behind every shot there lies a story waiting to be told. A picture paints a thousand words, but often they remain unspoken in more ways than one.
To some, the single-minded pursuit of apparent perfection is a virtue, to others, a fault. A scholar can be branded a heretic, a diligent student can be labelled a geek. But we all know that textbooks don't hold all the answers. If life is but a huge math problem, the formula to solve it has not been proven yet; we are all but random variables in its twists and turns. You don't study for life, in any way you look at it.
Then there are the times where things are so plain to see for just about everybody else except those invovled in the act. It's like watching a film with unrestricted narration; you see the bomb, you know the bomb is there, but the hero can't detect it because of an inconvenient shadow. What will happen, as the hero and heroine remain oblivious to their surroundings, caught up in their own world of happy thoughts and sparkling lights?
Sometimes relief comes in the things we take for granted. It is said you don't know what you have till it's gone, and I do believe it's very true. Sometimes all it takes is a brief absence, the threat of separation, for someone to cherish another even more dearly, clutched to their heart the thing that seems to fill their world with meaning and light, music and laughter.
Of course, at times things go awry and the only person to blame is staring right back at you in that blue screen. Maybe things could have been sorted out before, maybe the memories could have been saved. Perhaps it isn't truly your fault, perhaps your innocence is hardly feigned. But crashes always happen, and while they rarely reign in the end of all things, they can be a pain, in more ways than one.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Comic Relief #25
The only person I know who can (supposedly) consistently shower faster than most people in Tekong.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Questionable Contacts
At time of writing, I sit here wringing my hands and wondering if the dull ache in my leg will ever pack up and leave. Swallowing gingerly because it seems the back of my throat has transformed into something resembling a flaming cactus. Bending over (sideways) as my back has always been a tad problematic. And I risk a glance at the nearby bathroom. Just in case I need it. Again.
I receive a notification on MSN, in the midst of reassuring someone that yes, it is indeed a cute song and that I will listen to it, and listening to someone else who happens to be attracting a host of potential suitors without apparently trying. Hot stuff, that. Campus babe and all.
Another one.
I click OK and check thelittle box to add yet another disembodied soul to my growing MSN list, wondering who in the blue hell it is. It's bad enough that I receive phantom text messages from people asking me out to a mutual friend's; now I've had 4 people in 3 days add me to their lists, and I don't know who the hell they are.
Don't get me wrong, I'm hardly antisocial (most of the time) but I just like to know who exactly these people are. I've never been a fan of the "random chat" function of the classic ICQ (remember that?) and I've sure as hell never gone up to a random person on IRC and asl-ed him/her.
So whoever you are who's been adding me to MSN, I don't mean to sound disrespectful, rude, offensive, crude or crazy, but tell me who you are.
And if someone to the rest of you, don't get any weird ideas. If I get flooded with messages going "HI NAZ MY NAME IS SALLY REMEMBER ME" or "HELLO NAZ THIS IS JAG FROM SCHOOL JUST SO YOU KNOW SEE YOU TOMORROW LOL HALO 3 IS AWESOME BYE", I will personally, uh, well, let your imagination run wild.
I receive a notification on MSN, in the midst of reassuring someone that yes, it is indeed a cute song and that I will listen to it, and listening to someone else who happens to be attracting a host of potential suitors without apparently trying. Hot stuff, that. Campus babe and all.
Another one.
I click OK and check thelittle box to add yet another disembodied soul to my growing MSN list, wondering who in the blue hell it is. It's bad enough that I receive phantom text messages from people asking me out to a mutual friend's; now I've had 4 people in 3 days add me to their lists, and I don't know who the hell they are.
Don't get me wrong, I'm hardly antisocial (most of the time) but I just like to know who exactly these people are. I've never been a fan of the "random chat" function of the classic ICQ (remember that?) and I've sure as hell never gone up to a random person on IRC and asl-ed him/her.
So whoever you are who's been adding me to MSN, I don't mean to sound disrespectful, rude, offensive, crude or crazy, but tell me who you are.
And if someone to the rest of you, don't get any weird ideas. If I get flooded with messages going "HI NAZ MY NAME IS SALLY REMEMBER ME" or "HELLO NAZ THIS IS JAG FROM SCHOOL JUST SO YOU KNOW SEE YOU TOMORROW LOL HALO 3 IS AWESOME BYE", I will personally, uh, well, let your imagination run wild.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Meh
Blogger is being a bitch, so no Comic Relief today.
Happy birthday Shaun.
And to the two girls I know who have recently separated (not from each other), I hope you feel better soon.
Happy birthday Shaun.
And to the two girls I know who have recently separated (not from each other), I hope you feel better soon.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
A Long Weekend
Not looking forward to the next few days. Limping about, visiting relatives, which means that everyone will be sitting around and waiting for everyone else to leave. Perhaps some of the younger kids will find some mindless game to amuse themselves before I am met with their drivel.
It's going to be a long weekend.
So much for celebrations.
It's going to be a long weekend.
So much for celebrations.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Done
Walking away
From a chapter of my past
Thinking about
The real smile I had last
Watching the ring
As it fell upon the stone
Tracing the tear
As I failed to cast my own
Visions behind
Eyelids closed so tight
Memories hide
All the wrongs and all the rights
A pain in the leg
Both a metaphor and there
An pain in the heart
Or an aching everywhere
Cartoons and the like
Never seemed to bring you joy
A slap by the road
From a girl who loved a boy
But change always comes
Even mountains die in time
Irony circles
And even lovefools speak in rhyme
A lifetime we've had
But a lifetime spans ahead
Our laughter and love
Became dissent and only hate
If Cupid is watching
He can have back his arrow
Maybe he erred
He can check again tomorrow
But dreams always fade
When you lie awake at dawn
Reality bites
Losses bring us time to mourn
The Sun always sets
Even when the day is great
But days always end
Time does not a couple make
No happy endings
They were all so very wrong
No teal and velvet
No mushy wedding song
No more chances
Apologies so empty
No more goodbyes
Or wallowing in self-pity
So here it stops
Every road has its ending
No turning back
I'm done with just pretending
A breath so deep
It feels my heart would burst
But now I know
That would be but just a first
No Comic Relief today.
From a chapter of my past
Thinking about
The real smile I had last
Watching the ring
As it fell upon the stone
Tracing the tear
As I failed to cast my own
Visions behind
Eyelids closed so tight
Memories hide
All the wrongs and all the rights
A pain in the leg
Both a metaphor and there
An pain in the heart
Or an aching everywhere
Cartoons and the like
Never seemed to bring you joy
A slap by the road
From a girl who loved a boy
But change always comes
Even mountains die in time
Irony circles
And even lovefools speak in rhyme
A lifetime we've had
But a lifetime spans ahead
Our laughter and love
Became dissent and only hate
If Cupid is watching
He can have back his arrow
Maybe he erred
He can check again tomorrow
But dreams always fade
When you lie awake at dawn
Reality bites
Losses bring us time to mourn
The Sun always sets
Even when the day is great
But days always end
Time does not a couple make
No happy endings
They were all so very wrong
No teal and velvet
No mushy wedding song
No more chances
Apologies so empty
No more goodbyes
Or wallowing in self-pity
So here it stops
Every road has its ending
No turning back
I'm done with just pretending
A breath so deep
It feels my heart would burst
But now I know
That would be but just a first
No Comic Relief today.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Monday, October 08, 2007
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Corner of the Eye
"And this is why I hate people."
Yesterday saw me in the rare mood of nearly flinging a textbook at someone's face. It was already in my hand, I was weighing my options, so to speak. In the end, I decided that being suspended from school or charged with assault might not be worth the temporary pleasure of tracking the trajectory of a paperback missle en route to the source of my annoyance.
It's not rare that I feel annoyed. I was annoyed alot yesterday. I woke up annoyed, fighting back a tide of phlegm while trying to to aggravate my bad leg, fumbling for my Nokia as the theme from Sin City (Cells, by The Servant) plucked me from my slumber.
But I should rephrase my earlier statement.
Not the "source of my annoyance", but more along the lines of "the reason murder exists" or simply anal bitch.
The story so far...
Group project. Three guys and a girl. Girl doesn't show up for scheduled meeting to discuss presentation.
Fair enough.
Guys make do with assignment, come up with an outline for an essay.
At this point, think about what an outline for your own essay might entail.
I don't usually handle criticism very well. It's a fault of mine, I admit. Really. But what really irks me is when someone is critical of something that really isn't wrong at all.
If I had asked you what your favourite colour was and proceeded to ridicule you for answering "Blue" just because my favourite colour is silver, would you think I was in any way, shape or form justified? Or sane?
There we were, showing the "teacher" what we had come up with for an outline. And we were told we were wrong.
Firstly, she said, we had the numbering off.
Forgive me for being stoopid, but I didn't know that personal outlines required numbers with decimal places, following an apparently globalised system and code.
Taking a break from the strenuous task sitting on a table at the back of the class, she reached for the breakfast that was graciously provided by the school administration. Not two feet from my face.
"Can I have one?"
"Sure Ma'am, just don't eat in front of Naz."
Smirk.
"Oh, I'm sure it's fine, it will test his self-discipline."
And she tore open the plastic wrapping and ravaged the bun.
Wait a minute. Last time I checked, we here in clean green Singapore understood racial and religious issues and concerns. I don't spike food with beef when Hindus are going to dig in, and I don't expect that anyone goes around ripping the turbans off the heads of our Sikh friends.
So why in the blue hell is there a fucking teacher who claims to be a former lawyer fucking eating and smiling at the only Muslim in her class when she God Damn knows he is fucking fasting?
Self-discipline, yes. It takes alot of control and willpower not to grab her by her scrawy shoulders and deposit her out the window.
After glancing through the rest of the document while at the same time keeping an eye on the ceiling, she told us we needed to indicate every single point and sub-topic that we might want to touch upon in our essay.
Intro: History & Definition - Recent changes, etc
Later became
1. Intro
1.1 History
1.1.1 Recent changes
1.2 Definition
1.2.1 What
1.2.2 Who
1.2.3 Why
Out single page outline was starting to resemble the actual essay when one of us prudently pointed out that outlines shouldn't be more than a page in length.
"Oh, yes. Yours is too long. It has too many details."
Fuck you, you anal cross-eyed bitch.
"But Ma'am our outline before was only one page. You told us to expand it and include all these details."
"Yes, but it's too long now, too detailed."
"But what we did at first was a single page outline with everything we needed."
"I didn't see it."
And the unspoken retort of "Of course you didn't see it, you cross eyed mutant. You couldn't see an elephant if it farted in your face."
At this point I found the book in my hand, and the other two were already exasperated beyond compare.
If you've watched 300, you'd have remembered when Leonidas dropped his shield and helmet near the end, but gripped his spear and looked down at it, thinking of hurling the weapon to cause grievious bodily harm to Xerxes.
She is definitely not Xerxes, and I don't have the abs to be Leonidas, but it was slow-mo nonetheless.
But the moment passed, and I am still enrolled in school, though my urge to murder, maim and mutilate has never felt so right.
Yesterday saw me in the rare mood of nearly flinging a textbook at someone's face. It was already in my hand, I was weighing my options, so to speak. In the end, I decided that being suspended from school or charged with assault might not be worth the temporary pleasure of tracking the trajectory of a paperback missle en route to the source of my annoyance.
It's not rare that I feel annoyed. I was annoyed alot yesterday. I woke up annoyed, fighting back a tide of phlegm while trying to to aggravate my bad leg, fumbling for my Nokia as the theme from Sin City (Cells, by The Servant) plucked me from my slumber.
But I should rephrase my earlier statement.
Not the "source of my annoyance", but more along the lines of "the reason murder exists" or simply anal bitch.
The story so far...
Group project. Three guys and a girl. Girl doesn't show up for scheduled meeting to discuss presentation.
Fair enough.
Guys make do with assignment, come up with an outline for an essay.
At this point, think about what an outline for your own essay might entail.
I don't usually handle criticism very well. It's a fault of mine, I admit. Really. But what really irks me is when someone is critical of something that really isn't wrong at all.
If I had asked you what your favourite colour was and proceeded to ridicule you for answering "Blue" just because my favourite colour is silver, would you think I was in any way, shape or form justified? Or sane?
There we were, showing the "teacher" what we had come up with for an outline. And we were told we were wrong.
Firstly, she said, we had the numbering off.
Forgive me for being stoopid, but I didn't know that personal outlines required numbers with decimal places, following an apparently globalised system and code.
Taking a break from the strenuous task sitting on a table at the back of the class, she reached for the breakfast that was graciously provided by the school administration. Not two feet from my face.
"Can I have one?"
"Sure Ma'am, just don't eat in front of Naz."
Smirk.
"Oh, I'm sure it's fine, it will test his self-discipline."
And she tore open the plastic wrapping and ravaged the bun.
Wait a minute. Last time I checked, we here in clean green Singapore understood racial and religious issues and concerns. I don't spike food with beef when Hindus are going to dig in, and I don't expect that anyone goes around ripping the turbans off the heads of our Sikh friends.
So why in the blue hell is there a fucking teacher who claims to be a former lawyer fucking eating and smiling at the only Muslim in her class when she God Damn knows he is fucking fasting?
Self-discipline, yes. It takes alot of control and willpower not to grab her by her scrawy shoulders and deposit her out the window.
After glancing through the rest of the document while at the same time keeping an eye on the ceiling, she told us we needed to indicate every single point and sub-topic that we might want to touch upon in our essay.
Intro: History & Definition - Recent changes, etc
Later became
1. Intro
1.1 History
1.1.1 Recent changes
1.2 Definition
1.2.1 What
1.2.2 Who
1.2.3 Why
Out single page outline was starting to resemble the actual essay when one of us prudently pointed out that outlines shouldn't be more than a page in length.
"Oh, yes. Yours is too long. It has too many details."
Fuck you, you anal cross-eyed bitch.
"But Ma'am our outline before was only one page. You told us to expand it and include all these details."
"Yes, but it's too long now, too detailed."
"But what we did at first was a single page outline with everything we needed."
"I didn't see it."
And the unspoken retort of "Of course you didn't see it, you cross eyed mutant. You couldn't see an elephant if it farted in your face."
At this point I found the book in my hand, and the other two were already exasperated beyond compare.
If you've watched 300, you'd have remembered when Leonidas dropped his shield and helmet near the end, but gripped his spear and looked down at it, thinking of hurling the weapon to cause grievious bodily harm to Xerxes.
She is definitely not Xerxes, and I don't have the abs to be Leonidas, but it was slow-mo nonetheless.
But the moment passed, and I am still enrolled in school, though my urge to murder, maim and mutilate has never felt so right.
Monday, October 01, 2007
A Blight For Sore Guys
With the somewhat recent popularity of Facebook and previously Friendster, ICQ and mIRC, the internet has allowed us the opotunity to meet and mingle without actually having to meet and mingle. Hold up, this isn't your average essay/article on the pros and cons of the web; it's merely an above average critique of the con-men who act all spiderish on it.
Hello hottie...
Nice figure!
We should hang out and chill sometime soon.
Hey, can I get to know you?
There is something deeply disturbing about an individual who continually sends suggestive messages such as these to girls over the internet. Of course, I've failed to mention that this same dude is supposedly happily married (proudly displaying a picture of him and his wife on his profile page) while attempting to "get to know" these younger girls.
They're way out of his league anyway.
Firstly, all guys are in some way frisky. Gatal. Friendly. I admit (have been accused of) it. Others around me have been as well.
But at least we have the decency to not address complete strangers with the poser attitude of being an ultra cool pimp daddy.
That being said, there is one rather large example that I know of. I have actually taken a look at his friendster profile (or can get to it quickly) and he fits the bill perfectly. He must have married a completely illiterate and oblivious girl, for it seems she puts up with his crap like a dog with a master with a penchant for swift kicks to the ribs.
To you nice girls reading this (and the not-so-nice who I still call nice simply for being here), let me tell you how a guy's brain works.
He wakes up in the morning, replaying the highlights of a dream that contains either sex, violence, sports, or a combination of the three. He then takes a shower, still groggy, wondering about the girls he is going to meet that day and how to best impress them. Upon contact with the girls, he turns on the charm, to varying effects.
Most guys will be rewarded with smiles and girlish titters, laughter and the occasional friendly punch on the shoulder.
Other, more dashing ones like myself would fare slightly better.
There are also those who would view courtship like the way frogs and other amphibians and lower life-forms do.
If you try hard enough, with enough people, long enough, you're bound to score.
So while it's always nice to be friendly and responsive, actually replying to someone who says...
Hey there, you look hot!
...with a "friendly thank you" is actually the equivalent of a OHMAHGAWDIWANJOO to these sort of guys.
Trust me on this.
Now that we're all clear on that issue, I'll go back to my focal point, Big Daddy Drool. Here we have a prime example of the kind of guy you do not reply to on MSN, Friendster, Facebook or anywhere else for that matter. In fact, if he was the sole male survivor and the future of the human race depended on the dispersal of his seed among ther emaining women, I hope those ladies turn girl-on-girl really quick and enjoy what little time they have.
I have a strong urge to take a screenshot of the messages he sends to people I know, send it to his wife who is also conveniently registered on the service. Oh, the joys of the internet.
Hello hottie...
Nice figure!
We should hang out and chill sometime soon.
Hey, can I get to know you?
There is something deeply disturbing about an individual who continually sends suggestive messages such as these to girls over the internet. Of course, I've failed to mention that this same dude is supposedly happily married (proudly displaying a picture of him and his wife on his profile page) while attempting to "get to know" these younger girls.
They're way out of his league anyway.
Firstly, all guys are in some way frisky. Gatal. Friendly. I admit (have been accused of) it. Others around me have been as well.
But at least we have the decency to not address complete strangers with the poser attitude of being an ultra cool pimp daddy.
That being said, there is one rather large example that I know of. I have actually taken a look at his friendster profile (or can get to it quickly) and he fits the bill perfectly. He must have married a completely illiterate and oblivious girl, for it seems she puts up with his crap like a dog with a master with a penchant for swift kicks to the ribs.
To you nice girls reading this (and the not-so-nice who I still call nice simply for being here), let me tell you how a guy's brain works.
He wakes up in the morning, replaying the highlights of a dream that contains either sex, violence, sports, or a combination of the three. He then takes a shower, still groggy, wondering about the girls he is going to meet that day and how to best impress them. Upon contact with the girls, he turns on the charm, to varying effects.
Most guys will be rewarded with smiles and girlish titters, laughter and the occasional friendly punch on the shoulder.
Other, more dashing ones like myself would fare slightly better.
There are also those who would view courtship like the way frogs and other amphibians and lower life-forms do.
If you try hard enough, with enough people, long enough, you're bound to score.
So while it's always nice to be friendly and responsive, actually replying to someone who says...
Hey there, you look hot!
...with a "friendly thank you" is actually the equivalent of a OHMAHGAWDIWANJOO to these sort of guys.
Trust me on this.
Now that we're all clear on that issue, I'll go back to my focal point, Big Daddy Drool. Here we have a prime example of the kind of guy you do not reply to on MSN, Friendster, Facebook or anywhere else for that matter. In fact, if he was the sole male survivor and the future of the human race depended on the dispersal of his seed among ther emaining women, I hope those ladies turn girl-on-girl really quick and enjoy what little time they have.
I have a strong urge to take a screenshot of the messages he sends to people I know, send it to his wife who is also conveniently registered on the service. Oh, the joys of the internet.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Juh-Juh-Jaded...
I remember a good friend of mine used to have the hots for the girl in that Aerosmith video. I can't really remember what she looked like though, was she wearing green? Or was that just Jennifer Love Hewitt in Girl on TV?
I find myself feeling, well, jaded. I know that might seem a little weird or out of place to some others, seeing as how I don't exactly live a life of misery. I have a great girlfriend/wife/fiaance/dragon lady (eternally) by my side, am usually priveledged to be able to ride around looking snazzy in a (sometimes) shiny car, and (occasionally) enjoy the hedonistic pleasures that I used to only dream of or secretly watch online.
But I do.
I'm not entirely sure why exactly, but I think it might have a good deal to do with the kinds of people I have to encounter on a regular (read: day to day) basis.
Exhibit A
A teacher who personifies painfully anal, and not in any erotic way either. One who laughs at an unfortunate foreign student with difficulty getting around the English vocabulary, who dismisses a verbal presentation with a classy "Whatever" and one who might seem to be naturally inclined to view the world in wide-screen.
Exhibit B
Another teacher, but that is such a stretch of the term it isn't even funny anymore. It's like calling myself an internationally reknown and modest journalist/writer. The distinguishing difference between these analogies is that in the one invovling my person, it might actually come true in the future. I don't quite understand how someone who intentionally misinforms his largely-oblivious students and who can retort "OK, all of you, read the notes in your hands, I will stop talking. If you have any questions, come and see me." can be qualified to receive a friggin salary for his day's "work". If "looking smug" or "being maliciously boring" was in his job description, I'd say he'd need a raise though.
Exhibit C
And another teacher, can you detect a trend here? After several weeks of epileptic observation, I have concluded that this one is colour-blind. In case you are wondering how I came to this amazing deduction, you need to understand that when someone expects you to read black text on a dark blue background, while that someone is clad in a horrendous pink and white "top" (which, in all fairness, looks like the underside of a large piece of roadkill), you'd come to the same logic as I have. In addition to her unfortunate deficiency, we are also treated to roughly half an hour of verbal attendance taking every lecture, and sermons on the righteousness of a certain deceased professor and brief interludes on the inflections of a name.
Wow, I actually think I know what's been bugging me. Writing can be therapeutic after all.
Alright, I need to pack my shotgun now.
PS: There are more, but if I had included everything till Exhibit ZZZ93265 v81736, the Internet would crash.
I find myself feeling, well, jaded. I know that might seem a little weird or out of place to some others, seeing as how I don't exactly live a life of misery. I have a great girlfriend/wife/fiaance/dragon lady (eternally) by my side, am usually priveledged to be able to ride around looking snazzy in a (sometimes) shiny car, and (occasionally) enjoy the hedonistic pleasures that I used to only dream of or secretly watch online.
But I do.
I'm not entirely sure why exactly, but I think it might have a good deal to do with the kinds of people I have to encounter on a regular (read: day to day) basis.
Exhibit A
A teacher who personifies painfully anal, and not in any erotic way either. One who laughs at an unfortunate foreign student with difficulty getting around the English vocabulary, who dismisses a verbal presentation with a classy "Whatever" and one who might seem to be naturally inclined to view the world in wide-screen.
Exhibit B
Another teacher, but that is such a stretch of the term it isn't even funny anymore. It's like calling myself an internationally reknown and modest journalist/writer. The distinguishing difference between these analogies is that in the one invovling my person, it might actually come true in the future. I don't quite understand how someone who intentionally misinforms his largely-oblivious students and who can retort "OK, all of you, read the notes in your hands, I will stop talking. If you have any questions, come and see me." can be qualified to receive a friggin salary for his day's "work". If "looking smug" or "being maliciously boring" was in his job description, I'd say he'd need a raise though.
Exhibit C
And another teacher, can you detect a trend here? After several weeks of epileptic observation, I have concluded that this one is colour-blind. In case you are wondering how I came to this amazing deduction, you need to understand that when someone expects you to read black text on a dark blue background, while that someone is clad in a horrendous pink and white "top" (which, in all fairness, looks like the underside of a large piece of roadkill), you'd come to the same logic as I have. In addition to her unfortunate deficiency, we are also treated to roughly half an hour of verbal attendance taking every lecture, and sermons on the righteousness of a certain deceased professor and brief interludes on the inflections of a name.
Wow, I actually think I know what's been bugging me. Writing can be therapeutic after all.
Alright, I need to pack my shotgun now.
PS: There are more, but if I had included everything till Exhibit ZZZ93265 v81736, the Internet would crash.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
People I Know
The progeny of a weekend of boring nights...
PS: If you're name isn't in here... sorry.
Kisses Hugs And Delightful Inspirations
Just Everything And Nothing Never Is Enough
An Interesting Sociable Young Adventurous Hip Romantic And Zany Amiable Kiddo
Somebody Understands Long Tedious And Nonsensical Animated Hits
He Always Never Needs A Hug
So, A Jolly Indian, Very Amazingly Nice
Jumping Around Gaming Just Everyday Everytime Totally
Eccentric Rabbit Finds Exotic Nuclear Destructive Isotope
Finally A New Gigantic Xtreme Ultra Nerd
Ye Angry Queen In Need
Find A Zodiac Lie Every Easter
Everyday Finding Everything Irritating
Can Lousy Emergency Medics Ever Not Talk?
Suddenly He Enters My Mind Over-and Over...
Kids Everywhere Run Ragged Instead!
Kinda Evil Villian In Not So Evil Anymore-way Huh?
Wont I Live Lavishly Crapping Happily In Nova-scotia
Meet An Unusual Fellow And His Magic Yak
Find English Lies In Cheesy Interesting Articles
Never Attempt Zero Randomness Except Everyday Now
Joyous Or Holy, New Whispers Often Near God
A Zoo Has Animals, Right?
Kudos And Noise Irritate Anything
Hell Only Opens Every Yesterday
Dude, Everyone Understands English Lah
Maybe We Encountered Nudity
Xylophone Inspector Now Cooks His Erotic Embers
A Happy Man And Down-to-earth
Elephants Live In Zoos Although Bats Excite The Horde
Anytime Kings Murder, Anyone Lives
Average Nicety Going In Everyone's Boring Ordinary Head
Something Headed Everywhere Next November, Yeah?
Aethists Run To His Unlucky Rabbit
Neolithic Airhead That Announces Loudly In Earnest
Atrophy Likes Big Egomaniacs Ready Tomorrow
PS: If you're name isn't in here... sorry.
Kisses Hugs And Delightful Inspirations
Just Everything And Nothing Never Is Enough
An Interesting Sociable Young Adventurous Hip Romantic And Zany Amiable Kiddo
Somebody Understands Long Tedious And Nonsensical Animated Hits
He Always Never Needs A Hug
So, A Jolly Indian, Very Amazingly Nice
Jumping Around Gaming Just Everyday Everytime Totally
Eccentric Rabbit Finds Exotic Nuclear Destructive Isotope
Finally A New Gigantic Xtreme Ultra Nerd
Ye Angry Queen In Need
Find A Zodiac Lie Every Easter
Everyday Finding Everything Irritating
Can Lousy Emergency Medics Ever Not Talk?
Suddenly He Enters My Mind Over-and Over...
Kids Everywhere Run Ragged Instead!
Kinda Evil Villian In Not So Evil Anymore-way Huh?
Wont I Live Lavishly Crapping Happily In Nova-scotia
Meet An Unusual Fellow And His Magic Yak
Find English Lies In Cheesy Interesting Articles
Never Attempt Zero Randomness Except Everyday Now
Joyous Or Holy, New Whispers Often Near God
A Zoo Has Animals, Right?
Kudos And Noise Irritate Anything
Hell Only Opens Every Yesterday
Dude, Everyone Understands English Lah
Maybe We Encountered Nudity
Xylophone Inspector Now Cooks His Erotic Embers
A Happy Man And Down-to-earth
Elephants Live In Zoos Although Bats Excite The Horde
Anytime Kings Murder, Anyone Lives
Average Nicety Going In Everyone's Boring Ordinary Head
Something Headed Everywhere Next November, Yeah?
Aethists Run To His Unlucky Rabbit
Neolithic Airhead That Announces Loudly In Earnest
Atrophy Likes Big Egomaniacs Ready Tomorrow
Elementary
(Person) says:
there's actually something in my personal message too
(Person) says:
hahas
(Person) says:
if u can decipher it, i will treat u to a meal
(Person) says:
hahaha
nAz says:
in the tag board?
(Person) says:
no my msn nick personal message
nAz says:
oh
nAz says:
hmm
nAz says:
[CENSORED]
nAz says:
in there?
(Person) says:
yea
nAz says:
HA
nAz says:
[CENSORED]
(Person) says:
without the [CENSORED]
(Person) says:
WOW
(Person) says:
oh mann
(Person) says:
now i owe u a meal
(Person) says:
haha!
nAz says:
hahahahaha
(Person) says:
u are getting clever
nAz says:
are you implying that you thought I was stupid?
there's actually something in my personal message too
(Person) says:
hahas
(Person) says:
if u can decipher it, i will treat u to a meal
(Person) says:
hahaha
nAz says:
in the tag board?
(Person) says:
no my msn nick personal message
nAz says:
oh
nAz says:
hmm
nAz says:
[CENSORED]
nAz says:
in there?
(Person) says:
yea
nAz says:
HA
nAz says:
[CENSORED]
(Person) says:
without the [CENSORED]
(Person) says:
WOW
(Person) says:
oh mann
(Person) says:
now i owe u a meal
(Person) says:
haha!
nAz says:
hahahahaha
(Person) says:
u are getting clever
nAz says:
are you implying that you thought I was stupid?
Saturday, September 22, 2007
The Greatest (S)Hits
Relationships can be such complicated matters sometimes.
Everytime, really.
Movies and TV and love songs lie to the masses. No boy meets a girl only to secretly fall maddeningly in love with her, finding that she too has the same feelings towards him as they celebrate with a gentle kissing session against the sunset, on the hood of a Corvette.
I believe we are defined by our relationships. As Celine said in (the divinely excellent) Before Sunrise, "If there is any kind of magic in this world, it is in the act of understanding another person" because that's the gist of a relationship, I guess.
I've been lucky enough to find myself the girl, woman, that I can say I'm utterly and completely proud to call my own. At the same time, I've been able to surround myself with friends and minions who make me laugh and can show me a good time or two.
Not everyone is as blessed, of course. There are those who, try as they might, continue to feel lost (not you, Sul) or disappointed or confused or simply wrong. For these people, a few words of advice.
1. Never put up with anyone who physically abuses you. Even once. That's once too many. Even a good excuse leads to bad ones.
2. Remember to say the things you mean, and mean the things that you say. Don't hold back; regret is worse than rejection.
3. Be yourself. Even if it means commenting on the choice of meat at a cafeteria.
4.Sometimes it pays to be selfish. There's no point getting into or staying in something that will make you miserable, only to keep someone else marginally satisfied.
5. The only people worth changing for are the ones who love you just the way you are.
Everytime, really.
Movies and TV and love songs lie to the masses. No boy meets a girl only to secretly fall maddeningly in love with her, finding that she too has the same feelings towards him as they celebrate with a gentle kissing session against the sunset, on the hood of a Corvette.
I believe we are defined by our relationships. As Celine said in (the divinely excellent) Before Sunrise, "If there is any kind of magic in this world, it is in the act of understanding another person" because that's the gist of a relationship, I guess.
I've been lucky enough to find myself the girl, woman, that I can say I'm utterly and completely proud to call my own. At the same time, I've been able to surround myself with friends and minions who make me laugh and can show me a good time or two.
Not everyone is as blessed, of course. There are those who, try as they might, continue to feel lost (not you, Sul) or disappointed or confused or simply wrong. For these people, a few words of advice.
1. Never put up with anyone who physically abuses you. Even once. That's once too many. Even a good excuse leads to bad ones.
2. Remember to say the things you mean, and mean the things that you say. Don't hold back; regret is worse than rejection.
3. Be yourself. Even if it means commenting on the choice of meat at a cafeteria.
4.Sometimes it pays to be selfish. There's no point getting into or staying in something that will make you miserable, only to keep someone else marginally satisfied.
5. The only people worth changing for are the ones who love you just the way you are.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Remembering
On the eve of the anniversary of one of the most tragic and controversial events in world history, let me just point my minions to a few interesting opinions.
Loose Change
News Flash
What they say
Now, I'll leave you be.
Enjoy your stay, and do come again.
Loose Change
News Flash
What they say
Now, I'll leave you be.
Enjoy your stay, and do come again.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Live And Dream
Neil Gaiman writes of Morpheus or Oneiros, the Sandman, or Dream and how he resides and presides in all the fantastic little worlds we concoct in our heads. The tall, enigmatic and eclectic figure has become a favourite of mine since a few good friends of mine so brilliantly concluded that I deserved the pleasure of the first four books of the library.
Everyone has their own dreams, desires, delights and despairs. Not everyone will have theirs come true; indeed few truly do. It is said that the pursuit of the dream, or maybe the essence of the dream itself, something intangibly and utterfly wonderful that is just beyond reach, can be more rewarding than any actual reality, however it may coincide with what the dreamer may have originally, well, dreamt of.
When I'm driving alone on the highway, watching the shrubbery whizz by a few feet from my shoulder, I tend to break into song if a particularly cooperative track plays on the radio. Yes, you read right. Naz sings. Only when he's alone, though. Don't get your hopes up. No. No. Not even for two bucks.
No.
Others have their own dreams or fantasies. I know of a couple of school-mates who envision themselves as suave and cool secret agents, kicking in doors of empty classrooms and brandishing fist-pistols at imaginary shadow enemies while one or two bewildered girls walk on beside them. Then they glance up and realise that yes, every classroom does indeed have at least one security camera, and their antics have been immortalised in digital form.
Some use the medium of photography to weave a tale of intrigue or bright lights, snapping pictures of themselves in poses and expressions more suited for morgues or Halloween rags. A few others simply see themselves as celebrities and papparazzi at the same time, unable to resist the urge to shoot themselves (with a camera) at any given opportunity.
A wise woman once said, "I don't get it."
Now, I know what you're thinking; wise people usually get it, but I wasn't done yet.
"I don't get it. Everyone here goes to pieces about how hot or sexy Beyonce or J-Lo are, but then they strive to look like Nicole Ritchie."
Alright. First thing's first.
1. Jessica Alba
2. Scarlett Johansson
3. ...
4. ...
....
N. Nicole Ritchie
N+1. Rosie O' Donnell
That's the official hottness list, summarised by yours truly. Angelina Jolie is one of the ladies duking it out for third and fourth. And the list doesn't include the lucky ones who've been with me.
Back to business, the wise woman mentioned before also went on to talk about cats, marriage, shopping and cars, though I have prudently decided that you can, in fact, have too much of a good thing.
A girl I know in school half-shrieked in a lecture recently, "You think I'm FAT?!?!?"
This, from a waif in Prada or Gucci, who looks like the weight of her assorted riches might unbalance her easily.
It's just weird. And yes, I don't get it. How and why some actually rationalize the idea that a walking skeleton with a painted face and perky, err, humps, can be remotely considered umm... humpable.
Of course, neither do I get why half the world is fascinated with Beyonce and J-Lo's monolithic prosteriors or the absence of undergarments on a formerly-bald teeny-bopper or a hotel heiress' bedroom antics. Maybe it's just me.
Or maybe, just maybe, those members of the XX population that I have discreetly pointed at can rethink their remodelling campaigns.
Jessica Alba >>>>> All.
Except Khadi!
Everyone has their own dreams, desires, delights and despairs. Not everyone will have theirs come true; indeed few truly do. It is said that the pursuit of the dream, or maybe the essence of the dream itself, something intangibly and utterfly wonderful that is just beyond reach, can be more rewarding than any actual reality, however it may coincide with what the dreamer may have originally, well, dreamt of.
When I'm driving alone on the highway, watching the shrubbery whizz by a few feet from my shoulder, I tend to break into song if a particularly cooperative track plays on the radio. Yes, you read right. Naz sings. Only when he's alone, though. Don't get your hopes up. No. No. Not even for two bucks.
No.
Others have their own dreams or fantasies. I know of a couple of school-mates who envision themselves as suave and cool secret agents, kicking in doors of empty classrooms and brandishing fist-pistols at imaginary shadow enemies while one or two bewildered girls walk on beside them. Then they glance up and realise that yes, every classroom does indeed have at least one security camera, and their antics have been immortalised in digital form.
Some use the medium of photography to weave a tale of intrigue or bright lights, snapping pictures of themselves in poses and expressions more suited for morgues or Halloween rags. A few others simply see themselves as celebrities and papparazzi at the same time, unable to resist the urge to shoot themselves (with a camera) at any given opportunity.
A wise woman once said, "I don't get it."
Now, I know what you're thinking; wise people usually get it, but I wasn't done yet.
"I don't get it. Everyone here goes to pieces about how hot or sexy Beyonce or J-Lo are, but then they strive to look like Nicole Ritchie."
Alright. First thing's first.
1. Jessica Alba
2. Scarlett Johansson
3. ...
4. ...
....
N. Nicole Ritchie
N+1. Rosie O' Donnell
That's the official hottness list, summarised by yours truly. Angelina Jolie is one of the ladies duking it out for third and fourth. And the list doesn't include the lucky ones who've been with me.
Back to business, the wise woman mentioned before also went on to talk about cats, marriage, shopping and cars, though I have prudently decided that you can, in fact, have too much of a good thing.
A girl I know in school half-shrieked in a lecture recently, "You think I'm FAT?!?!?"
This, from a waif in Prada or Gucci, who looks like the weight of her assorted riches might unbalance her easily.
It's just weird. And yes, I don't get it. How and why some actually rationalize the idea that a walking skeleton with a painted face and perky, err, humps, can be remotely considered umm... humpable.
Of course, neither do I get why half the world is fascinated with Beyonce and J-Lo's monolithic prosteriors or the absence of undergarments on a formerly-bald teeny-bopper or a hotel heiress' bedroom antics. Maybe it's just me.
Or maybe, just maybe, those members of the XX population that I have discreetly pointed at can rethink their remodelling campaigns.
Jessica Alba >>>>> All.
Except Khadi!
Monday, August 27, 2007
Hot Dog
I'm a cat lover. It's true. I regularly make cute noises and/or snap my fingers at any half-cute cat I see wherever I go.
I usually don't have anything in particular against dogs, though. A certain someone and her Fluffy would attest to that as well. By the way, I still think the other one comes from the pits of hell.
Most dogs can be lovable and cuddly, things you'd go ga-ga over, almost like an extra-hairy little baby. Except I don't usually have the urge to kick them. So many movies and films have been made about dogs, not too many on cats, so surely they must all be this way, no?
All except the ones in Lorong Melayu.
You know how weird or scary or freaky or horny things happen on one particular street or district? Like Elm Street or Fear Street or Sesame Street? Well, down here in ol' Singapore, we have our very own stretch of road where dogs turn into vicious little mongrels.
There is a house there, with a flat-screen plasma TV. Now, you might think that many a house would have that spiffy addition to their living and/or bedroom(s), yes? You'd be right, too. But stay with me here, this house in particular has said appliance outside its walls. Yes, outside.
Like, climb-over-my-gate-and-run-off-with-my-Sony outside.
You can even grab a few pillows and cushions while you're at it.
Of course, I haven't finished my narrative. This beacon of pilferage is often watched over by a sentry. Not an armed security guard or anything, but a dog.
You see what I did there? I put everything together? Back to my story...
At first glance, the dog isn't all that impressive. Not big and imposing like a German Shepard or inspiring terror like a pit-bull. It's just... there. Still, the first glance is all it takes for the little bastard to snap.
And I mean snap.
If you've ever seen someone go beserk, or an elephant run amok, you'd know how someone or something can snap. Rage, drunkedness, so many things can lead to somebody just losing it. Unfortunately for the residents of Lorong Melayu, even a gust of wind can set this volatile freak off.
I've been walking down that stretch of road for over half a decade now, and I can safely say that there has never been a time where I had not been barked at by some crazy dicked bitch whith the intensity of Leonidas hurling his spear at Xerxes.
Seriously, that little monster sounds like he has a lighted pineapple up his urethra, barking like his owner's spiked his food with ecstacy. Now, that'd be funny. A canine junkie. But then I wouldn't be surprised if this one was thrown out of some competition years ago after failing a doping test.
I must confess, there have been many a time where I've walked my lady love home on a dark, quiet night, with only the wind and the stars to accompany our silent footfalls, only to have our moment shattered by a yipping that can only be described as moronic and maniacal.
Sigh. What I'd give for a shank of meat coated in arsenic.
I usually don't have anything in particular against dogs, though. A certain someone and her Fluffy would attest to that as well. By the way, I still think the other one comes from the pits of hell.
Most dogs can be lovable and cuddly, things you'd go ga-ga over, almost like an extra-hairy little baby. Except I don't usually have the urge to kick them. So many movies and films have been made about dogs, not too many on cats, so surely they must all be this way, no?
All except the ones in Lorong Melayu.
You know how weird or scary or freaky or horny things happen on one particular street or district? Like Elm Street or Fear Street or Sesame Street? Well, down here in ol' Singapore, we have our very own stretch of road where dogs turn into vicious little mongrels.
There is a house there, with a flat-screen plasma TV. Now, you might think that many a house would have that spiffy addition to their living and/or bedroom(s), yes? You'd be right, too. But stay with me here, this house in particular has said appliance outside its walls. Yes, outside.
Like, climb-over-my-gate-and-run-off-with-my-Sony outside.
You can even grab a few pillows and cushions while you're at it.
Of course, I haven't finished my narrative. This beacon of pilferage is often watched over by a sentry. Not an armed security guard or anything, but a dog.
You see what I did there? I put everything together? Back to my story...
At first glance, the dog isn't all that impressive. Not big and imposing like a German Shepard or inspiring terror like a pit-bull. It's just... there. Still, the first glance is all it takes for the little bastard to snap.
And I mean snap.
If you've ever seen someone go beserk, or an elephant run amok, you'd know how someone or something can snap. Rage, drunkedness, so many things can lead to somebody just losing it. Unfortunately for the residents of Lorong Melayu, even a gust of wind can set this volatile freak off.
I've been walking down that stretch of road for over half a decade now, and I can safely say that there has never been a time where I had not been barked at by some crazy dicked bitch whith the intensity of Leonidas hurling his spear at Xerxes.
Seriously, that little monster sounds like he has a lighted pineapple up his urethra, barking like his owner's spiked his food with ecstacy. Now, that'd be funny. A canine junkie. But then I wouldn't be surprised if this one was thrown out of some competition years ago after failing a doping test.
I must confess, there have been many a time where I've walked my lady love home on a dark, quiet night, with only the wind and the stars to accompany our silent footfalls, only to have our moment shattered by a yipping that can only be described as moronic and maniacal.
Sigh. What I'd give for a shank of meat coated in arsenic.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Chapter N
The boy waited in the afternoon gloom, made possible by the lack of initiative that the majority of his species is endowed with as the living room light remained darkened. His hands, like two bifurcated serpents wriggled endlessly across the largely-empty table, glimmering slightly from the thin, stretched plastic covering that pointed to a mother too busy to wipe off the furniture.
Rocking back and forth like a children's toy head that bobs, back and forth, he was staring at the single sheet of paper as I saw him through the portal of the cell he called a home. I wanted to announce my presence, it was the decent thing to do, but I couldn't, so mesmerised was I with the laconic flurry of twitching that supposedly added up to a boy. It was impossible. Not much more than a heap of murmuring and muttering. snickering and shrugging. That was what it was. But a boy, nonetheless. I sighed.
And stepped into the cell.
Almost immediately, I was accosted by two squealing little dervishes, twirling around my legs. Treading carefully, for I would want to refrain from allowing the larger of the two a swift and painful examination of my bag, I smiled bleakly and waited for them to let me pass. The larger of the two returned that macabre facial expression with a gap-toothed one of her own, chin and nose barely reaching my hip which seemed so able to simply, crunch.
The boy had not turned to look at me, acknowledge my presence. It is a special instance to be ignored by one who is unable to comprehend that ice is indeed colder than water, but I let it pass. File that away with all the other imbecilic brush-offs that my life has been punctuated by.
So it began.
Wordlessly handing me the sheet of paper that had appeared so tantalisingly distracting from the outside world, he went back into the semi-comatose state as I was left to interpret what I held in my hands. An angry red mark caught my attention. A single angry red mark. One stroke, one joint. Synapses fired, and it was a seven, I belatedly realised. Hot on the heels of that pleasant thought, my eyes wandered down a bit and found that the angry red seven was imprinted, by hand, over another digit, in ink.
No, digits.
Seven, from thirty. That's almost 25 percent, I gleefully told myself. An improvement.
At this point, let me take you somewhere else. Imagine yourself trapped in a crumbling building, alone, hungry, bleeding, unarmed, tired, scared and broke. You can even not have an eye or any other appendage. And you look out a crack in the plaster (with your one good eye) and see about seven zombies marching towards you. These things can be large, snarling, razor-clawed and be retro-fitted with rockets, but deep down, you know they are going to eat your brains. Slowly.
Then you sigh, look away, and tell yourself, at least it's seven. Not worse.
Back to the fallout of present-day Naz, that's how I was consoling myself. And at the same time, I felt my brains were being slowly chewed out while I could only wait.
Exasperation or irritation or aggravation would only be as accurate in describing my state of mind as saying "The sky is a little big."
For some reason, I recalled the term n that was widely used in mathematics, where that single character signified an unknown number, usually in a long repition or pattern. Here is where I stood. A lonely road-sign on the endless highway to nowhere.
David Eddings once used the phrase "... a look totally devoid of anything remotely resembling intelligence" and it was at that moment where I shared a special bond with the author. Survivors of war and catastrophes have their own little support groups and reunions. Right then I had joined the select council for Those Who Had Faced Down Blinding Stupidity And Lived To Talk About It.
Roughly an hour and a half after stepping into the chamber, I stood wearily, mumbling something about returning the next time. Thoughts whirred through my mind like hamsters in pudding as I had to stop to think of an appropriate time for the next session, hoping that it would not precede the end of all things.
I walked out, under my own power, a fact that I am strangely proud of. You try sitting through ninety minutes of such mind-numbing tedium. Watching two old women slap each other would have made me a better person than what I went through that day. Even the elevator seemed to be a throwback to days where lead and asbestos were reliable building materials. I punched "1" and the door closed, slowly, every so slowly. And did not even attempt to reopen to accomodate a desperately-sprinting woman who looked for all the world like she was escaping a rapist, but in reality was probably just wanting to buy 4-D.
The descent was painfully slow, just like everything else in the vicinity. Another sigh, another day gone by. Bye-bye brain cells.
Rocking back and forth like a children's toy head that bobs, back and forth, he was staring at the single sheet of paper as I saw him through the portal of the cell he called a home. I wanted to announce my presence, it was the decent thing to do, but I couldn't, so mesmerised was I with the laconic flurry of twitching that supposedly added up to a boy. It was impossible. Not much more than a heap of murmuring and muttering. snickering and shrugging. That was what it was. But a boy, nonetheless. I sighed.
And stepped into the cell.
Almost immediately, I was accosted by two squealing little dervishes, twirling around my legs. Treading carefully, for I would want to refrain from allowing the larger of the two a swift and painful examination of my bag, I smiled bleakly and waited for them to let me pass. The larger of the two returned that macabre facial expression with a gap-toothed one of her own, chin and nose barely reaching my hip which seemed so able to simply, crunch.
The boy had not turned to look at me, acknowledge my presence. It is a special instance to be ignored by one who is unable to comprehend that ice is indeed colder than water, but I let it pass. File that away with all the other imbecilic brush-offs that my life has been punctuated by.
So it began.
Wordlessly handing me the sheet of paper that had appeared so tantalisingly distracting from the outside world, he went back into the semi-comatose state as I was left to interpret what I held in my hands. An angry red mark caught my attention. A single angry red mark. One stroke, one joint. Synapses fired, and it was a seven, I belatedly realised. Hot on the heels of that pleasant thought, my eyes wandered down a bit and found that the angry red seven was imprinted, by hand, over another digit, in ink.
No, digits.
Seven, from thirty. That's almost 25 percent, I gleefully told myself. An improvement.
At this point, let me take you somewhere else. Imagine yourself trapped in a crumbling building, alone, hungry, bleeding, unarmed, tired, scared and broke. You can even not have an eye or any other appendage. And you look out a crack in the plaster (with your one good eye) and see about seven zombies marching towards you. These things can be large, snarling, razor-clawed and be retro-fitted with rockets, but deep down, you know they are going to eat your brains. Slowly.
Then you sigh, look away, and tell yourself, at least it's seven. Not worse.
Back to the fallout of present-day Naz, that's how I was consoling myself. And at the same time, I felt my brains were being slowly chewed out while I could only wait.
Exasperation or irritation or aggravation would only be as accurate in describing my state of mind as saying "The sky is a little big."
For some reason, I recalled the term n that was widely used in mathematics, where that single character signified an unknown number, usually in a long repition or pattern. Here is where I stood. A lonely road-sign on the endless highway to nowhere.
David Eddings once used the phrase "... a look totally devoid of anything remotely resembling intelligence" and it was at that moment where I shared a special bond with the author. Survivors of war and catastrophes have their own little support groups and reunions. Right then I had joined the select council for Those Who Had Faced Down Blinding Stupidity And Lived To Talk About It.
Roughly an hour and a half after stepping into the chamber, I stood wearily, mumbling something about returning the next time. Thoughts whirred through my mind like hamsters in pudding as I had to stop to think of an appropriate time for the next session, hoping that it would not precede the end of all things.
I walked out, under my own power, a fact that I am strangely proud of. You try sitting through ninety minutes of such mind-numbing tedium. Watching two old women slap each other would have made me a better person than what I went through that day. Even the elevator seemed to be a throwback to days where lead and asbestos were reliable building materials. I punched "1" and the door closed, slowly, every so slowly. And did not even attempt to reopen to accomodate a desperately-sprinting woman who looked for all the world like she was escaping a rapist, but in reality was probably just wanting to buy 4-D.
The descent was painfully slow, just like everything else in the vicinity. Another sigh, another day gone by. Bye-bye brain cells.
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