No Offense, but...

I hate dentists.

It’s more than a mere dogmatic creed, no, my hatred towards dentists has long since escalated to beyond loathing (and possibly further beyond).

Today, my abhorrence is at someplace we call infinity. Another trip there and I’ll be sure to quote Buzz Lightyear. Throw in a third consultation and I’ll murder anyone who utters the word dentist, orthodontist and teeth. I’m serious. Dead serious.

I have many reasons to dislike dentists, and perhaps I should be well inclined to inform you first that my hatred is purely irrational repugnance over several horrible experiences. It all began when my primary 3 dental nurse harshly forced me to brush my teeth with my fingers during an annual school teeth-brushing demonstration. Hey, I was a kid, and I happen to forgot bringing a toothbrush despite 14 reminders from my mother. Big deal. The nurse must’ve had a very bad day with a guy friend and that monthly thing to scold – yes let me repeat that obviously repulsive word – SCOLD at me for forgetting a stupid toothbrush. And she wants me to brush my teeth with my fingers, something I’m feeling uncomfortable doing because I happened to be the only boy apparently dumb enough to forget my toothbrush. Hence I stated my refusal, but no she can’t have any of that. So toothpaste on your forefinger, boy, and brush like I TELL you to.

And suddenly my entire vision and sugar-coated imagery of grinning dentists swirled into a revolting painting of sneering she-devils and a rather large beaver with a chainsaw for a toothbrush. If you ever wondered what The Ring video actually reminded me of, it’s dentists.

Then there was that dentist I had a couple of years later, who didn’t do anything particularly spiteful until I had the misfortune of watching him treat my brother. Which wasn’t so bad actually, but when I look at his EYES and I was like holy shit! Is he looking like he’s actually enjoying it? My brother was there squirming in pain, panic and fear and he looked like he was having the best freaking time of his life (I was too young to analogise it to orgasm, but I swear I remember him looking like he had his third coming). It’s traumatic, man.

A psychotic, insanely orgasmic looking dentist took his place beside the large beaver, sniggering while putting on his rubber gloves with a snap. The beaver revved the chainsaw.

Today, I almost deflated into a lumpy mash of skin at the sight of the dentist and that chair. He was a balding, meaty man with a belly the size you could only get by being pregnant or consuming 5 pieces of roti canai every morning. He looked jovial and kind enough, but it didn’t stop me from refraining myself from sinking a fist into his crotch when he started work on me.

OH MY GOD IT FUCKING HURTS. Bastard.

“Don’t panic,” he said. “Relax.”

How the fuck do I relax while having something that sounded like a miniature chainsaw plunged into my mouth? (Images of beaver rather vivid here)

“Relax. Open your mouth.”

Oh my cow from the plains of Minnesota, I want to punch him.

“Oops, there. Just relax.”

Tiu nia ma chiu chee bet…

“*mumbles*”

Am I dead? What’s he saying to mom? OMG I’m dead. It explains the numbness and the light I see shining so brightly to my eyes. He must’ve dropped that whatever thing into my throat and I’m immediately killed. That’s it. I’m going on a ghostly rampage on every damn dentist in town. I swear I won’t rest my soul unless I haunt off every single…

I walked out of the room feeling like a virgin sexually desecrated by a bubbly old man, and I had to pay for it. God damn, dentists not only operate on teeth but they slit your throats as well with paper cut from a very hefty bill.

God I hate dentists.

Oh, please note that I only hate dentists while they’re working. I’m sure they’re mostly fine, respectable people with a loving family and a Mercedes Benz in their car porch parked beside a Toyota Altis. Not to mention doing a great deed to the society by solving our tooth problems (for a price) and cleaning off a cavity or 2. Props to you!

Now leave me alone. Please. For your sake…

The over-protective me.

Is it alright to be particularly protective over a female pet dog? I’ve had Lanna for a couple of years now, and I don’t think I’m ever more affectionate towards a dog. And now I’m feeling a tad… father-ish. In the sense that I don’t want certain things to happen due to a personal stack of selfishness, much like a father unwilling to see his beautiful daughter marry a man he deems a malevolent pig under the skin of some random handsome dude.

The premise is this: Lanna had her period today. Dad has been going on for months now about letting her and Max, my pet Boxer… well, get married? Which is for the sake of the ‘next generation’ (of little Lannas and Maxes). To be honest, I’ve always expected… wanted, rather, for Lanna to bear the sons of Maximillion ‘Max’ Maximus De Moreallis (the full name for Max, which my brother gave). But somehow I can’t seem to stomach the fact that it’s happening now. I don’t know how, but I have this feeling that Lanna’s just not ready for it. Or rather, I’M not ready for it. In a naïvely idiotic way, I’m afraid that… that Lanna will change, and I don’t want her to change. I love the way that she’s incredibly hyperactive, overly enthusiastic and bursting with enough spunk and personality to drown Avril Lavigne in slobber (exaggerated).

But there’s nothing I can do to change my father’s mind (like something ever would), and I DO have to think on behalf of Max, who is getting rather old on his dog years. And particularly after those incidents where he managed to bust his testicles, perhaps he should quickly have a descendant or 2 before becoming permanently impotent (and with dad threatening to rid of those ‘manly-hoods’ if he damages either one of them again, I guess things should happen with haste).

And hence, under the dimming crimson sunlight of the evening, I led a surprised Max into Lanna’s cage.

It was a peculiar moment for me later when I went into the house. I found myself feeling restless and oddly anxious, and strode around the rooms in unease. Dad was retelling his story of X, one of our previous dogs, and its painful injuries caused over a female stray and a pack of some junkyard macho-hounds (with some added information, presumably exaggerated). Brother was thoroughly carefree. Mother was watching Chinese dramas in the room. The maid shot me a look whenever I happen to pass her in my strides. The dogs were noisy at first, barking and whining and rattling the cages (my imagination ran wild), and then… silence… (At this point the imagination is close to hysteria, fortunately subdued with television and The Simpsons).

Dad didn’t ask me to check to see if they’re ‘stuck’ or not until it was 20 minutes past contact.

And when I went to take a look…

I saw both their bemused head poking above the gates, hoping I would let them out for a game of catch.

Whether or not something happened during those 20 minutes, I doubt I’ll ever know (until a couple of weeks, if Lanna’s body undergoes some changes). But from what I saw, I don’t think something did, and I certainly hope that nothing had ever occurred

Anyhow, dad wanted to leave them there until morning, which is something I can’t have (I mean, both of them, in a cage together… heck, even wet wood would catch a fire in that situation). So I (secretly) tried to place them back to their respective cages only to have them barge into the garden (prompting dad’s discovery) and causing a massive bruise to my maid’s arm when she was trying to help.

Got a “WTF are you being such a bothering bother?!” scolding from dad, almost got into a quarrel with bro who was being an ass and now I’m riddled with guilt for causing injury to my maid because of my something somewhat ridiculous.

But can you blame me for being stupidly protective?

Hate, abhorrence, loathe and irrationality.

How often do you find someone which you loathe so much, that despite not seeing them for almost a year now you still find yourself flaring just by listening to their voices? Why is it that despite understanding my own reasons for such an enmity, and the silent efforts I make in order to forsake such a creed, can shatter explosively just at the very sight of her? Where is the forgiveness I normally reserve to people I believe that on second chances can make me overlook their fucking crappiness? If I may answer that myself perhaps there may never be certain forgiveness for her.

I guess now the answer is simple: I hate her. I abhor her. I loathe her.

Screw conscience, for once. I’ve been reflecting with myself for sometime now, and I admit that at times I may have been inconsiderately ticked at her for naïve and brash reasons. Now I can say they somehow fucked off into an orgy honeymoon at the Haiti prairies. Gone is my rationality. Hello late-teenage angst.

You may be wondering who this particular person is, and if you’ve been reading this lacklustre blog for a while now you might remember a certain fiery rant regarding a lecturer I dubbed as TMJ, and you’ll know that I have been rather relentless in verbally abusing her. Why? I sense you ask. She’s personally the WORST lecturer I ever had, the WORST tutor I ever know, the WORST teacher in my short history in life, and now she claims the only spot as the THE bitch-head of the century. That a good enough answer? Let’s get her a trophy, someone.

Pardon my being unduly harsh on her, but there are times when you can’t resist yourself.

Sigh… I thought I’ve seen enough of her and her annoying face to last the turn of a new millennia, and now she’s lecturer cum tutor for my Production & Publication subject. Great. Smashing, in fact. Here’s a pumpkin, knock yourselves out.

The same infuriating voice… the familiar, constipatingly excruciating boyish look… the gender-confusing appearance… the jokes that makes sure the Antarctic freezes twice over… and God forbid that now it seems like she’ll repeat the her exact crappy, pathetic, incomprehensibly un-understandable form of teaching.

What is she, like, a demon or something sent to mentally torment me into a worthless lump of potato (as if I do not resemble one enough)?

“With the power of Soap, cleaner of all that is dirty, bane of all that is disgusting and purifier of all that is stubbornly oily; I compel you, Demon of Immense Crappiness, to LEAVE and forsake the evil deeds in your dastardly planning!”

Gargles of agony and hisses of hatred left the snarling mouth of the Demon, her eyes wide with the very enmity that plagues fear and darkness into the minds of men as she writhes in pain of the overwhelming power cast down upon her cursed existence.

“BEGONE, demon, incarnation of all that is Annoying, physical form of all that is Irritating, origination of all that is Exasperating! I command you, Boredom personified, to BEGONE from this world!”

With the final phase of the spell cast, the Demon released a final howl of angst, and the world shook and trembled as though fearing her undying loathing. Its skin melted into mud most foul, with a stench so thick it killed 2 squirrels making an untimely detour. Her bones slowly crumbled into ash as dark as night itself, and the winds scattered her wretched remains across the ocean so that it shall never recover. And the world lived in peace ever since.

Well that was childishly fun.

I’ll be seeing her a hell lot more in this semester, and I guess I’ll just have rely on a little bit of imagination and a lot of daydreaming to get those days by.

Goodnight people.

Word of the Day:

qua
In the capacity or character of; as.

Song of the Day: Nami Kaze Satellite by Snorkel (Naruto OST)

Currently playing: God Hand (ps2)

In the morning…

The glare was killing, the hunger staggering (had I been on my feet at that time) and the music irritating. And I thought I caught wisps of my brother singing as well. At 6 a.m. in the morning? You got to be kidding me.

I tried turning away, shifting to positions with hopes that the light would not reach my eyes. But sleeping on the top bunk of a double-decked bed 3 feet away from the dazzling light… sometimes it’s just too much. I’d plunge my face into the pillow, but if there’s something I hate while attempting to sleep under difficult circumstances is restricting my breath and ultimately suffocate myself to ‘sleep’.

And I’m hungry. Very hungry. Stomach-dissolving sort of hungry, where you can feel the digestive juice literally slopping against your interiors anticipating your very first morsel of food. Which is rather, erm… rare, if I may say, for someone of a massive gut like me (or is it the other way around?). But wait, I had not eaten anything proper apart from a late-night cup of chocolate yesterday after my late lunch/early dinner of sate. I guess that explains it.

Michelle and Amanda had dropped by yesterday for some Kajang food (possibly the only good thing in this town). We didn’t eat until 4, though, because the H.J Samuri restaurants don’t serve until then due to the fasting season. In the meantime I took them to my home, and dad even got to meet them (Michelle looked stunned at dad, and said that he looks very young O.o). We spent hours at the restaurant, eating and chatting like we always do, and then we went off to hitch Pei Ling to another restaurant and had a drink there. The girls didn’t leave until after 8, and we had time to pay a short visit to Pei Ling’s house. Perhaps the best day I had in this Goddamn holiday.

Eventually the lights went off, the music died and my brother exited the room in reasonable fashion. Sleep should’ve come in torrents of bliss, like falling into the greeting arms of Pamela Anderson as she holds me to a makeshift water pillow of her enormous bosoms (albeit synthetic ones… what’s synthetic?). But curses. Bubbles of colours were dancing around my closed eyelids, occasionally morphing into shapes that strangely resemble Powerpuff Girls. I Write Sins Not Tragedies (by Panic! At the Disco) is annoyingly stuck in my head. And I’m hungry. Very hungry. Stomach-dissolving sort of hungry, where you can fee- wait I said that before. Ignore.

Panic ran through my veins as my dick suddenly disappeared. WTF I uttered.. fuck… what the fuck is happening. It must have been my imagination I thought, but nevertheless… it is real. I’m a dickless bitch now. And without my dick, my balls hid behind my pubes in desperation to cower from the sudden emptiness.

Fuck bro, GET OFF MY LAPTOP!

*ahem*

Anyhow, sleep had eluded me, so I thought it best to wake and perhaps have a glass of milk to stifle my stomach’s groaning demands. Rachel had popped me an IM sometime at 2 in the morning, which I had not been able to reply. Sigh… I haven’t been able to properly chat with her for more than 5 minutes since the holidays, thanks to a bout of untimely bad luck. Sorry Rae. I shunned the milk idea and had a cookie instead.

It was still too early for me to drive to town and get breakfast for the folks, so I took the time to read the online Powerpuff Girls doujinshi.

Before you barf about due the idea of it, let me first tell you that it’s very much unlike the TV series (or that Demashita! PPG Z version). It’s very much darker, anime-style artwork and with a ton of other Cartoon Network characters thrown together. Can’t picture it? Let’s imagine Samurai Jack as the school gym teacher, an older Dexter who’s cool and LOOKS cool, Invader Zim who’s forced to do some servant labour and a plethora of major cameos from others like Time Squad, Megas XLR, etc. I’m glad I knew enough of them to appreciate it (it’s been years since I watch something from Cartoon Network… dad cut it from Astro years back).

I also took the time to watch the anime Michelle borrowed me… and it was… graphic …

If I said I enjoyed it, I may be severely misunderstood. Very severely.

The haze was light this morning as I drove mom to the market, and on top of Bukit Mewah the town looked like a quaint neighbourhood engulfed by fogs of a winter morning. Had my early morning bliss at the chee cheong fun stall, which was so busy I had to cut the stuff myself (it wasn’t as easy as it looked). I practically ate under people’s arm flitting above me to passing plates of their selected yong tau foo picks. I was rather surprised by the chee cheong fun auntie’s English. Pardon me firstly, for I had a shallow speculation that above middle-aged Chinese ladies selling goods/food at the morning market only know enough English to state the prices of their products. But auntie proved me wrong, because she spoke very well indeed. I wonder if it’s because a good bulk of her customers are Indian uncles and aunties.

The hustle and bustle of it all, coupled with my immense sleepiness was soon too much to bear with my pathetic blubber of a body, and by the time I got home I slept all the away into noon.

Thus ends my morning, and the beginning of a noon/evening/night as dull as grey in a shade of grey.

College is another day away, and the time table is crap this semester. Sigh.

Goodnight people.

Word of the Day:

concinnity

1. Internal harmony or fitness in the adaptation of parts to a whole or to each other.
2. Studied elegance of design or arrangement -- used chiefly of literary style.
3. An instance of concinnity.

Song of the Day: Country Roads by John Denver

Movie of the day: Whisper of the Heart (a coming of age story about discovering yourself and the hardships that follow the path you choose, all told in glorious animation and colour by the great folks of Ghibli Studio. 5 out of 5).

A random post of musings…

It’s well into midnight now, and I sit alone in the quiet serenity of my gloomy dining table (also my study table, my laptop table and my PS2 table) as I’ll Be by Edwin Mccain softly soothes my rather frustrated self. I’ve been on the PS2, having my usual romp at Pro Evo Soccer 5 and almost breaking the DVD in 2 due to immense exasperation; I lost to the same team for 3 times in a row. (Ok, I can face it. I SUCK. But the CPU is CHEAP. Dirt cheap I tell you! It’s injustice! Where art thou fair gaming?*@&#@% Konami…)

I’ll Be, the song, has a spot somewhere deep in me. A song I reserved for an occasion that my or may not come, depending on my competency. Every time it’s soft, entrancing tunes flood into my listening I’ll drown myself in thoughts of it. On some days it may become more vivid; closer and real, until its taste can grasp my vague senses… and I’ll be lost to it. Deluged under a self-concocted sweetness numbing in its wake, and blissful in its melody

(That, my friends, is what I call fantasizing).

Today was a rather peculiar day, in a way I can’t really describe. Perhaps it was a slight departure from the monotony of my dull, colourless holidays, yet everything did feel the same. The same awakening. The same food. The same form of entertainment. The same means of passing time. It felt like the usual, yet all the same unusual. Weird. I guess I’ve eaten sour Skittles a packet too many.

I woke up to a clay pot of leftover chicken porridge, which I shared with my brother while watching Lee Rock on DVD (not the Rock Lee Naruto character, but the 1991 movie starring Andy Lau). I just realised that despite having known the movie for ages, I haven’t actually sat down and watch it till the end. It was surprisingly good, I have to admit, though rather odd at times (typical of early nineties Chinese movies). A grittier and darker remake would be nice, but I concur that at times classics should be left classics.

Lunch was instant noodles with an egg… not exactly a healthy diet but I guess a poor student on his semester break shouldn’t complain much. Dinner could’ve been much better; I was initially rather enthusiastic to be able to cook sweet and sour pork (with a newly procured instant packet of the sauce), and cooking can be immensely satisfying on good days. But dad decided to come and ruin it by mixing the sauce mixture to be fried together with the pork (T-T), and the gravy is done instead with ketchup. What came out was an overwhelmingly sour + salty + sweet rendition of Cooking Gone Bad (and very shocking coming from my dad). It was horrible to honest, and I was close to barfing at every piece I forced to eat out of gratitude for my dad’s hard work. Mom complimented it after a small piece, and I never seen her touch another one after. Dad was utterly convinced that he made something innovative and good, albeit a ‘tad’ out of hand, asking me if it’s good at times and then just noting that it’s good anyways. I noticed he never actually eaten any. I abandoned after a 4^th piece, and the dish looked untouched. Great. Lousy leftovers.

(Well, the good thing is that a somehow failed attempt at a ‘salted-egg fried cuttlefish’ was completely devoured by everyone).

The 3 pieces of tofu I bought just turned bad today, thanks to a lot of dad’s interfering, so I guess I won’t be cooking anything for the week. So much for having an experimental dish in mind… sigh.

Argh, my terrapin died. The maid found it ‘white and completely severely dead’ this morning. I wonder if dad plans to get another…

Alright, it’s rather late now, so I guess I’ll be turning in. I have a movie with my aunt and cousin to look forward to in the evening (finally!). And Michelle said that she may be planning to come down to Kajang for a sate lunch with Amanda and another friend. I hope H.J Samuri is open for lunch during the fasting season.

Goodnight people.

Word of the Day:

hypnagogic
Of, pertaining to, or occurring in the state of drowsiness preceding sleep.

Song of the Day: Snow, the original soundtrack for Noir (anime).

Movie of the day: Lee Rock Part 1 (Eh… no comments).

Currently reading: The Eldest (0% progress since last reading… which was last week today).

Currently playing : Okami

Well, following Rachel’s title on this particular post:

Warning: The following does NOT bring any meaning to you whatsoever. NOTHING. In fact, watching your cacti grow at the window sill bears more significant meaning than this (be there for its first prick!). In an event where you actually found the following actually MEANT something to you, you should 1) Call an ambulance, 2) Down a bottleful of aspirin while waiting and 3) Watch the entire set of Dr. Hibbert’s Psychological Miracle! Healing Your Mental Trauma in 10 DVDs after you’re discharged. Remember, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Read with caution.

Okay, now to the subject at hand:

This post is a book survey, which had been tagged to me by mon belle ami and delightfully fascinating junior Rachel (sorry for taking so long to get it up). May I first point out that despite having a liking for reading, I’ve not exactly read a lot.

1) What is your favourite genre?

- Fantasy with a dash of Sci-fi

2) Name some of your favourite books and give some explanation as to why they are your favourites.

- The Amber Spyglass by Phillip Pullman. While the previous books in Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy are great, The Amber Spyglass is simply phenomenal. What I feel about it is ineffable… I just simply love it. At the end of it I was shouting WTF!?, and was deluged in a flood of certain wanting which could only be vaguely subdued by mindlessly surfing the net for everything about it (even fanarts). This book is classic.

- Artemis Fowl and The Lost Colony by Eoin Colfer. The newest book I’ve read in this list, possibly. I only finished it a week back or so. It has everything the previous books in the Artemis Fowl series bear: an intensely paced plot, cheeky humour and dialog, great characters and the winning mix of fantasy elements and high-tech gadgetry (all of this great enough already). What made it better was how much darker it the story got, and the plot is simply amazing IMO. And a possible love interest for our juvenile criminal mastermind? Whoa yeah!

- Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K Rowling. I don’t know why I actually preferred it over the others. Perhaps because it has more action, and the tournament thing got me pretty excited. Or maybe because it seriously marked the series’ transcend into the dark territory. I don’t know.

- The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon. I have only one word for this novel: Genius. Everything, from the cover to the narrative utterly brims with it. Very well written in the perspective of an autistic boy, and the book is filled with interesting stuff like chapters in odd-numbers, puzzles and maths solutions that I understand nothing of and pictures that are just plain odd. One of the non-fantasy books that completely drew me into its world, and so funny yet scarily true.

- The Green Mile by Stephen King. I don’t know how to explain it, but this book left me shivering for a moment. Not out of fear, no (just to clarify things up, cause King’s name is more widely associated to the horror genre), but everything is just so powerful about this book. How it deals about life and death, and how it gets by with its characters and plot… I don’t think I’ll ever know why, but this book is simply amazing.

3) List 10 of your favourite authors. (I don’t think I have ten…)

- Philip Pullman.

- Neil Gaiman

- J.K Rowling

- Eoin Colfer

- Stephen King (though only 2 of his books)

- Tom Holt

- Mark Haddon

- Dan Brown

- Diana Wynne Jones (erm yeah, only 2 books as well)

- Roald Dahl (I haven’t exactly read something from him, but I know I’ll love him. I’m SURE)

(Okay there’s ten XD)

4) There's always that one book that you could never finish... what's that one book for you?

- The Harmony Silk Factory by Tash Aw. I guess people should this book as the one written by a Malaysian and it sold pretty well. It’s a good book, mind, but I’ve tried 3 times now to finish it and never got pass the first 5 chapters. It’s not bad, but after a while I found myself with a fresh fantasy book off the college library. I fear I may never finish it.

5) What book did you hate the first time you read it, but grew to love as you read on?

- The Land of the Blind (cripes I forgot the author). NOT related to an upcoming movie of the same title. I got the novel during a stock clearance at some mall, and it was RM6 for a novel (pretty damn cheap if you asked me). I didn’t read it until I went up to Genting Highlands with my uncle to help him with his shooting. At first the book was pretty darn boring, and the plot isn’t getting anywhere. And then the first funny part came, and I was laughing myself silly. Then the plot thickened into something interesting. For some particular reason the humour got me, often sarcastic, vulgar and crude, but I was sniggering off when everyone was working late into the night (they though I was reading a comedy novel, and were shocked to see that it’s a crime thriller). It didn’t end as well as I hoped it’ll be, but overall it’s good and I liked it since.

6) Which type of character appeals to you the most?

- Characters that contradict what they seem to be… how do I put it? It’s like they in one way are portrayed to be villains and evil but in another is revealed to be kind and respected all the same. Like Lord Asriel and Mrs. Coulter in the His Dark Materials trilogy, or Artemis Fowl. Lady Eboshi in Princess Mononoke would be the best example, but it’s not a novel…

7) Which book completely changed your point of view? Why?

- Shite I don’t think I have one that gave such an impact… let’s see… well The Amber Spyglass changed my view on how a great story should be; memorable characters that you care about, a complex and epic plot that deals with many other perspectives… how death could be viewed, about religion, or what is indeed the true good and what is true evil. My copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray taught me how words could be played, and how beautiful a sentence could be if you use the right words and the right angle. I have yet to read one that’ll change the very way I live and think.

8) Which book did you read as a child that made you fall in love with the literary world?

- I don’t think I can quite remember, but the book that got me into reading was a toned down version of The Swiss Family Robinson which my mom got for me when I was in primary 3 or so (one of those with illustrations in it, and revamped so that children can read with ease). I think it’s the first ever English novel I read, and I’ve been reading anything since.

9) Who is your favourite character of all time?

- Erm… I think I have the tendency to like every main characters from their respective novels, like Harry, Hermione, all the Weasleys, Dumbledore, Sirius, Lupin from Harry Potter… Artemis, Butler and Holly from Artemis Fowl… Lyra and Iorek from His Dark Materials… but I think my favourite is William Parry from His Dark Materials. I like his determination, his maturity when facing situations, and also his will to protect the ones he loves. Most importantly is his selfishness; that form of selfishness where he sets everything aside to save the ones he care, and also to achieve his goals.

10) Finally, who is your least favourite?

- Eh… Delores Umbridge from Harry Potter. For some reason she reminds me of my Form 5 chemistry teacher, and boy do I want to bitch slap her.

Haha, here comes the fun part where I tag the poor unfortunate souls…

1) Amanda Lee! (Roll out the Stephen Kings!)

2) Ma Dearie Diane

3) Pei Ling

4) Wai Y33

Inspired, since sometime.

I apologize for my previous post, if it somehow managed to lobotomize you and cause a few disruptions to your brain and nervous system. I don’t think you can sue me for it, but you can, of course, drop in a comment or 2. Flame, frame, blame or phlegm me all you like; I’m just glad I got feedback =)

Sorry for not updating consistently, despite my being in a holiday now. I have no excuse for it, apart from utter laziness. And Okami, which is turning out to be one of the best ps2 games ever (I’m clocking at least 3 to 4 hours on it daily). I’ll blog about it sometime, if possible. Though I guess it won’t become something of your interest anyways (as if this blog is, but I’m glad I have a couple of readers. Thanks).

I owe Rachel two tags, which I haven’t been getting around doing. I promise I’ll get it up sometime soon. Here’s my apology first, and a hopeful smiley =P

The holidays are faring better this few weeks, thanks to Okami and a few good hours of writing/typing. I have another to thank; Finding Neverland, the 2004 movie starring Johnny Depp about J.M Barrie and how he came to write the famous boy who never grew up. Hands down one of the best movies around, IMO, and well into my list of Inspirational Thingies (among Big Fish and Whisper of the Heart). The movie itself is beautiful, touching and warm, etc, but what got me most is the theme of Unlocking Your Imagination. Something Johnny Depp (as Barrie) said:

(Not in actual script. This is a vague reconstruction. Finding Neverland and script is copyright to the studio that published it).

J.M Barrie: (Johnny Depp in Scottish accent) Write about it, about flying the kite today with your brothers. Write about that talking whale.

Peter: (acted by Freddie Highmore, Charlie in Charlie and the Choc Factory and soon Arthur in Arthur and the Invisibles) Talking whale? What talking whale?

J.M Barrie: That talking whale that is bursting in your imagination. Write it down.

After the movie, I sat down in front of my laptop and got to work on the 2 junk you read below with a rekindled joy in writing.

I’ve been so often plagued by the dogmatic fear of messing anything I though out by writing it down that I’ve been afraid to write. But I guess I should take a step in writing it, make it my best and learn from it. I’ve been fearful of criticism, wanting to live in a cocoon that tells myself that my stories stay however I like it if none shall read it, and undermining the very basis of being a writer; What is a writer without a reader? What is communication without feedback, or an expression without an impression? (Pardon my immense corniness).

I’m set to improve, so bear with me =)

Goodnight people, and whoever that is reading this, I thank you.

And Mr. Barrie, thank you (though I’m aware that Finding Neverland is merely based on actual events and bears a probability to be untrue, I’m pretty sure you live by the same philosophy of imagination and you weren’t smoking weed when you wrote Peter Pan. But, I mean, a boy flying around in green leaves/tights? You leave me wondering…).

Word of the Day:

indomitable
Incapable of being subdued or overcome; unconquerable.

Song of the Day: End of the Innocence by Don Hedley.

Currently Reading: The Eldest.

Currently Playing: Okami

Movie of the Day: Finding Neverland (5 out of 5 stars. ‘Nuff said).

Outer Sanctum Security Post NR755.

Peninsular Malaysia.

Personnel Log

Name: Cajun Hans Kar Chun

Age: 21

Status: Class 3 Transport Personnel

Entry: 0016 Hours, 20^th September 2011, Friday.

I’m beat today. The Chief rounded us up to clear the unused supply crates at the facility storehouses today to make way for the transport and supplies. It was a big mess, and we’re not only dealing with supply crates. There were also cargo containers, broken machinery and two unused big ass water tanks (why it was in the storehouses still baffled us). There were several bodies too, found trapped behind wooden crates and inside most of the cargo containers. Most of them were military personnel, but we also found a few bodies that we presumed were some of the Demented killed during the March 3^rd upsurge. Jim found a poor soul that seemingly had gnawed at his own wrists till death. I figured that he must’ve been infected, but the chief said that sometimes someone can become a Demented without an infection. I couldn’t agree less.

We discarded the bodies into the incinerator alongside with a few others found scattered around the post. NR755 was said to be housing 200 or so soldiers before its capture, but there were only 32 dead bodies found and 21 of them were military personnel. I believe the remaining 168 soldiers must’ve become the Demented, and had left.

We caught up with a couple of the tech guys at the canteen who wanted some of Lawrence Hanky’s VIVID videos (which I traded in for some Pall Mall). Since they had to re-wire up the entire facility, I asked them what’s our superiors hiding from us, but they said the re-wire work was only at the basement and main control panel at the entrance which is nowhere near the interior. They hinted that their chief knew, though, which prompted me to badger the Chief later when we were parking the trucks into the storehouses, and he made me wash the bunker toilets for asking.

Carl from the infantries stopped by our bunker to trade out some booze he found at the A bunkers (a six-pack for the Playboy Playmate specials, and I threw in a Devon movie for good measure). Apparently the infantry guys know nothing about the facility too. The secrecy is bugging me somehow, like there’s some secret experiment of sorts or something. I mean, there are the scientists, and the unknown cargo we transferred. Maybe they’re working out something about the Demented, but don’t they have a lab somewhere at the Haven?

Sometime at 10 p.m. some rogue Demented hammered at our eastern walls. We could hear the howling from the bunker, and then the gunshots when the snipers picked them off. It was unsettling, and what followed was a silence that lingered like after a funeral… hymns from the great beyond. It struck me that the Demented were once humans… in fact, they are humans in every way. Just soulless, and mindless. The monster within all of us, when the mind and soul fails to govern our bodies.

I miss Emily, and I hope that she’s alright. The satellite phones aren’t fixed yet.