The week with 3 assignments, minimum blog time and Superman Returns.

I’m screwing assignments aside today. It’s been a long while since I tried to blog (ok, I lied. I have 3 drafts in my laptop, but I don’t intend to publish them now), and I need the pleasure of doing so before I crack under the amounting, stacking nasty things called assignments (ok, I lied again. I never really do bother with assignments until the very last minute).

But it has been a busy week. An interview and two assignments clustered together for 5 days. I’m not having proper sleep lately, and I can tire out pretty easily (but then I always do. Maybe I should try D.O.M.). But I can hardly call it a bad week. Exhausted as I may be, somehow the hectic atmosphere and the rush of work makes things rather lively. Shows that I’m alive, you see, instead of a couch potato buried under potato chips. And I do have certain pleasures in finishing my assignments late into the night (so that I can brag about the time I sleep and probably scavenge a few good Aww’s and Poor Thing’s from the girls *wink*).

But there was that sleeping disorder… and not to mention that nasty stomach ache that’s still plaguing me until now; a stabbing, burning sensation that comes in inconsistent waves of attacks. While it is very much better now, I’m not quite fond of the sudden bursts of agony (that makes I groan, saying “Uuughh...” So that people would think that I’m under a bad case of constipation).

No, well, I can’t really complain. The week’s been good, tiring, yes, but good. And the rush of assignments is very obviously due to my impeccable ability at becoming utterly lazy and procrastinating (it comes with a tub of lard and six-pack spare tires around the belly). I’ve been lucky, even, managing an interview (on Wednesday) when I’ve been desperate for one, and just today I found myself at the company of two very pretty (and fascinating) ladies while watching some super-man flying around with a silly red sheet and blue tights. Heck, this week could very well be nomination number 4 contending for The JE’s catastrophically lame Awards for “Best Week of 2006”. If it wasn’t for that bloody stomach ache.

Well, the interview’s been alright, if you actually care to know (and I know you don’t, and you’d rather scroll all the way down and post some snazzy comment that’ll make me look like a fool, you damn *&%$) . (Ok I take it back. Just joking :P). We (my partner Derwoei and I) managed to snag this rather famous Chinese DJ, named Chan Fong. If you’re a regular listener of 98.8 FM, you’ll probably recognize him as the morning talk-show co-host for Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and also as the tall, somewhat charming fellow that appeared in advertisements for Ogawa and Diamond Waters.

Only he wasn’t all that charming when we interviewed him. He looked positively bored and uninterested, though I can’t blame him. Let’s just face it; he worked from 6 until ten that morning surviving on decaf latte and Kopiko while talking into a microphone, and then finds himself (possibly unwillingly) whisked into a room to be interviewed by two droopy-eyed Chinese boys incompetent enough to make him laugh had he the energy to do so (not to mention that one of the boys is horrendously short, fat and ugly. Yours truly). But he was not that bad. At least he was kind enough to allow us to feel comfortable (we were practically so tensed that we had trouble talking without stammering like a nervous schoolgirl), and he did make an effort to crack a joke or two (which only works on Derwoei, who had enough sense to laugh. I was literally petrified into a mindless moron with a notebook and a pen). What surprises me was that he was well wiser than he looks. No, seriously! He struck me as a clowning guy with charms but complete ignorance at first, but instead he was spouting insights and thoughts as though he has been rehearsing them at his showers for 2 decades. There I was expecting a Robin Wiliiams in yellow skin speaking fluent Chinese, and instead I sit there listening to a well-accented Cantonese Larry King. No wonder I was getting sleepy (forgive me; I’m trying to blame something else and not my purposed late slumber for any misconduct of that day, which was aplenty and all due to immense sleepiness).

Did I mention that he is tall? A good 180 cm (for Malaysian’s standard, maybe), and his hands are like bear paws with German frankfurters for fingers. In other words, BIG (but I’m a short and puny guy, so maybe it’s just me).

Screw Chan Fong for now. I’ve had enough of him for the moment, and now I only want bask in the remnants of the beauty of this blissful day (not all that peaceful, though… damn stomach ache). A highly anticipated movie with two sassy gals. Savvy, if I may put it. I was so high spirited that I didn’t have the notion to feel angry at the girls for being late, so that I missed the trailers and possibly 15 minutes of the movie. Superman Returns had left much to be desired for, though. I was somewhat disappointed (though I can’t find a plausible flaw in it. I guess I just don’t like the plot.

The stupidity in me was to leave for home early. WTF was I thinking? I don’t normally get to spend a day out with two pretty girls that can be either very cute or horrendously cute. Somehow I felt like a coward; a coward with a bad stomach ache and a weak gut to go with it, trying to avoid the overwhelming intensity of walking around a shopping mall with two lovely girls by your side (though it is highly doubtful that either would seem like somehow that’ll date me). So I left, cooking up some half-true excuse. But I was better off away, perhaps, since I’m not really being a good company anyways (quiet, droopy, looking gloomy and sleepy at the same time). There was that other reason why I couldn’t bring myself to stay. But ignore that. The point is that I was being a coward. A fucking yellow, gutless coward. Sucks to be me.

Sigh to a good day. Goodnight people.

Word of the day: Unrequited ~ Not reciprocated or returned in kind: unrequited love

Currently reading: Staying Alive by Matt Beaumont (not to be confused with Stay Alive, the teen horror movie currently airing at cinemas nationwide). Thanks Rachel!

Song of the day: Accidentally in Love by Counting Crows (OST for Shrek 2)

“ Well baby I surrender
To the strawberry ice cream
Never ever end of all this love... Well I didn't mean to do it
But there's no escaping your love."


P.S: i've (finally) updated Amanda's blog. go check it out if u want. the link is named The Blue Panda

Wasted, and wasting you.

How long has it been since I posted? I’ve been deliberately neglecting this blog, because I was practically wasted for a good couple of days last week. A lot has happened, and I had tried to draft out a few entries which I somehow decided not to post (I’d like to refrain from lobotomizing anyone unfortunate to read them). Well, since I’ve been absent for the long run, I saw fit to post something a lil longer today (as if anyone cares, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you reel in horror and close this damn window before you vomit away your sanity).

The past week has been… I don’t know. I just realized that I couldn’t remember what happened on Monday and Tuesday. I’m probably too fatigue to recall them, perhaps, after what my brother did to me (I’ll tell it another day). Anyways, I skipped college on Wednesday to do some last minute research for the feature writing assignment (though I did spend the first half of the day on the ps2 and the Silent Hill movie). Research was futile; I was a couple days too late to start on it. The ministry of education never answered my call, and the national service number was a dud despite being posted online. The Malaysian Psychologist Centre is a blood-sucking, soul-leeching, life-reducing piece of greedy organization that wanted to charge me RM300 for 15 minutes of comments. Holy crap. Now I want to be a psychologist (I can go around saying “You want my time? 500 bucks, and I’ll give u 15.” Savvy). When I finally did get the perfect number, it was too late to set up an interview (writing was due Thursday). Oh well. So I jumbled up whatever nonsense I had and wrote the most obnoxiously directionless feature. I only managed 3 hours of sleep that night. Went to college on Thursday and voila! Puan Ana was absent because she was unwell. Screw. Well I did had time to rewrite the feature, which I did well into 2 a.m. (so I went 2 days with 3 hours of sleep, and 3 days on 6 hours). Came home on Friday and slept for 6 hours on the couch. I was glad I cancelled badminton, though I’d like a little diversion. Nothing like giving the shuttle a little smash or 2. Takes the mind off things.

The week wasn’t all that dull, though. I had a considerably good amount of time with Amanda alone, something which rarely happened since the first semester. I was glad conversation went ok, though I had the constant and recurring feeling that I had once more made an idiot of myself. We talked for a long while, and then went to watch the juniors debate. They lost, though, which was a pity because I thought they were good. And the opposing team was a bunch of conceited arrogant bastards (or so they seem). One of those few people that I’d like to pull a gunny sack over and dump into the South China Sea. Feed the depleting sharks, people, so that we can have more shark fin soup.

There was this one weird moment where I walked with the three girls that I had been most romantically interested in. One is the girl that I had a crush with for some time now. One is a girl that’s way out of my league but attractive nonetheless. One is a girl that I can’t help but be attracted to her weird, feisty and fussy behavior which can either be cute or utterly bizarre. But it’s fated that I can never date anyone of them, and if you know who I am and how I look, you’ll know why *winks*.

That’s about the best (and worst) of things for the past week, if you don’t count the fateful Thursday morning (very, very early in the morning), in which all my uncertainties clash like Titans on the attack of Mount Olympus. Now, to fulfill something I have managed to catch during my absence…

I’ve been tagged. By Rachel.

Read with caution. Guaranteed to induce severe boredom. If not, sue me under Section 16 of the Promise Act 1915 (fiction). Or just send me hate mail.


AWESOME PEOPLE I WOULD WANT TO MEET:

1. Tom Hanks ~ so I can comment on his Robert Langdon haircut. Scary. But no. I’m a fan his.
2. Phillip Pullman ~ awesome writer!
3. Neil Gaiman ~ best new author on my list.
4. Hayao Miyazaki (director of the superb Sprited Away) ~ I LOVE his works.
5. Erm… Ben folds ~ I dunno why, but I just want to meet him.

THINGS I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT:

1. Movies.
2. Books.
3. My ps2.
4. Anything that can allow me to write, type or draw with.
5. Food, and a non-stick frying pan.

And following Rachel’s new category: PEOPLE I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT.

My father (though I’d hate admit it, but he fixes everything and he cooks).


I WISH I COULD:

1. Write like the best authors there is and was.
2. Make a movie with all the budget that I want.
3. Make a video game.
4. Think sharp and quick enough.
5. Love and be loved in return… (just kidding. I can love but never be loved).


I WANT:

1. To be a good author
2. To write a novel and publish it.
3. To become a good journalist, as a main occupation with authoring as my second.
4. To write for a video game magazine.
5. The have all the gaming consoles in the world, and a super-power PC.


SONGS THAT I THINK ARE AWESOME:

(I’d like to ask if ochestral musics can be defined as songs.)

1. Your Song by Elton John, also the Ewan Mcgregor version.
2. I’m Still Here by John Rzeznik of the Goo Goo Dolls.
3. Season Calls by Hyde (j-rock)
4. Star Wars theme by John Williams, performed by the London Symphony Ochestra.
5. The Legend of Ashitaka (ochestral) by Joe Hisaishi.


HOW I SEE MYSELF IN 10 YEARS:
1. Juggling a journalism career while writing fiction/fantasy during weekends.
2. Married, possibly, or perhaps dating (finally)
3. (if unmarried) Living in an apartment with a dog (retriver, perhaps, but I hope Lanna can live till then…), cooks with John Williams on and have a gaming console.
4. (if married) Living in a terrace house with my wife and dog, cooks with the TV on and have a gaming console (hope my wife plays…)
5. Hopefully happy, content, and finally living a life.


RANDOM FACTS:

1. I’m bout insane enough to imagine stories to myself until I sleep. Which is when any new ideas or scenes for novels come.
2. I have a tendency to ruffle the back of my head whenever I’m nervous, thinking, abashed or confused.
3. Cooking is about one of the best aesthetic for me, though I cook like crap. The sizzling and simmering is somehow soothing, and it gives me time to reflect things.
4. I can imagine myself giving a very good speech, then screw up due to stage fright.
5. Light & Easy radio station is THE radio station which I tune in the most. For those who don’t know what it broadcasts, it airs oldies and relaxing songs of the past. There. Call me gay, old or boring.




MISCONCEPTIONS:

1. That I’m Christian. I get that a lot. Nope, I’m a quiet Buddhist.
2. That I’m the studious type. I’m never touch my notes till the very last moment before my exams.
3. That when I’m silent - with a finger to my lip - I’m thinking deeply. I’m actually lost or purely confounded, and drowning myself with dragons and pixies.
4. That sometimes I lost weight. Some of my clothes can induce optical illusion.
5. That I’m rich, because I have a maid. I’m not. I barely have enough to spend for a week.


WHO I WANT TO TAG:
1. Hmm… Isaac?
2. Ng Ju Ee, if she’d finally return from her long-term blog hiatus.
3. Pei Ling
4. Wai Yee
5. M-N-G.

And if I may add:
6) Amanda Lee (who never owns her own blog) and 7) Michelle Lim (who never blogs, and I wish she does).

*can’t think of a proper conclusion* Goodnight people.

Word of the day: Misantrope ~ One who hates or mistrusts humankind.

Anime of the day: Bleach ep 85.

Currently reading: My high school magazine.

Song of the day: Garden Party by someone I forgot. An oldie.

Hopefully something... something?

It is night, it’s hot despite the air-cond (gotta get it vacuumed tomorrow). Brother turned to his side, moaning (probably from my typing) as the bed sighed and creaked. I should be sleeping right now, in fact, and I wanted to, but somehow the sleep won’t come. Perhaps I didn’t want the night to end this way, subconsciously, telling myself that hitting the sack now would waste whatever possibilities that will become impossible tomorrow, and for many days to come. Maybe that’s why I sought to posting this, you know, do something worthwhile for the day. Something that you may possibly look back and remember that you’ve at least tried to make an effort in attempting to make something useful out of a totally wasted day.

Yeah right, as if blogging is something useful. Something useful could’ve been finishing up on my feature writing, or salvaging other means of getting whatever celebrity I can scrape an interview from. Something useful meant that I do not spend the day on the ps2 or reading a novel, and bath the dogs or vacuum the air-cond or fix that broken kitchen light. Something useful could’ve been something useful. For real.

So now I sit here combating my heavy eyes and totally disregarding my mother’s order to sleep early, typing down incoherent and pointless stuff hoping to pass it off as an achievement of the day. I guess I’m quite the incredulous idiot around the neighbourhood. That makes me and that boy I know who thinks that he’s smart for getting a RM2000 ps2. So smart that I can’t help but applaud his genius. Smashing.

Maybe there’s more to type, you know, things that aren’t totally pointless and random. Let’s start with this week, or last week if you want to put it. The week was… well, peculiar, I might say, but all the while retains the same lingering feeling of dull and monotony. So what’s so peculiar? Well, for starters, I gave 20 cents to a couple who needed 20 cents in order to purchase their train tickets. They had said thank you and the guy had patted my shoulder in gratitude. I spent the entire day wondering if it was an act of kindness or merely a quick and instantaneous method of ridding cumbersome people off the ticket machine. Or both. Kindness in order to buy that darn ticket before the train comes.

Then there was that 2 days in which I spent 2 hours each loitering around Pudu Plaza, which is as dodgy and gloomy as an alley in New York could be (with gambling arcades, triad members selling waffle pancakes and guys with tattoos watching Naruto at the DVD shop. I’d say). Alright, I may have exaggerated, but then it was dodgy. So dodgy-looking that I was afraid that a thin but brutal looking Chinese man (in shorts and Hawaiian t-shirt) would beat me up while I attempted a high-score at the arcades.
He left when I lost, though, walking out of the arcades and picking up a little boy who came waddling at him. They went to the candy store. Nice.

Note to self: do not walk into a baby departmental store and pretend to be interested in Rusky biscuits and Pet Pet diapers in order to cover up walking into a baby departmental store by accident and making the cashier looked ever so hopeful (they don’t seem like they had any business).

Friday was a badminton game which was the best badminton game I’ve had in a long time, but left me feeling empty as I travelled back home, which I deduced was not caused by the actual game but after the game, during which I felt like a complete idiot due to my own idiocy, and later felt like a complete moron for having felt like a complete idiot, which resulted in me feeling like a complete donkey for all the wrong reasons that seemed right. G-dang it.

And there was that cheap umbrella I bought which handle disappeared when I opened it for the second time. Or that mysterious cut on my finger which came suddenly without me feeling a bit (until I saw that my steering wheels were stained with blood) and rendered me handicapped when I tried and play O2 Jam. The JVC TV is acting up; one minute it was alright, and the next minute I tried to turn it on it wouldn’t start. Then I found out that my cousin was gay. Just kidding. He did look like one, once, though I forgot which instance. He must’ve been asleep, I guess. Dreaming…

Time I do my own dreaming… guess I’ll hit the sack now, before I start typing down everything about my crushes…

Anyways, I added links to Rachel’s blog and Thila’s second blog. Check them out, they’re cool, and they sure as hell are saner that I am.

Goodnight people. Dream.

Word of the day: Ubiquitous~Being or seeming to be everywhere at the same time; omnipresent

Currently reading: The Supernaturalists by Eoin Colfer, recently just finished 8 days of luke by Diana Wynn.

Movie of the day: Disney Pixar’s Cars.

Anime of the day: Bleach ep 84-85.

Games currently playing: Tomb Raider Legends.

Irrelevant jumble of words.

Today was, if I am allowed to imply it, a fairly uneventful day. But I have come to learn that a day, or everyday, or every second since before time immemorial, is in everyway eventful. So what that seems like a day of boredom and monotony, if perceived in a different view, could very well be as eventful as those days where the chain of monotony shatters.

Perhaps there is never monotony. Or maybe does monotony exists, but only as a shell that obscures the fundamental things that if perceived would make the day fresh and new all the same. But humans, as humans are and entitled to be, would always perceive things from the flesh, or appearance, and never see beyond the shell. If days are like a carousel, a spinning, recurring repetition of uneventful events, rotating the same picture after every turn, perhaps it is difficult for one to see that every turn is indeed different in minute ways.

So what is the purpose of my typing down the above tangle of incoherent and irrelevant words? Shallow and thick as I am, I’m incapable of seeing the small fundamental things that differ in indifference. So I type a new thing everyday in order to break the chain of monotony and still see the day as a new day (at least in a small way).

But no. To be honest, I’m just typing to humour myself, as I have always done whenever I can. It was also a test to see how comprehensible I can possibly make my crap sound. Where the heck am I going now?

So anyways, if I try and apply whatever that I’ve just typed down above to myself today, then it’s quite unjust to deem the day uneventful. True, it’s one of those dull boring unprogressive days, but if I looked a little harder, perhaps there’s more to today than meets the eye.

For example, well, for the half decade that I’ve been reading Eoin Colfer, I just found out today that Eoin should be pronounced as “Owen” (been pronouncing him as Eh-oh-wynn for as long as I can remember). I realised that a RM99 DVD player can have progressive scan while a RM199 doesn’t. My JVC TV wasn’t even repaired; the repairers tested it for 2 days and found nothing wrong with it, and during dinner the TV broke down again. Lara Croft is British. Mosquitoes have an affection of trailing my black 3-quarter trousers and only it. Smell of burnt mosquitoes can keep them away. I have a strange affection for connecting AV wires. King Kong is stupid, or horrendously stupid, despite being able to outsmart so damn many things. Peter Jackson is not directing the Halo movie but is executive producer. People actually make fan-art for His Dark Material. Cosplayers can be really shameless (but I salute them). I trampled on my maids ginger plant yesterday. Quietus means death.

Well, if new things means a day can be new, or different, then everyday is new.

Isn’t it?

Word of the day: Quietus:

1~Something that serves to suppress, check, or eliminate.
2~Release from life; death.
3~A final discharge, as of a duty or debt.

Anime of the day: Ouran High Host Club ep 10.

Song of the day: Wings Beneath My Feet by John Tesh (saxophone)

Untitled jumble of words.

I found it rather ironic, that on the very first day of the World Cup, the TV broke down smack in the middle of the 9.30 chinese drama. It was hard for everyone, especially for dad, who had been praying that nothing, absolutely nothing, should happen to void him of his unrivaled bliss. Only mom wasn’t really affected; she even found it positively funny, until we ripped off my parents room’s TV as a replacement (she can’t watch her Chinese VCDs in the room). Well, the replacement TV was small, paling in comparison to my large, old JVC, so in a bid to have a perfect 2006 world cup season, dad decided to get a brand new LCD flat panel TV.

Ok, I have been expecting a LCD HDTV to come into the household sometime, but never in this decade (perhaps around 2010, when the price should be well below RM2000). Excited? Nope, not really. I’d prefer we just try and fix the old JVC and miss a couple of games (hey, there WAS a small TV). But dad was intent on getting one, and mom was happy to help afford it for the luxury of great video entertainment, so we hitched off to a shop in Puchong after scanning some adverts and offers available (we later discovered that we went to the wrong shop, and bought the TV there). It was an LG RX2LR flat-panel LCD, costing RM5000 after a discount (originally about RM6000, and RM6990 at Sen Q). Crystal screen, HDTV capabilities, and good video options. Worth every penny. I’d still rather have the old JVC.

The trouble with the new LCD TV was that it was longer and shorter than we had intended to get, so it wouldn’t fit in the TV cabinet, and when it does there was a large gap between its top and the zenith of the cabinet. So dad did some woodwork (2 hours of my time today) and managed to cover the gap. Then there was another problem: LCD TVs are tailored to accommodate newer technology, and we found ourselves 2 AV ports short and 2 extra, now useless component ports. We did some wiring today (another 2 hours of a beautiful Sunday), with me doing most of the job (dad’s not good in understanding which wires should go where and bro have his studies). Nothing’s improved, not even with the new component wire. Somehow with them the images are either monochrome or plain blue. Gotta call the electrical shop tomorrow.

Now the LCD TV sits proudly in the cabinet, beautiful displays and all, entertaining my parents who sit with the (supposed) satisfaction of owning a LCD TV, while the old JVC, newly repaired for only RM12, settles comfortably in its large intimidating form (exaggerated) beside me at the dining hall, where it will spend the rest of its years projecting what the LCD is projecting for our dining pleasures and the permanent resident of my PS2 which I need not (finally) put away after playing.

Alls well ends well, huh?

Goodnight people.

Word of the day: Lobotomy ~A surgical operation involving incision into the prefrontal lobe of the brain, formally used to treat mental illness
Lobotomize~ an act of performing Lobotomy.

E.g: I would like to lobotomize a certain TMJ, who I believe is very obviously under a rare mental disease which causes her to tell the lamest impromptu jokes.

Anime of the day: The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya ep 10 and Ouran High Host Club ep 9

Just finished reading: Howl’s Moving Castle.

Song of the day: Hedwig’s Theme by John Williams, performed by the London Symphony Orchestra.

The new puppy.

Dad is really capable of stacking problems after problems on me. While he goes on telling me (once upon a time) that these are responsibilities of a growing man, sometimes all these… these things he’s capable of bringing home, is cumbersome and frustrating.

Like almost half a year back, when he came home with birds to rear. For feng shui purposes or something, I don’t remember. While I might find the prospect of having a couple of animals around the house (I like animals, note) quite enjoyable, or the somewhat sweet and soothing coo of the birds in the morning placidly lifting, the fact that later on I’ve basically been set to take full responsibility of them. That means that I have to tend to their food and water and clean their cages once a couple of days, and it sucks to be told off for forgetting something I didn’t want and need to take responsibility in. And the birds are psychotic phobia-matic fowls that flutter like mad whenever I take their cages down, sending feathers and feces spewing about. Alright, never mind the birds now.

So he takes home a puppy from his working site, an offspring of one of the many stray dogs that inhabit the site (that are occasionally fed by the workers, and some being kept as pets). I was perplexed and stunned, not to mention pissed and exasperated. I already have 3 dogs at home, and heck, apart from the maid, I’m the one responsible for them. And 3 are enough for me to worry about; from bathes to exercise to hair trimming and wounds & injuries and poo in the garden. And now he brings home ANOTHER puppy. I’ve had like, 5 puppies previously, and while I love them all (save Speed), I really don’t NEED/WANT another one right now. ARGH!

Alright, I admit, I’m a sucker when it comes to puppies and dogs. I can’t help it. Even my genes can’t help it. I watched a program long ago saying that male’s have genes that generally makes them adore things with big pleading eyes and cuddly looks (but then, I assume that it applies to every sane person in the world). The above applies to teddy bears, puppies, Puss in boots from Shrek and girls (ever wonder why anime girls are such a hit?)

So despite the amount of resentment I managed to shower at the idea of a 4th dog at home, I’m hopelessly drawn to him (yeah, it’s a male puppy). He’s yellowish white, with one drooping ear while the other stands, somewhat pink nose (a rarity. I haven’t seen one) and a gloomy face (long snout, but I predict that it’ll be stout when he grows).

Just approximately 5 minutes ago named Ah Wong by my dad (to symbolize luck, wealth and prosperity, whatever), which I still thing doesn’t suit him (still, it’s better than the names I’ve considered for him, which ranges from Fenrir to Logan to Balto to The-puppy-with-one-droopy-ear), he’s quite unusual. Unusual in behavior, and attitude. He’s feisty, but feisty with anger, much unlike being feisty with food or ear-scratches. Something glares in his eyes; anger, perhaps, or hatred, or fear. Like a caged tiger, somewhat. He’s vicious, while always afraid, and boy does he bite. I had to handle him with gardening gloves when I transferred him to his cage, and his bite hurt despite the thickness.

And while other puppies before him are afraid at first, then horrendously playful, he’s never changing (or not yet, maybe). Brooding, scowling with angry eyes. Something tells me that he has seen and learned a lot, despite his short time of being alive. Perhaps living in a stray infested site where territories are protected, food is fought for and survival of the fittest has robbed him of his puppy joys. He has learned that strength and wariness reigns, and is constantly aware, prepared, and ready to fight. Perhaps time will change him. But now, now, he’s like a wolf of the wild.

He’s gonna be one heck of a dog to train. Sigh.

I’ll start by being able to pat him properly first. He still growls when I place my hands close to him.

Goodnight people.

Word of the day: Centennial~ 1: a hundredth anniversary.
2: things related to a hundredth anniversary.

Just finished reading: American Gods (great book. GREAT, great book).

Song of the day: Superman by Five for Fighting.

The night before...

Tension is in the air, heavy and depressing, somewhat, to those who prefer an air of light and comfort. While it wasn’t any worse than situations of imminent and impending dread; those moments when the very particle of air suffocates and confines you in a cell of swirling condemnation, the tension is enough to tug at the spine so that discomfort looms around discreetly but can be felt at every breathe.

It was clear that everyone was affected, excluding the maid who wouldn’t, or shouldn’t, be worried in things such as this. To my right now, the 3 black joss sticks burn themselves out placidly, the sweet but smoky scent circulated around the table by my fan. Dad had saw that he should perform some prayers by himself. No doubt wishing and praying for luck for my brother’s exam tomorrow.

Perhaps I should be praying as well; offering more joss sticks, or perhaps just go in a silent prayer in front every deity. But no, not now, perhaps. Maybe later. I don’t want my brother and father seeing me to it. Why? I don’t know why.

Perhaps I’m concerned; truthfully and honestly worried, of my brother and his exams. Think back weeks before, I wasn’t even bothered to know when the exam is coming, or comprehending the severity and importance of it all. Now, it seemed that the weight of the tension has settled on my shoulder as well, constricting my breathing and multiplying my anxiety. Sighing isn’t working now. I find myself had half-willingly forgiven the moments my brother had (somewhat) ungraciously pissed me off while I helped him memorize his stuff. I guess it’s better like this. I was quite ready place all my ranting, complaints and profanity in this post and aim it at him.

My brother is already in a state that borders between sanity and dropping into the dark chasm of craziness and lunatic-ism (insanity). The last time I helped him memorize, it was as though his mind came to a decision to stop functioning for the night. He was aware of it, thankfully, and he told me he don’t intend to fry his brains and go mindless at the exam hall tomorrow. But he was already tired, DEAD tired. When we were memorizing (a couple of minutes earlier, one last effort), his temper had increased two-fold. He couldn’t remember if I had mentioned something before, and he couldn’t remember whether or not he told me to stop or which stuff he didn’t want to hear. He was stating cases 2 pages away and then reverts back to the current pages, leaving me baffled and confused, and then he would get pissed off by it.

I’m starting to feel wasted myself. Spending almost the entire day helping my bro memorize, I’m close to losing it as well, especially during times when my brother started to prod at my limits. I can’t totally blame him from blasting his temper, but one can’t help but feel ticked-off, and I’m doing it voluntarily and under my obligation as a younger brother.

I’m so wasted that I declined to join my cousin Ivan to the Motorshow tomorrow. But then I’m quite broke here, and I’d rather spend tomorrow on the ps2. Sorry Ivan. But as usual, you’re better off without me.

Goodnight people.

Word of the day: Vicarious

1->Felt or undergone as if one were taking part in the experience or feelings of another: read about mountain climbing and experienced vicarious thrills.
2->Endured or done by one person substituting for another: vicarious punishment.
3->Acting or serving in place of someone or something else; substituted.
4->Committed or entrusted to another, as powers or authority; delegated.
5->Physiology. Occurring in or performed by a part of the body not normally associated with a certain function.

Still Reading: American Gods and countless amounts of those law shits I had and still have to deal with.

Anime of the day: Tsubasa Chronicles ep 30, and KIBA ep 9.

Song of the day: Bitches Ain’t Shit by Ben Folds Five.

Skip college, stay home.

Halfway into my first week of the semester and I’ve already played the truant. I know I can’t justify myself, nor can I drown out the nagging guilt clinging to my neck ever since I made the decision to tell my parents that I’ve no more classes the entire week. The least I could do I reassure myself that today’s class is a mere 2 hour lecture, in which I would less likely be missed by my new lecturer or my fellow classmates. I’m not quite ready to pay 15 bucks and trudge an hour an a half to college, sit under the boring crooning of a stranger lecturer and ride myself back home. No.

But then again, Pei Ling lives where I live (my town) and she paid 15 bucks, got to college, listened to the crooning, and trudged back. So yeah, there’s no comforting my conscience. I’m so going to hell.

There’s another 2 hour class tomorrow, so be assured that I wouldn’t be there. Blam me of you need to.

To be honest, really, really honest, honest beyond the utmost sincerity of my underlying truth and frankness that blossoms in my zenith of non-lying honestly, I skipped class today so that I can wallow myself in the couple of games I bought last Saturday, which I haven’t touched save for the 15 minutes I stole out to test them (see, I’ve been totally honest with you). Ah, but fate would not have it (or rather, I’ve taken a turn at the karma thing) because I had to spend the day helping my brother revise for his upcoming exams.

Let me be frank with you (once again), helping a temperamental brother revise Law, one of the very most horrendously insane branch of education that had ever graced the lives of our human civilizations, can be rather crazy-inducing. And it drags long (just so damn many things to memorize), so long that time actually passes like mad but still felt like a millennium. Not that I mind it all that much (I’m helping my bro, for crying out loud; I’m not that much of a jerk), but it can get dull; dull like black and grey pages of the newspaper classified, a jumble of incomprehensible, indecipherable images that does little to entice the senses and does a whole lot to confuse the mentality. But hey, I might get rewarded for it, so shut up JE and leave it be.

What I basically do is help my bro memorize his statutes, notes, cases, decrees, whatever other stuff law is incorporated to and etc. And while it might sound pleasant (perhaps to the stoned individuals that I wouldn’t know why they’re reading this instead of hentai manga), it’s not. The factors are:

1) Words that are somehow hard to pronounce (or at least for me. Wait. Yeah, only me).

2) Sentences that I can’t understand, even when my brother took the time to explain.

3) Sentences that I may or may not understand, but still confuses the heck out of me.

4) Sentences that both me and brother can’t understand. I don’t know why but it annoys me, somehow.

5) Freaking English names that are either too hard to pronounce, too hard to read or too hard to remember.

6) Things that somehow seemed to loop back, despite how long it is, as though repeating its own crap-circle (it’s just me).

7) Reading those really, really, really long sentences/points/cases/notes that contain everything of the above.

8) Not knowing what to read, which to read and when to read.

I have to deal with it all the way into the 13th June or so (I might’ve listening wrongly, which could be good or bad). Guess I just need to tolerate through it.

Goodnight people.


Word of the day: Evince-To show or demonstrate clearly; manifest: evince distaste by grimacing

Still reading: American Gods (slow progress).

Anime of the day: Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles (2nd season) ep 29.

Sighing at dinner.


I’m pretty much screwed right now, but strangely the feeling of exhaustion that usually accompanies the plethora of regret and inner-suffocation is absent. Still, the numbness still resides and weighting the mind and it’s nothing short of awe that I can still manage to type right now.

It’s pretty hard to control myself and shouting “FUCK!” at every single thing I can place my blame on, but I know in the end all I could do is just blame myself. I don’t want to heighten the fucked-up feeling welling in my stomach, and I don’t want to place myself in a swirl of regret and remorse and make the day worse it could’ve gotten.

If you’re wondering what big-ass thing I’ve managed to get my pretty much useless and pathetic arse into, let me first tell you that what started off as a crappy dinner is now unfolding itself into disaster night episode 114. Nothing serious, really, nothing life endangering or horrendous enough for me to empty a bottle of febreeze into my guts with hopes that I’d pass out and lose my ability to think so that everything will become oblivious to me as I am oblivious to them. No. But I’ve screwed up bad enough; bad enough to warrant me a hefty load scolding from dad. God knows how much more I could take, not when dad’s already pissed since dinner.

Dinner today consisted of fried chicken wings (self marinated with those RM1 packets of frying flour), a fish fried and served with garlic soy sauce and a plate of fried Okra (lady finger). I believe it may somehow sound alright, and that it’s what regular household dinner would offer to the everyday family. But trust me when I say this; it SUCKS. The chicken turned our rather tasteless; the fish became some flaky monstrosity with crappy sauce all over it. Only the okra was alright. And as the very feisty eater my dad is, complaints were soon all over the dishes (accompanied by the trademark curses and cusses). “What the fuck fish is this? The chicken taste like shit! Where’s the otak-otak? Tiuniama chew chibet.” What could’ve been a warm, quiet dinner turned out to be a round table engulfed with bad moods and horrible temper that hovers above dishes. Dad lost his appetite. His continuous nagging lost me my appetite. Dad left his half of his plate untouched. I finished everything to cover my guilt. Brother had to take swipe at me. Sigh.

My maid does the cooking, so basically everything my dad was hollering at is indirectly directed at her. What he didn’t know is that every evening the maid would confide to me regarding what should be cooked. Thus, the one who gets all the blame is me. It’s bad enough already to silently take the blame for what my maid did, who went on a long line of excuse that the fish should be cooked instead of the otak-otak that I suggested. It’s hard not to blame it entirely on her. I’m still rather pissed at her, especially when she looks cool about it. But I could’ve insisted, and I could’ve made the dishes well much better. Never mind. It’s not like it never happened before.

So what continued is that I have to take the car, under the soft serene rain, to the nearby restaurant and get dad some noodles, and wait a full 20 minutes for it. It was freaking dark, the most of the streetlights were pretty much out, the car’s headlights had to be dim, and I had to scrape the front bumpers to the side of a signpost while parking. Shit. I checked. A lot of paint is scratched out. A whole damn lot. Nothing I could do to cover my crime, apart from brushing off the paint that got lodged at the signpost. I haven’t told dad. What I could do now is either feign ignorance and pray that dad won’t notice it till he went to work, or tell the whole damn thing and brace the scolding along with the humiliation for scraping the car during the one manoeuvre which I perform without fail every fucking week. Fuck. Another thing is to lie; tell my dad that he has a scrape to the bumper when I lock the doors tonight, and pretend that some rogue, reckless driver had scraped it when the car was parked, then feign ignorance. I’d hate to have the guilt, but now it seemed the best choice of action. Damn it.

God damn this fucking dinner.

Green fields beneath the greying sky.

I took this picture sometime back in January, on the way down to Penang for weekend break. Finally fished it out of my neglected picture folder, so I thought I’d post it here before I delete it sometime in the future to make way for upcoming anime episodes.

I was chatting with this girl once, I remembered, sitting at the side of an empty hallway listening to whatever
crap songs my MP3 player was spouting. She told me that she wanted to see the world, and perhaps go backpacking across the continents one day (or something like that, my memories don’t stay fresh). The idea was dead appealing; carrying a knapsack filled with clothes and coffee mugs, striding pass the square courts of London, or walking the open tracks of the American countryside, or standing at the cliff somewhere in New Zealand (preferably around the film locations of LOTR) tasting the wind and embracing the scenery, and forever capture the beauty of every of this locations into the frames of photographs.

This picture, somehow, reminded me that Malaysia has still so much to show, and I have yet to witness every of this spectacles. Perhaps, one day, what I should really do first, is walk across the padi fields of Kedah, or kayak along the blue waters between the islands off Terengganu, or marvel the Mulu cave, or scaling Mount Kinabalu.

Perhaps one day… I should save money for a vacation.

Where’s my piggy bank? Oh right, I don’t have one, not since 6 years old.

Goodnight people.

Word of the day: vis-à-vis -
1.Face to face with; opposite to.
2.Compared with.
3.In relation to

Currently reading: American Gods by Neil Gaiman.

Anime of the day: The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya (Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuutsu) ep 8.

Monochrome.

Don’t ask me why, just that somehow after catching an eye of a monochrome portrait sometime back, the word kind of got stuck around me. Perhaps it signifies a certain relation, or a similarity, to what I sometimes perceive what life and living as (as much as my cumbering intellectuality can procure).

No, I won’t say my life is dull or colourless as any certain teen or young adult lumbering through college, claiming that life is just as lifeless as the dreary shades of grey in the darkening skies. Bullshit. Look everywhere and the rose is just as red and the skies are just as blue, the grass just as green and a 24 inch high-def plasma TV can still make my 16 bit games look like X-Box quality (exaggerated).

My apologies. It’s just that people who disregard the world just because they disregard themselves can get on my nerves sometimes.

No, monochrome, somehow, signifies equivalence. Just two of something; light and dark, black and white, good and evil, yin and yang, roti canai and thosai, all that jazz.
But then I’m a sucker for the light-and-darkness-equivalence sort of things, so render me coco puffs. It’s just that it’s a simple way to put things. You get the 2 things. If one increases, one decreases, but sometimes it goes in reverse. Like walking towards a light source, and the shadows grow longer (this plagiarised off Kingdom Hearts). Something in increase will both decrease and increase something else. And you also get one of something within another… something. Light within darkness. Good within the evil. Get it? Don’t bother. It’s just tish-tosh of a boring, dull-minded individual with affections for monochrome pictures, and it won’t make sense in life anyway.

Ah… my idiocy, once more, startles me.

Goodnight people.

Word of the day: Marquis- A nobleman ranking below a duke and above an earl or a count.

Currently reading: American Gods by Neil Gaiman.

Anime of the day: The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya (Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuutsu)

Blog overhaul.

Been wanting to do it for a while now, and finally sought the will to do it.

Nothing much, just thought i'd change the blog title to something else, despite my peculiar obsessions and similiarities towards the artic blubbering creature with tusks.

Finally placed some links. Inform me if i left out any.

I'll shape it out a lil more, once understand what the hell is HTML.

Maybe upload a picture...

What day is it today?

What day is it today? A bad day or a good day? I don’t know. Somehow beneath my exasperated and somewhat exhausted spirit, both seemed so likely, and yet so unlikely as well. The disturbing, familiar heat rising to my face-a sign of getting caught in the rain-is uncomfortable and disconcerting (while promisingly tempting, getting a fever during the last week of college break sucks). By right I should be pissed at the day; getting caught multiple times under the rain, getting screwed for pathetic reasons, somewhat making myself a fool in front my course juniors (Quiet and Serene? Wrong words, pal), and just tiring the crap out of my wide disgusting bottom. But what is this uncanny feeling of satisfaction settled warmly at my stomach?

Today is the college Mass Call day (or maybe another name, but I’m caring less about it), the day in which the new batch of students from this year’s May intake heave their arses to attend a whole day of non-prolific crap at college (yes, from my own personal experience). Being a senior now… wait, where’s the pride of being so? How come I feel degraded and pathetic and a total loser? Oh right, that’s the feverish feeling kicking in. Sorry. I was caught a rain too many.

Anyways, us senior need to introduce the college to the juniors, just as our beloved seniors did (“beloved” is a candy-coated lie), so today us senior committee members and a few other course mates which is enthusiastic enough to come have to tour the newbie batch around the college. Honestly, I’m not obliged to do so. But I’m obliged to choose to attend to do so. I don’t necessarily need to go, but I have to go, get it? It’s ok if you don’t, because I’m in a class 3 blur-case right now, and things are getting fucked-up.

I have to admit, it’s kinda fun feeling slightly superior to someone else (particularly for someone with inferior height, such as I), and it’s amusing to see the uncertain, quiet and curious but unenthusiastic juniors herding along like sheep in red woolly t-shirts (college t-shirt’s red this year). But it sucks when you get the feeling that they aren’t all that interested in what the heck you’re trying to tell them. And that feeling that you’re somehow deemed a loser and lamer in front of them. Unnervingly perplexing. But I can’t blame them if they do. I did my seniors too. But that’s not the point.

You know what? Scratch the second sentence of my first paragraph. Because today is undeniably a bad day. Why? I can’t elaborate further. Why? Because once more I’m deprived of rest and leisure and sleep because I chose so, which is because I don’t want to be a jerk.

Today sucks.

Pardon this entry.

Please leave me in peace. Crap-damnit.

Flowers of the misty hills, or the coke machine.











Which would you perceive as the more interesting object?

Months back, during a time in a highland theme park, I found myself in the company of a peculiar girl (a friend of mine) who set about taking random pictures with my Nikon Digi-cam. From signboards to broken railway tracks to electrical pipes at the ceiling and the above coke-machine, she was –how should I put it- enthralled by them (or so she seems). I was used to such behaviour in photographing; I myself being a person who would suddenly bolt out to take pictures of an interesting chair that resides on the outside of a public loo, still, I couldn’t help but be slightly intrigued and humoured.

Later in the day, while she was on a ride my weight restricted me to participate in (sadly, but a truthful reflection of my pathetic condition), I strode off to a nearby greenhouse that held somewhat exquisite flowers. Being a terrible photographer, but a photographer nonetheless, I spent a great deal of time attempting close-ups of the flowers and (what I hopefully hope would be) artistic shots. As we were on the way back, I showed her the pictures I took hoping to gain her interest, but at a glance she said, “I’m not interested in pictures of flowers,” and walked off to examine large branches arranged as walls for a restaurant, leaving me quite confounded (and disappointed, as I would’ve liked to impress her).

So it got me wondering, months after as I finally uploaded those pics into my com; if photography shows beauty and what we perceive as beauty or intrigue, then does preferring to photos of different expression of interest show how much someone perceive the sort of beauty they would, well, deem as beauty?

Perhaps people who find the flower beautiful would see beauty as beauty portrayed, or perhaps they’re one who deems beauty as beauty deemed by others (flowers being an object of beauty). Perhaps people of this group would find beauty of the outside, beauty deprived from the first impression.

But the coke machine, well, at first glance, it’s just a coke machine. An old object that once had the privilege and pride of vending the world’s most famous carbonated drink to anyone with a ringgit and 20 cents (alright, I was being exaggerative), standing solitarily and ignored by the oblivious eyes of the ignorant. But perhaps someone else might perceive something different from it, something deep within the initial portrayal and the outside look. Perhaps the machine signifies strength in standing amidst change, or solitude with a side that cannot be perceived by the normal eyes, or cokes in bottles are once vended such as this (I didn’t know that, serious).

Then, if you imply it to life and humans, which beauty captures you? The flower; such as the girl that’s pretty, sexy and beautiful and much adored by everyone else. Or the coke machine; the solitary entity which intriguing side is obscured by the ignorant eyes.

But then, when you come to think of it, everyone perceives beauty at first portrayal. But sometimes, someone might just look harder, and see something completely different in something else.

So, which would you deem is the more beautiful picture?

Heat...

It’s freaking hot today. I don’t know about everyone else, or perhaps I’m under a spell of heat. The days before had been a routine of overwhelmingly hot afternoons and menacingly heavy rains in the evening (alright, not constantly menacing and there were quite a few gentle curtains that Amanda might deem “the perfect rain”), but today was exasperatingly stuffy all day long. The refreshing chill of the late winds were absent, and boy was it dry. I remembered vaulting up my mango to pick of a couple ripe mangos in the evening, and the winds were a gush of dry, warm breeze that does little to entice. Gosh, how long has it been since I actually climbed a tree? I never really did climb much when I was younger, though I did get a kick off swinging on the small jungle gym that used to occupy the recreational park opposite my uncle’s house in PJ (which was my former residence till I moved here, to Kajang, when I was 8). 11 years later with a lot of fat sagging off my bloated body, climbing has become slightly constrained. Time to get in shape.

It’s been a good 2 weeks, I presume, since I posted something here. Not that I intend to neglect it… but then I did, in light of my cousin’s stay with me here for the past 10 days. I could’ve make time doing this, but somehow I thought I’d spend it better by keeping my cousin from eroding under total boredom. These 10 days had been alright, 10 days with good company and some fun, though these 10 days could’ve been very much better with proper planning. 10 days, and all we did was; watch 3 movies (Hills have Eyes, MI:3, Poseidon), visit the arcades on every mall we got into (except Metro Kajang, because we thought the time was better spent on the ps2 at home), played badminton on 2 accounts, worked for a day at my aunt’s, went on a 3 hour karaoke session, played a good amount of card games and… wait, that’s all.

I couldn’t even take him ice-skating as I had promised before he came (we had badminton instead for the evening), and I had actually intended to take him to Genting Highlands (which didn’t work out because we couldn’t get anyone else to go, and the idea of 2 guys going to a theme park either sounds boring or gay). So yeah, forgive me my cousin, because I had officially ruined your 10 day holiday. Better luck next trip.

Cos i owe you one.

The Hills have eyes, and the trains have crappy doors.

The sleep was uneasy. So many nights snuggled comfortably under the blankets of my top, cozy bunk, I had already forgotten the feeling of sharing a bed with my brother. Not to mention that I had grown so much in size (fatter and taller, though only a little tall). Everything familiar was there; the blankets caught under my brother, my rolling to the center of the bed due to the bent mattress, the inability to turn to any position I’m comfortable with. Include the weird noises screeching from the top bunk (yes, screeching) and the sudden and unnerving sleep-talk from my brother (“What Jeff bluah bla Zzzz…” “I can’t believe mmmhmm mumble mumble..”), it was particularly difficult to even relax the mind.

Picture yourself trying to sleep in a cramped coffin under creaking cogs at work with a ghost spouting incoherent and incomprehensible lines every now and then.

Throughout the night I was caught in a sleep that doesn’t feel like a sleep at all, as if the same dream or situation kept occurring again and again and all I could do is either lean left or right and feel discomfort from both. But I have a guest; my cousin brother whom I invited to stay during his 10 day break from college, and I gave him my bunk and shared with my brother. So I shan’t be complaining. Whack me if I do.

I took Ivan to watch The Hills Have Eyes at Mid Valley, which turned out to be a flawed but somehow worthwhile watch (a review, possibly, sometime in the future). Played a round of Time Crisis 2 with him later on, after I got myself a game for the old ps2 and checking out some books (Neil Gaiman, I’m gonna get something of yours), and then we head home.

Trip back was… fucked-up. The train was packed, and I got separated from Ivan and had him cramped alone between a couple of men, so I was feeling rather guilty for placing him in that position. To make matters worse, there was some pathetic technical problem with the door at my train compartment; the door wouldn’t close. We were stranded, stopped dead at the Seputeh station while the commuter authorities tried to keep the door shut. In the end the train had to be emptied at the Tasik Selatan station, which was full with people returning from work to home and hoping for a quick train. We had to wait for the second train that came to avoid becoming canned sardine in a train. Thankfully the 2nd train was an express train, which got us home quicker than usual.

I guess we won’t be going out tomorrow, and I’m rather thankful.

Goodnight people.

Raining until 6

No, I haven’t really been neglecting this blog. Days after my exams were free and relaxing (albeit quite dull and boring, as holidays could tend to be), but without much vibe to write anything decent I’ve been leaving it aside. There’re a couple of entries which I’ve prepared, but it’s not worth posting (all of them nonsense, like this one, only more nonsensical).

The rain had been very intense these few days, full of vibrant rage and immensity. This evening at 3 the sky turned dark, the most maleficent clouds I’ve never seen in a long time shrouds the supposed zenith sun in a swirl of dark menace. The rain lasted well into 6 p.m. or so, its dregs of soft drizzle and occasional rumble of thunder left in its wake. Multiple times the house was thrown into darkness, the power jumped as lightning tore across the sky (thanks to the increased sensitivity of our fuse), and my car alarm was constantly blaring as thunder pounded like a mad elephant with paranoia (stupid sensitive car alarm). Astro became incompetent to provide any service at all, leaving my dad in a cursing state for voiding us of our American Idol and Thomas Cup coverage. Thankfully we still managed to catch The Simpsons at 6. Laughter could lift the grimmest of gloom.

Amanda was having a debate today (I believe). I just realized I haven’t called. Ju Ee had asked if I would go and watch the debate. I didn’t, but suddenly I thought I should be. Then again, my presence there wouldn’t mean anything. It’s not like I’m someone significant anyways. Still, there’s a certain weight whenever I think of it.

Goodnight people.

............................

To be truthful, I’m supposed to be studying here, now. This Saturday’s my MMS, and I’m still clueless of what it’s about. And for the past few days I’m not making much of a progress. Here’s a way to illustrate it:

Study Progress.


(Dead pan) (Still passable) (Definite A)
l------------------------------l---------------------------------l
A fish ME Joe Chimpanzee The whole class


I’m so dead.

I’m being immature, but what the heck, I’m just gonna blame my lecturer for this (miss TMJ, which I have been very, erm, elaborative on one particular post). But what’s her fault? For starters, she made me hate her, which made me very less interested in this subject. Man, I still hate her, that bitch.

Nah, I can’t blame her, no. I mean, even if she is a crappy teacher I’m still supposed to go and pursue stuff myself, which I very well didn’t. Nope, blame it on stupid and lazy self (which sadly never learns. Sadly).

All I do now is read the notes I photo-copied from the guys and hope that one year wouldn’t change a subject too much (the notes were from a senior, complete with footnotes. Sad the language isn’t perfect. But who am I to complain?).

I must apologies for this post. It’s a diversion, for a moment, which I deduce is definitely better than me settling down to o2 jam. Sorry for the useless read.

Alright, time for me to return to my notes, which I’ll probably understand 0 tonight. *sigh*

Goodnight peeps.

P.S: Isaac, if you’re reading this, get a blog back. I only have a small gist of what happened, but I still think it’s waste that it had to go down like that. Pardon my intrusion.

Once more, a useless post

I ought to be studying, I really do. Yeah, well, I can’t concentrate and focus, so I’ve taken myself to type a little something here, just to divert myself for a moment.

Ok, I mean, I really OUGHT to study NOW. I’ve barely touched my Translation notes (literally, BARELY, touched) until a few minutes ago, then pushed it aside after a quick browse because I just found out that for I’ve jumbled out the notes into a confounded order. Yep, I’ve been reading stuff from the 1st and 3rd chapter (are there chapters? I don’t even know) back to back and got myself confused (and feeling stupid). I’ve got a little sorting out to do later, but this first. It’s been a while since I just wanted to type (funny how it always comes when I’m trying to refrain from it).

The past week had been relaxing. Too relaxing, in fact. I skipped 2 college days, and for those days all I did was play Kingdom Hearts 2 and watched DVDs. And I even managed to get myself addicted to O2 Jam (the online rhythm music game, think Dance Dance Revolution on keyboards MMO style). I suck in it, hands down, never been good with rhythm games anyways. But I LIKE rhythm games, sadly, so I’ll be stuck playing it for a while (perhaps longer than Maple story, which I deleted to make space for o2). That is, if I can download more of the song files (I have 10 currently, and Fly Magpie is getting very, very stale).

A little note here to all: Toy Story 1 & 2 (the Pixar movies, the pioneers of CG animated features, don’t tell me you don’t know) is freaking GREAT. I couldn’t appreciate it better when I was younger, and God is it hilarious. I’ll probably post something about it in the future, if I run out of topics to post. In the meantime, if you haven’t watched them, go check them out. I can guarantee that you’ll enjoy it in whatever way.

I’ll most possibly go to college tomorrow, to study with the guys. Last hope to make sure I can get it right.

-When the heart falls into Darkness, the body becomes nothingness. A Heartless forms a Nobody-

The logic behind the crazy banter of Kingdom Hearts 2.

Goodnight people.

Losing my will.

Months back, sitting here in front of my beloved laptop and typing away, was the greatest bliss one day could procure. Now, it seemed like that will has been locked behind the chains of woes and lament that bound this pathetic heart of mine. You might ask the reason of this post here, which obviously contradicted with my above-said reasons, so let me tell you this; for the first time I’m typing something for the sake of maintaining the welfare of this blog, which is under threat of once more dropping itself into an empty and meaningless site.

Funny, though. I’ve always constantly told myself that pain is the greatest drive to write; under the suffocating torment of depression the greatest way to breathe freely is to express oneself, and in my case, with words. But now I’m losing my will to write/type, and the main cause of it is due to my constant barrage of misery from these few days. The ideas are not coming, and the older ideas were cast under a shadow of obscurity so that no light can be shed to it. Even stringing words together is losing its flow, the beauty of it somehow marred by the muck that draws it back. Losing this will is adding on my depression as well. What is happening to me?

Come to think of it, it’s pathetic. The problems I’m facing are merely kindergarten compared to the crisis one faces in the age of adults & maturing teens. It’s no heartbreak. It’s no money-crisis. It’s no I-want-to-down-a-bottle-of-Dettol problems. And yet I’m depressed over it. Wuss.

Her smiles don’t seem to have the same effect anymore. That is, because she doesn’t seem to smile at me that much anymore (and why should she? I’m disgusting). Perhaps her seemingly eager to ignore me has drowned her smile, making it distorted. I’m annoying her, perhaps. Or maybe I disgust her. Maybe I just piss her off by standing around trying to make conversation. Feels like I’m faltering below regular friends. Feels like I’m merely just a friendly classmate, whom she can have a couple of jokes about and walk away, whom she can ask if she borrow something or do a small favour and then say a thanks. I can’t blame her. I blame myself. Me and my chicken-ass guts. Me and my idiocy. Me and my inability to just have a conversation.

Cousin Ivan said I should just go on and confess, ignoring the answers and just let the consequences come what may. I’m still under an illusion that I can still make her see, and somehow notice me. But then, suddenly, both seem so irrelevant. In fact, I don’t really care anymore. Yes, I still have her in my heart, and once in a while my mistakes stung. It’s just that her face doesn’t appear within so often as before, and I can tell myself, “So what if I don’t have her?” Perhaps I should just let her slide away from my feelings. Still, I’m tempted (or disillusioned, perhaps) to just walk up to her and tell her, then without caring for an answer, let things come what may. My friendship with her is faltering badly enough already. A little more won’t change a thing.

So tell me, my dear readers. Confess or let it be?

Dad’s been comparing me to Jasmine, my cousin, super-study person with excellent exam results and highest academic future in the history of my family and relatives. She recently won some poetry recitation at UTAR, and appeared on the paper. Dad said “Look, people achieved something. What have you done?” as usual. Normally it’s OK (he’ll compare me to teenage geniuses that managed to invent the first prototype solar toilet-paper refilling canteen, or something of the sort), but it’s my cousin now, 2 years or so younger, perfect student, perfect academic achievements, perfect family nerd (sorry, I dun mean that). If he was trying to fuel me to achieve something better, he failed miserably. I doubt my abilities to do better. But I’ll show him one day, something that’ll make him see that what I’ve set out for, no matter how improperly irrelevant to him.

I can’t seem to study as well, not unless I bandage my hands as a reminder that I have things to mend (which is starting a debate within my family that I’m going mental, or becoming increasingly weird). I don’t care what they think; it works, that bandage thing. Who said anime never teach you good stuff? What the heck. I’m going crazy.

I just realised that I have yet to complete my April’s Fool story, and I have 5 unfinished ideas. My writing is not improving. It’ll be a long, long time before I start on novels…

Have a nice day, people.

Mistakes were made.

Damage is done.

Hopes were shattered.

Dreams were forgotten.

Vendetta is born.

Love was lost.

Life is death.

What’s left is to restore what was lost, regained what was gained and repair what was broken.

What’s left is a path to endure.

What’s left is life itself. A life to be lead.

And everything lost and gained as we go.

If you’d stop and look…

I didn’t know what came over me today. With a Tom Holt novel freshly borrowed off the shelf of the college library, I was set to read myself home. Instead, I cast it into the bowels of my bag, stacking in under my bilingual dictionary and Dan Brown’s Deception Point after reading only one paragraph. It’s not to say that the novel sucks (or I wouldn’t have borrowed it), but somehow I thought I’d just stop -for once- and look.

Who knows the reason for my sudden change of endeavor to entertain myself in the long, lonely trip home in three separates commutes. Somehow the man with the newspaper looked interesting, and the college student leafing through his notes between disgruntled ladies fascinating. Perhaps I was influenced, inspired probably, by Amanda’s liking of looking out of the bus windows and observe as the world of humans and buildings unravels itself into a portrait of subtle magnificence. I found myself staring, staring at the people, their behavior, their looks and appearance, their attitudes, their gaze; every gaze is so different, so diverse that it borders beyond the comprehensible, beyond imagination or dreams. If you’d just stop, look and observe, the world is a gorge of depth and beauty.

And as you stare at every individual within my range of sight, it reflects upon yourself; how different are they from you? Beyond the faces (and masks, for certain people) lies a complexity so interwoven and varied that it gives an air of life and living, and I found myself inevitably learning, absorbing the light they reflect and asking the questions you asked. Every person here has a different tale, a different thread of fate.

There was that couple nearby, and they’re unusual; delightfully unique and beautiful. One is good looking; handsome and tall, a typical-looking entity among the likes of the la-la community. His partner, his lover, is short, plump and though offensive I am to say this, but truthful nonetheless, she’s what most people would classify as unattractive. Yet, this unusual coupling brims and exerts the warmth and affection, portraying love more than most that I had come to observe. The mutuality, the closeness, the affection, an understanding that between this two people their eyes between each other are staring at the heart and soul but not the misleading likeness of the face and appearance. The matching green t-shirts, the similar trousers design, the mutual act of brushing and tidying each other’s clothes, the comforting hold and contact of their hands, the pure sincerity of their smiles and the soft traces of their eyes among each other; within a society of superficiality and shallow sights, they’re the sun among the a sea of clouds.

Looking at them I questioned myself; could I be that lucky? My thoughts diverted to her, my affection, my love unannounced and unreturned, and I saw her face and smile and stare, and wondered how they would seem if I’m ever so lucky. To see them close, to feel her touch… it’s not fantasy, not longing. It’s passion, perhaps. Or simply put, a love. But could I ever attain such a treasure, a person such as me, someone with nothing to provide, someone who never was handsome outside or inside, someone bizarre. Perhaps time will tell, or luck, or fate and destiny. But I shall remember this couple, these lovers, and give the affection they give each other to her, if I ever will.

There was soon a pattern in my observation, a method of workings. I would study, and then ask questions that can never be answered, and as I studied longer I would look and see if they themselves can provide me with answers. In front of me was another couple, both beautiful people, but between them the compassion of the earlier couple of lacking. Somehow, it seemed, their gaze upon each other never bore deeper to the deepest depth of the heart. Beside them was a college girl, sitting with her head resting on the plastic barrier separating her and the people standing by the door as she stares intently somewhere on the floor in front of her, apparently lost within her forest of thoughts. Within her eyes bore a certain sadness, or remorse, perhaps, and a sense of wanting something (or someone) without having lingered among her looks. What is her sadness? Or is the look just a typical look of intense boredom and routine?

Beside me sat a married couple, the husband carrying a child of 1 or 2 years in his hands. A working man with a rough complexion but genial friendliness within his eyes sat beside him, and the man muttered something that the screeching sounds of the commuter tearing across the tracks drowned before my listening. The father replied, in an air of pride and happiness as he smiled at his baby while the mother stroked the infant’s hair. The working man started making faces at the baby, obviously a father himself, and his antics simple yet alive with animation. At one point the infant looked at me, wide eyed and curious (at the fat monstrosity staring at him). I gave him a smile. He turned to his mother bearing the exact same look, and she smiled. I wondered when I started hating kids. Oh, yeah. When they become obnoxious as they grow. Pity.

And everyone else is just as subtly fascinating themselves. The girl standing far down the carriage, casting a look around as though waiting for someone. The man with a weird haircut, and with clothing that make him look feminine despite its formality. A girl offered her seat to an elderly lady with a child, and then returned to her Mp3 player with a soft smile on her face. The lady I gave mine to said a soft thanks, and looked around the commuter with a gentle stare. Everyone else is brimming with life, and I have never noticed it before.

Obscured under my headphones, barricading myself behind a book, and dreaming past oblivion, I have missed out these little pleasures.

I guess moving at the speed of life, the surroundings becomes a blur of ignorance as people strive by without colliding, or facing a dead end, and yet these doings are what that exerts the detail and subtlety one can observe if they’ll stop and look.

I believe life is beautiful. If we’d only stop and look.

Warning: Teenage ranting.

Yeah, well, I’m disappointed that I didn’t get any comments for the story I posted previously (though I did get myself 3 reviews at the Great writing site). This comes to show that either no one reads this (even she who said that I should regulate on blogging). Or maybe my story suck so much it’s sympathy that I didn’t get comments. But what am I pouting and complaining here for? I know very well the reasons for my lackluster blogspot, so what I can do now is make it a better place. But every writer wants a little feedback anyhow, so yeah; I’m lamenting my arse off like a pussy boy who lost in
Boggle.

Sorry for being irritating. Blame it on short fuse, or pent up frustration, whatever. It’s been a while since I angst myself up in this darned thing, so I’m going rodeo with guns
a-blazing.

Let’s see, who do I verbally abuse first? Ah, yes, that Dog-garn stupid lecturer of mine, TMJ. Yes, I still don’t know her/his/it’s gender, and despite somehow accepting that she’s female I’m still having my doubts. Wait, it’s not fair, is it? I’m raging over her confusing gender, which is not her fault I daresay (not unless she wants to pull a Mulan to preserve her family honor). Yes, what I ought to be flaming about is the fact that she sucks in teaching. To all you possible fans of TMJ out there, go suck lollipop. She’s not that good. No proper notes, no course lay-out, freaking annoying attitude and LAME, I repeat to Houston, LAME jokes! Close to par with the lamest joker I know, ever, in my sorry life, and God help that I don’t get exasperated enough already having to hear nonsensical and FREEZING jokes EVERY CLASS SINCE COLLEGE STARTED. Ah, right, I remembered a certain lecture this year when TMJ mentioned that ranting in a blog or journal is –what was it?- oh right, MENTAL. Yeah well, maybe it’s psychologically unnerving to the simple minded such as yours, but excuse me you gender-confusing tart-turd of a stinking lecturer if I may have your obviously shallow attention, if I don’t fucking do this I’ll fucking EXPLODE in your face. Yes, call 99999999 people around the world who write to release their tension mental and mock the very basic of the course I’m setting down; JOURNALISM. Fuck you. Keep your impertinent and shallow remarks to yourself. If you can’t say anything NICE, don’t say anything at all. Even a thumping cartoon rabbit from Bambi knows that. Stop making me hate your already abhorring classes.

And to the lamest joker I know, shut up. You’re lame, face it and keep your hypothermia-inducing jokes to yourself. And yeah, for a little extra information, take notice if people laugh with you or not, because it never was. That’s perceiving things, and if you can’t do that I seriously doubt your future career. And don’t confuse between people who laugh at you. AT YOU.

To the friend most people call Soft Drink, I know you won’t be freaking reading this shit, but seriously for goodness sake THINK of your fucking future. You’re 20 years old and you can’t even attend classes for your own sake, not to mention that you’re facing multiple examination failures and a horrible attendance record. Think, dude. You’re here for education. You’re here, on your own will, to learn about the things you intend to be your future. So fucking attend class and study. Skipping classes with pathetic excuses such as having lack of sleep or lethargy is dung-pot. Stop whatever crap you do up all night; playing mahjong or toxicating yourself with cheap beer or whatever, and study for a change. And you have a girlfriend in the same course you attend, and if you have any pride in yourself COME for her sake, not humiliate her by being the most pathetic student of the class. Yes, I know I’m not in position to talk all this shit to you; I’m a lazy-ass moron and hardcore gamer idiot, but if I can finally see doing something to yourself and your loved one’s worth and changing for the better, it doesn’t mean you can’t. Wake up and smell reality. You’re 20. Act like one.

To Teh Derwoei my good friend and course mate, I have nothing to say to you except to ask if you’ll be kind enough to stop your excessive gaming at night and study seriously for a change. I wonder how you could face another Re-sit, because I seriously can’t.

Diane, call your friend. Just do it.

Ju Ee, UPDATE BLOG!!!

Isaac, a computer CAN’T DIE. Not unless you affectionately want it so.

Oh, and Isaac, sorry for saying this, but you basically gave me 57% for my translation exam. Confetti!!! Champagne and sushi on ice!!! Where are my bloody fireworks?

My brother! YOU’RE TOO HEALTHY! You’re scaring the crap out of everybody. But good for you. At least you’re happy.

Dad! Please be more considerate.

Mom, stop digging my dandruff.

Max my lovable pet dog, for the sake of your male-hood over your need to chew on the football, STOP BUSTING YOUR TESTICLES. I have had enough of spraying your balls with red medicine.

Amanda, I’d appreciate it if you could, you know, tell me when you’re upset and stuff. I get worried...

Michelle, we need to watch V for Vendetta, pronto.

And finally to myself, Tan J-E, FUCK YOU.

You’re a sorry loser. You’re an idiot. You’re slow and not sharp. You’re lazy and fucking playful. You’re packful of Sins. You need to CHILL. You need to learn to talk, to socialize, to crack open the shell and be outgoing. You need to be brave and shit and stuff. You need to know how to fucking express your fucking thoughts properly and just fucking say I LOVE YOU and have fucking confidence!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGGGHHHH!

FUCK.

Huh.

At last. All my rage expressed and released. Up yours, TMJ.

My deepest apologies to anyone unfortunate enough to read this mindless and resentful ranting of a 19 year old, and sorry to everyone I managed to tick off. You can flame me or beat me up at college or whatever. Just let me return the favour. It helps with my anger management.

Goodnight, people.

April's Fool.


This is a short story i submitted to www.greatwriting.co.uk as part of their new "Lazy Writers" program, which provides a new topic per month as 'homework'. The topic this month is April's Fool. I only found out about this program today (having been deprived of my internet for 2 weeks), so i came up with a shoddy, cheesy and typical short story. Due to limited time i could only manage to finish half of it, so here's part 1 (part 2 will come shortly if the story gets an ok reception). Do comment, alright?


April’s Fool. -by Hafutota_no_JE


Matt, as many may put, was truly April’s Fool.

Born on the 1st of April, the amount of practical jokes he received surpasses his birthday wishes by 100 to 1. He wasn’t all too surprised, really. In the eyes of the teenage entities that revolves around him; his friends, classmates, enemies and cousins, an April’s Fool laughter is definitely more fun than greeting Happy Birthday. And in the teenage society that Matt revolves in, greeting Happy Birthday among guys is deemed “gay and pathetic.” In Matt’s society birthday greetings come in the form of free back-slaps, a cake to the face and stuffed in the pants, a bagful of flour on your body after being hailed by chicken eggs and toothpaste spread across your crotch.
Thus in Matt’s case, since he was born on the 1st of April, those greetings became relentless and cruel practical jokes. An ambushed onslaught of water balloons filled with drain water. A maniac bulldog belonging to the local junkyard set after him. An excellent workmanship of taking his bike apart and rearranging them so that it looks like junk-art. A widely published scandal that was posted on every notice board in school stating that Matt is recruiting members for a cult named The Brotherhood of the Toilet Bowl (in which 65 students turn up in order to worship the fictional Satan-Tahi). Good old times.

So now, sitting in a hole half-filled with a thick, brownish muck with a horrendous stench, Matt knew that he was once more a victim of mindless and insensitive youths that sought only to humiliate and shame others, so that they may be announced as cool and unruffled. The usual anger and resentment erupted within him, amplified and fueled by the typical roaring laughter that filled the air after a well executed joke. Tears of rage and humiliation fought to escape his tightly shut eyes as the laughter burn into his skull and mind, embedding a scorching a mark which Matt will one day refer back as a terrible memory. He was angry, loathing, fuming beyond his widest abhorrence while fighting back the hundred of questions floods into him whenever this occurred. Why? Why? Why? Why?

But Matt knew the rules of the game. He remembered the law of the day, the crossing line that one should tolerate just for today and today only. It was the 1st of April, his 15th birthday. And it was April’s Fool; he was the fool, as usual, and there’s no fool like an April’s Fool. There shouldn’t be an utter of anger sparked by an overdone joke; no outburst, no cursing, no physically impairing form of revenge. Just smile and accept the fact that you were fooled. Just grit your teeth and bear the pain of humiliation. Just pretend to laugh and act as though you deserve it. Abide the rules. Stand the pain. Survive the day, and tomorrow it’ll end. Just for a day. One day.

Matt blew away the muck accumulating on his lips, trying to brush it away from his eyes. The stench was intense, nausea building within him as his lips threatened to break apart in order to gulp the air without having to smell them. He didn’t dare think of the stuff his jokers mixed into the substance. The laughter went on, and through the curtain of muck he saw that the group gathered to observe his embarrassing demise was growing slowly. The hole was about 5 feet deep, halfway full with the damned muck and littered with broken twigs and leaves. Matt was covered from head to toe in it. The Yellow Man, he heard someone shouting. He must’ve looked pathetic. The intense and unforgiving feeling of pure shame settles in his stomach, and he felt like vomiting.

“APRIL’S FOOL!”

Laughter. Cynical, cruel, relentless, inhumane, evil, malicious. It pierced Matt’s heart like a stake of rusted nails. Cold and brutal.

Matt planted his hands into the muck and pushed himself up. His body felt heavy; heavy from the thick muck, heavy from the growing laughter, heavy from sadness dropped down his lungs. He was standing in the hole, trying to dislodge the stubborn muck. He felt worst than a fool. He felt like a corpse, left to rot in a barrage of hungry bacteria in a cold tomb where laugher echoes for eternity.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of there,” someone said. Above of Matt crouched Steve, the class bastard. “My God, Matt. You look like my grandfather’s crap!”

The crowd laughed harder. Someone was wheezing like an insane hyena. Matt felt his anger intensified, and for all his life he wanted to punch that entity crouched at his face, that entity that no doubt had set this joke up. And it was well executed, Matt thought, though he was abhorred the fact they had used Michelle to set him up. She had agreed to help, Matt lamented. My crush agreed to aid in humiliating my arse out of me. He remembered her asking to meet him beyond the field, and him walking towards her with a feeling of confusion and budding hope. Then the initial drop happened. The hole was well hidden under a perfectly constructed camouflage of twigs and leaves.

“C’mon. Take my hand,” Steve said, offering a hand. Matt wasted no moment to grab it. He wanted to get out quick and fast, then leave this torturous state. He couldn’t bear the laughter any more. But Matt should’ve known better. He really should.

The other hand let go. Matt was half-way from vaulting out of the hole when it happened. Oh dang.

The drop, the stumble, the splash. And then the laughter. Matt wanted to die.

“I’m sorry Matt,” Steve said smugly, wiping the muck on his hands with a tissue. “Muddy fingers, Matt. You can’t blame it on me, though.”
Everyone laughed again. Matt stood up, bracing the stabbing shards of the laughter. No one noticed the tears forming in his eyes.

Steve gingerly smelled his palms and made a disgusted look. “Matt! You smell like dung!”

Matt wanted to shout. To scream. To slaughter everyone there with a chainsaw. But there were rules to abide to. Rules of the day. So Matt, against all odds, forced a smile and looked at Steve. “You sure you smelling the right hand?”

The following laughter lifted Matt a bit, and he gingerly planted his hands to the edge of the hole and hauled himself out. The crowd backed away warily, avoiding the splattering muck. He brushed he muck off calmly, making it seem as though it was as normal as drying oneself after a bath. His entire body was brown, even his hair, and his denim blue jeans was barely recognizable. He heaved a sigh, and said cheerfully, “And if you all would excuse me after this excellently well executed joke, I intend to go home and change myself into a better attire so that you may all soil it with filth once again.”

And with that, he left the crowd and the hole, striding across the field towards his home. Tears mingled with the muck, rolling into miniscule brown streams down his cheeks. He stalked past his gate, but instead of heading off to the showers, he paced towards his backyard and threw himself under his mango tree. Nobody that walked past that old terrace house noticed the newly-turned 15 year old weeping silently under the shadows of the tree.

Matt couldn’t help it. The tears wouldn’t stop, the sharp breathing wouldn’t cease. Sorrow had completely deluged him, drowning him a never-ending swirl of bitter torment and suffocation. The questions came pelting into him, and he fought them off. They hurt terribly as he answers, because the answers brought him to realize the painful cause of his pitiful state. He found that he couldn’t blame. He couldn’t accuse. He was hopelessly lost in his own inflicted cause.

“The boy weeping under a tree,
In a day and time of glee!
Shameful, shameful oh he is,
Like a little girl he cries, tsk tsk!”

Matt started. He cast a nervous glance around. The backyard was deserted, save for him. Except for the tree, the backyard was empty, and hiding was impossible. Matt stood warily, and with a careful approach, took a peek at the other side of the trunk. No one was there. Odd, he thought. Was I dreaming?

“Oh, looking for me he is,
Not with that stupid head of his
Find me he shall not,
Not even if he calls for Tom Tim Tot!”

A rush of fear fell on Matt. The voice was high-pitched, inhuman, and it was coming from nowhere (apparently, to Matt’s eyes). He backed himself to the tree trunk, staring about in panic. What was that? “Who are you? Show yourself!” he shouted. And then he heard it again.

“Ah, brave this little boy may be,
Cowardice and stupor is what I see
Asking me to show myself, did he?
Wishes come wrong, though you get three.”

The voice let out a malicious cackle, sending every hair on Matt’s neck standing. He felt his feet weakening suddenly; the fear of facing an entity of enigma and unknown possibilities was too much for him to bear. Humans fear what they don’t know. Hold together, Matt. Hold yourself together. “Show yourself!”

“I sense persistence in his thoughts,
But see me still he shall naught,
But wait, I’m bored, so why not?
Beware what you ask for, boy, you may rot!”

Matt couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t believe his own mind either.

And he wouldn’t believe in a million years he will be looking at the one, true April’s Fool.

Part 1 (end)