Untitled title titling title.

Once more, I’ve wasted away the weekend like a half-can of Pringles chucked into a ravine.

I have not been studying for Tuesday’s mid-term, I have not attempted to start on my MPH Young Writers essay, I have not even thought of which book to review for this month’s book review competition and I have not called anyone for my in-depth report.

Instead I slept the mornings away (after buying breakfast and doing some marketing), chatted online for hours, watched a considerably good amount of Japanese anime, deleted 7 blog drafts, hunted for movie trailers and read Arabian Nights.

I should’ve asked her out for a movie instead. Wasted.

A lot people reckoned that I have not been aggressive enough, you know, in terms of hitting on her (wait… this doesn’t sound so right…), and I know I’m not. And I don’t know what I’m playing at. I hate myself.

Alright, perhaps I shall divert away from this recurring topic of posting tonight. I believe I have already arrantly disemboweled a number of you with such immense idiocy, so let’s keep the body count lower.

You know, sometimes I wonder why I can give someone advice but never seem to be able to adhere to it. I can tell someone the best possible solution over a particular problem, but when I’m toiling with the same thing I’ll find myself floundering at the surface of despair. And I can’t say that I forget about them either. In fact, the first possible explanation and answer is always there when I need one, but I never seem to be able to use them properly. It sucks. It’s like having the right keys to a door, and finding myself banging, slamming and hollering for it to open because I can’t seem to get it working.

A few days back I told a friend (via late-night SMSes), who was in sort of a love predicament, to stop dwelling in uncertainties and seek for the ultimate truth and answer. And she did, and it is my utmost delight to tell you that she found a very satisfying answer. I don’t mean to place this as a pompous brag, I mean, I just gave her something I know and it’s her choice to do it or not. Sorry if I make it seem so.

Anyways, I throw this back at myself and I discover that I’m kind of still living under the shades of uncertainty. A little instinct picked off from studying journalism, I guess I’ve come to accept that there should be no uncertainty in answering any questions asked. Uncertainties suck, and they suck like hell. Before this I was somewhat deluged by a cascade of heavy uncertainties, and those days is like being trapped in some forsaken cave-in with life leaking away from you slowly, and then you suffocate silently but painfully, and those days every single piece of answer is like a perpetual ray of hope, and you cling on to it like your life depends on its thinning tread. It’ll affect your every thought, actions and decisions. Those days were all about asking questions to myself, plunging myself into intense worry and unnecessary fear with answers that are neither true or false, and it eats the heart like termites to wood. And everything then, whatever a friend says, or a brother’s advice, or a song lyric, EVERYTHING, is like the way to sanctity, no matter how good or bad is sounds. Those times were like drowning, and you’re groping at every piece of wood hoping that it’ll keep you afloat. It’s tormenting, and it’s suffocating, literally. Bad place to get into.

A good journalist gets questions answered. No assumptions. No guesses. Plain, hard facts. And I guess that’s what people should do. Just ask. Get the answer. And be content with whatever you get. I have the confidence to guarantee that whatever answer is, whether it is to your preference or not, will definitely if not subtly give you some form of satisfaction.

Irony, perhaps, to find myself still stuck under uncertainty and assumptions when the freaking way out is right in front of me (complete with an escalator and showering confetti). While it doesn’t hurt as it used to, it still sucks to be down here. It stinks. It stinks worse to think that I have the answer out, and I’m not using it. Why? This I cannot answer. Cowardice or stupidity, I don’t know. There’s a wall I have to vault over, and I’m not making it.

… I apologize. I’ve once more steered back into the very thing I don’t intend to speak about tonight. Sorry if you’re puking with utter disdain again.

It’ll be a long while before I get out of this crap.

Ah well, at least there’s badminton to look forward to. The college inter-school sports carnival is soon, and the badminton line-up is as good as set. We’re training now, though progress isn’t all that well yet. At least the girls are improving. And there’s a glitch in a line-up which I have to settle. A very huge bug which is dauntingly hampering.

I know the chances of winning are a tad slim, but it’s competing that I’m excited about. Last year I made the team but I didn’t play, because I backed out for a senior to play instead. That time I’ve just practically picked up the racquet after a decade of not playing (and I never did play well last time), I sucked and I thought that my senior will play better. Well he did play better, but only the slightest fraction, and we got trashed. What pisses me off is myself for skulking out without trying. I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve improved a great deal in a year, and now I want to compete to know my stand.

There’s no way I’ll back out this year… unless I break a bone or something (touch wood, baby. TOUCH IT).

It’s time I hit the sack. I have Wai Yee’s birthday to look forward to tomorrow =)

Goodnight people.

Word of the day: Mordant ~ Sarcastic.

Currently reading: Araaaaabian Niiiiiights….

Song of the day: Still Fighting It by Ben Folds.

Anime of the day: Blood+ ep 32.

Frustrated about myself...

She’s so close… and I have so much to say…

But the words, as usual, rust and dissipate into dust somewhere between thinking and acting.

So much for mustering every ounce of confidence I have… sigh.

I can’t get myself, really. Somehow I know all my flaws and I correct them the best I can, and yet I dwindle into despair every single day. It’s frustrating to see myself falling into the same pathetic chasm time after time, watching the hole filling until it opens the next day, and I find myself buried once more. What can I do? My fault, my flaws, my own incapability.

I wish myself back to the times when I just got to know her… we were pretty cool back then, and I wasn’t such a loser and fucked up idiot. Then the revelation hit me and I realised that I like her more than just a friend, and things snowballed downhill from there. I became a worthless cunt and now I frustrate myself with my self-inflicted suffocation and arrant idiocy.

SIGH.

It’s like waking up daily with her in your mind, with all your confidence and courage emblazoned like a banner of war, and you summon all your will to walk up to her, or get close to her, and then finding herself not noticing you, not giving a damn, ignoring you when you try to get her attention because you’re not good at it, trying to make her laugh or joke or sneer even, but in the end you made a fool out of yourself and you find despair slowly shrouding you in its misery. And you know that this is stupid and juvenile and idiotic even but you can’t help drowning under its persistent currents, and then comes the bouts of assumptions and worries and fears that can go from downright stupid to fucking crazy chicken squeezing down a gun barrel. You feel like shit, you feel like crap and worst of all you feel like a worthless loser. Then you tell yourself that it’s ok, and it’s all about spending time with her and trying and trying and trying again until you’ve said your heart and you know hers, and after everything will be alright. The next day dawns, rinses this down the drain, and repeats.

SIGH.

Man, I’m like, what? I freaking loser.


Goodnight people…


Word of the day: Imbroglio

Song of the day: Dirty Little Secrets by The All American Rejects.

I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence i have...

And cannonball into the water.

I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence i have...

For you i will....

For you I will

Fuck Today.

It has been a long day, but time felt a fleeting ship. Fast, merciless perhaps, never waiting.

It’s somewhat funny to imagine that 12 hours ago from this hour I was sitting here wondering about my freedom of independence and decisions, minutes after my dad irrationally hollered at me for donating blood without seeking his permission. I was angry, aghast, an insatiable void of angst crumbling into a large canyon of nothingness. But no one, and nothing, was there for me to talk to, and the anger somewhat swelled into temper. I wasn’t afraid to have go, and I almost had one with my brother, another tactless individual of the house that wouldn’t see an act of kindness as compassion but instead deeming it as an act stupidity.

And I almost lost it at my assignment partner. If he was standing with me during that moment I would’ve hit him, I admit with much guilt, and that moment the rage seething in me was almost close to eruption. One could only tolerate laziness and utter irresponsibility for so much. The only thing holding me back from totally deluging him with every stinking fault of his was the fact that he is a friend, and a companion. I held back, but I remembered the heat of my replies to his fucked-up answers. I apologized later, but looking back I realized that I never really meant it. Cold as it may seem, I did it only to maintain the friendship between us. It struck me that he never apologized.

You’d wonder how someone should feel when they had practically cost the sleep and rest of a friend because of pure idleness. Perhaps there was guilt in him, I pondered, as I sat in a very long and silent night typing down a feature with no planning and limited information. I can’t blame it entirely on him; my own procrastination and unfortunate delays had their cause it in. Lonely, tired, dejected, one could only feel this much depression in a night. One can of coffee, Questionable Contents open in a separate computer window and some snacks snuck out of the kitchen, I set down to finish the story. It took me 5 hours.

I read back and saw how messy it is, but what is done is done, and I don’t have the luxury of time to retrace my steps and start over. And I was late. A good amount of dallying and immense drowsiness caused me to miss my intended train. The event I’m supposed to attend was held in KLCC, at the convention centre, and when I arrived I was 5 minutes past entrance time. So I ran, like an idiot and a stupid moron, foolishly afraid that being late meant that entrance to the event would be troublesome for another party’s part. I ran on a body devoid of sleep, food and water with only the remnants of the caffeine in my 3 a.m. coffee drink. It was sickening. It was fucked-up above all things.

I found the class, panting, sweating, wanting to puke and only finding that there was nothing that could be regurgitated. The guys looked at me as though I was the foolish bastard, as though everything that matters me to them is gone. I felt childishly dejected and ignored. The girl I’m that I am so deeply infatuated with barely acknowledged my existence there, despite me heaving away like an asthmatic patient right in front of her. It was only later when she asked what was wrong with me, and before I can answer properly she was away with a hand phone. And if there was anything that felt worse than crap this stinking morning, this was it. The feeling of dejection and ignorance.
I know that I am naïvely and irrationally pissed off, but the pain is there, stabbing, nagging, tugging at the rib cage and toiling my already numbing mind. It was my own fault that I am ignored, this I can readily admit. But it comes to show that I am the insignificant bastard no one gives a damn about. Not until I make a show of involuntary groaning. That is something you can’t ignore. And fuck it.

There was no real reason for us to be there at the event, apart from being fillers in that large hall. Everyone was there for nothing, just there, sitting, half-heartedly listening, sleeping, reading, all that jazz. By then I was so thoroughly under a case of self-inflicted mellowness I took the liberty of acting like a journalist and made a small coverage over the stupid event. Yes, it was stupid, and even more stupid for us to be there. Top my crappy morning off with something that I’m practically forced to go only to make a half-assed coverage, listening to dull speeches and being annoyingly blinded by irrelevant light shows. Fuck. Yes, fuck. Fuck that fucked up stupid shit of an event. Fuck the person who wants me there for nothing and fuck the morning. Fuck everyone, I don’t care. The point is that I don’t wanna give a fuck and I’m giving a fuck anyway. Fuck it.

I apologize. But if there’s one day where I ought to have the privilege of saying fuck at, well, it was today.

Fuck it.

Goodnight people.

Word of the day: Fuck.

Song of the day: Better Days by The Goo Goo Dolls.

Up when I shouldn't.

It’s 11 at night or so, and I’m wondering what I’m doing here, sitting up typing this when I should’ve been asleep. And I REALLY should be sleeping, having only slept 3 hours last night, and now the head is toiling with pleads that I should just hit the sack. But I have a couple of stuff to get off my chest, though I doubt I can really go all out here in this publicly viewed blog, but it’s gonna be a relief, at least in a small way.

Brother is stirring. I should avoid typing loudly (a habit of mine, which is an attempt to simulate the sensation of using a typewriter). I’ve spent an hour or less creating relatively similar pie-charts for my Bahasa Malaysia assignment, feeling that the overall theme and topic of it could’ve been so much better. But it’s my fault for missing out all those discussions, and now I’m practically someone head-butting into a group expecting to do nothing and gain marks for it. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a general loathing for people who do this without realising their wrong, so I very much despise the fact that I’m so close to being one.

Somehow I was glad that the assignment wasn’t fully completed… and I get to help pitch in a thing or two. Yeah, well, it’s actually making my week three times more hectic that it should’ve been, but at least I don’t need to live with the guilt of being a hypocrite (I am one, perhaps, subconsciously and without knowing).

Still, extra work can be a bummer, especially when it means that I don’t get sufficient time to hit a decent sleep, and tomorrow I have to miss out on a dinner with my aunt. I miss my aunt and family… they are, somewhat, my preferable ‘second-family’, though our lifestyles and er… social culture are poles apart. But I guess work is work…

Today felt like a heavy baggage stuffed with unnecessary clothes and jumbled up underwear… I was feeling like crap. Tired, lethargic; signs of staying up late trying to catch the finals of the World Cup. Then there was that shot of envy and jealously, which was totally stupid and childish of me. But it’s one of those things where you know you’re being utterly pathetic to allow it to happen, but it just deluged you anyway, whether you like it or not.

So much for feeling optimistic and cheerful. I’m feeling like a sandbag collecting dust as the buffalo drags it up the beaten track. And fuck myself for feeling so. It’s stupid. Plain stupid. Stu-fucking-pid. Yet it nags down your heart like some persistent asshole trying to prove his point. These feelings should be long gone when I made my most recent resolutions. Sigh. It’ll take a couple of days.

Well, emotional baggage checked in into Flight 749, bound to Tomorrow where I have to collect it and heave it throughout the day once more. Time I hit the sack (my GOD my suckiness can tip the entire city of Ipoh into the Malacca Strait).

Goodnight people.

Word of the day: cap-a-pie ~ From head to foot; at all points.

Song of the day: For You I Will by Teddy Geiger.

" I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence I have
and cannon ball into the water
I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence I have
For you I will "

Starting the day, crappy style.

I’m always having this problem; how do you begin something which you can start telling it at any point and time? I know, well, basically I can always start with “Today was a bad day,” or “it was raining this morning”, but I’ve been thought to avoid clichés like the plague of impending doom, so it’s always a bummer trying to cook up a good beginning.

… wait, I just made a beginning, didn't i? *confetti*

Lol, alright, sorry. That was as cheesy as today’s pizzas can come. Well, they always say that the simplest solution is often the best, so here’s how I’m going to start;

This morning was a crappy morning.

Somehow I’ve taken to dally myself until I was late… real late. Alright, well, VERY late indeed. I took my time eating, bathing, packing up and wearing my socks. But that was the least of the crappiness this morning.

Because I’m so god damn fucking stupid today.

Well, a friend asked me to help him hand in his assignment for him (he had stuff to do in the afternoon), and I agreed. I mean, how hard/troublesome would it be? It would’ve been something a 5 year old with a drooling disorder can do, but wait, in case you forget; it was I, aka JE, taking this up. And when I take something up, I’m bound to screw it up somehow somewhere sometime, one way or another.

For today, I’ve managed to drop it into a FREAKING tiny gap between the seats and a divider (or something, I dunno what to call it) while riding the LRT. Fuck. It’s the freaking dumbest thing to happen. The worst thing was when I had to apologize. How do you apologize for something so fucking stupid that it can make the entire state of California puking at its idiocy (ok, I exaggerated, but it IS fucking stupid)? Well, I’m used to it… and I threw in a good amount of profanity (all directed at myself, of course). I’m forgiven, but I don’t think I can ever, EVER, forgive myself. *sigh*

That lose-envelope-into-fucking-gap rendered me very late to class, but the teacher didn’t seem to mind (my attendance was taken). And I managed to skip the questions. Not very good for my CGPA, but it’s a bummer when you’re asked to answer something you didn’t bother to study about, so I’m alright with it. It didn’t help with my mood, though, which was soon a class 3 tantrum a few minutes into lessons. 1 hour later, I was off paying bills at Maxis and heading home. Which means I traveled (to and fro) for 3 hours to attend a one hour nothingness. *cue laughter from Friends*.

Note this though; helping someone can make you feel GOOD. I’m skipping the details here for fear of branding myself as a hubristic fat-ass emblazoning his ‘kindness and empathy’ (but then again, I AM branding myself so, by saying this anyway). But it’s true, helping someone, especially random people in need of a little help heaving their suitcases up a flight of stairs or guiding the disabled folk down the corridor. What’s best was the Thank You and the occasional praise. It’ll most probably stamp in a silly smile on your face the whole entire day. And give you a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. Very soothing.

So, here’s my usual Goodnight People, and if I may add allow me to thank you lot who actually took time to read something as mind-numbingly crappy such as this. Thanks .

Word of the day: genuflect ~ 1. To bend the knee or touch one knee to the ground, as in worship.
2. To be servilely respectful or obedient; to grovel.

Still reading: Staying Alive by Matt Beaumont.

Anime of the day: xxxHolic ep 13 (I think I missed episode 11 and 12… damn)

Song of the day: What Hurts the Most by Rascal Flatts.

“What hurts the most,
Was being so close,
And having so much to say,
And watching you walk away.

And not knowing,
What could’ve been,
And not seeing that loving you,
Is what I’m trying to do.”

Of optimisms and positivisms.

What’s gotten into me lately? It’s like some sort of optimistic-inducing bug has bitten me, rendering me in a state of being very cheerful (ok, I’m aware that I may not look cheerful if you’d happen to see me today). I’m positively happy and lively, I mean, in a consistent manner, not one of those on-off mood swings. I’m taking more time to blog now (a very blissful thing to do, mind. I don’t normally have the mood to blog daily). I’m thinking about her more and more daily (creepy, I know, but I can’t help it). I’m actually writing; not typing, mind. WRITING. As in using utensils on a paper. And we’re talking about fiction, monologues and songs here, not lecture notes or memos. Very unusual of me (being one who have a disdainful dislike for being a bad speller).

I’ve practically taken to singing on the streets (when I’m alone, of course, or far within earshot), sleeping, typing, making coffee for dad and cooking. I’ve been mentally making remarks of everything I’ve seen. I’ve been starting to ask more questions (which is always good, considering the line of my studies). I’ve taken larger but still unsuccessful attempts to try and engage her in a conversation (to be honest, there’s no difficulty in it. It’s just that I’m a tad little on the coward and shy side). And I’ve been dancing. Yes, dancing those darn (very feminine) wriggly-jiggly things I’ve picked up on my contemporary dancing lessons during my first semester. Thank mom for this. She’s been dragging me about trying to get her rock n roll steps right, and yesterday I had to dance with her in front of her colleagues. For demonstration. Embarrassment level 69. Still, strangely, it HAD been fun. And I did get praised for being sporting. Sporting? Seriously?

So, Tan Jee Yee, 19 years old, Diploma in Journalism student, world’s fattest idiot, social misanthrope and the apotheosis of useless and self-depressive males… now finds the world an oyster of optimisms and positivisms, was called ‘sporting’, has been told that he is loved, has fallen in love all over again, monologues with his mind and actually tried to take time to read his Malaysian Goals lecture notes.

You’d think that I’ve started taking crack during lunch breaks.

*sings* “Who will buy my beautiful morning? I’m so high I think I can fly…”

And Italy beat Germany in the world cup semi-finals. Great! I woke up and found my whole family (mom included. MOM!) yelling as Italy scored their second goal. Woohoo! Now that bet between me and my bro is evened up. Come on Portugal! Make my peanuts!

Well, if there is ONE thing that has made me a tad regretful was my stupid refusal to go and have pizza with the gals in class for lunch. Not only had I managed to char-keuh-teowed one of those rare chances of being able to spend time with her, I’ve somehow managed to tick\ Amanda off with my untimely stab at being an LSE. Not very smooth. Another day without progress. The rest of my entire life to go.

You know, now that I think of it, perhaps I’ve been living a life of being overly concerned with the consequences of my actions. I guess that it has something to do with the very horrible results of my several mistakes, and most of them tend to come back and give me a little old haunt. A poke in the memory, a reminder of painful and wounding errs.

I’ve been too much of a coward. I’ve been too afraid of the consequences to make a stand, or to take a risk. Time to courage things up. Time to make a difference. Time to make a risk.

(I certainly hope that I shall remember this resolution and not one day find myself reduced back to my pathetic state.)

Alright, now I’m going to sound very ambitious, but heck, I want to WIN something. Or at least attempt at winning, banking all my chances, you know, placing the best bet and hurling the very best I can muster (which is very little, sadly, but there is something, at least). I’ve been stagnant at these achievements thing for a little too long now. Time to try and do myself proud for a change.

There’s an upcoming book review competition, and I’m hoping to at least lap in a consolation price (I submitted one last year to my lecturer who wants it as a coursework assignment, and I didn’t win anything. So it was either 1) I suck or 2) he didn’t submit our stuff).

... which made me realise that I’m running the risk of not being able to make the Malaysian Young Writer’s competition. This is my last chance… oldest contending age is at 19. I hope it’s not past the deadline. So brush up the writing skills, JE. You’ve got some serious writing to do.

Anyways, if I’m not mistaken, there is a worldwide novel writing month or something, in which people pit themselves against themselves in trying to write a 50000 word novel before the end of the month. No prices, though, just achievement. And I want to DO it. The best excuse to get myself starting on my novels (all which will probably suck, though, but it’s something good to get off the mind. Unrealized ideas are a weigh in the mind).

Time for me to turn in… and see if tomorrow will still be an optimistic, happy day.

This, I gotta see.

Goodnight people.

Word of the day: apotheosis ~1. Elevation to divine rank or stature; deification.
2. An exalted or glorified example; a model of excellence or perfection of a kind.

Currently reading: Staying Alive by Matt Beaumont.

Song of the day: Complicated by Avril Lavigne.

Classroom monologue.

(Written during Malaysian Constitution lecture, in a notebook).

What am I doing here? I’m sitting here in a joy forsaken classroom listening to bespectacled female version of Professor Binns tonelessly chanting through things that I can never place my attention at, which is quite irresponsible of me, being one who pays to learn. So it is, on my part at least, a duty of mine to actually try and absorb whatever knowledge that is practically thrown at me right now. So focus, listen, and try not to write pathetic nonsense into this notebook. Do it for the family. Do it for yourself. Do it for HER.

…ok, remind me again of my attendance here, which I believe is well more important than slouching down on this book and penning things down with hopes of becoming the next Matt Beaumont (I deduce that if I keep this up, it’ll take me a fair 6 decades to finally be able write like him. 7 decades to write like Gaiman and 10 to write like Phillip Pullman). Damn you Matt Beaumont. You’ve completely influenced the very way I write and think, you freaking bastard. Curse you and your damn book, and curse myself for liking it.
Remind me that I’m here to study and not drift off into the land of Ivalice where rabbits play drums and pirates rule the skies, and TRY, for crying out loud, TRY to comprehend these things that I can’t seem to comprehend now (I may, you know, if I actually try). What am I doing here? I’m sitting here in a tormenting cell suffocating under this drawling drone of a crane-like lecturer and penning crap, while the girl I’m having a crush with is sitting 4 rows in front with her attention on full blast (or so I assume). Way to show dedication, JE. Way to show.

Alright, I give up. Now my eyes are already devoid of any lively colour; a shade of plain, morbid grey (save that figure sitting 4 rows ahead), as though the tastes of the world has been reduced to a metallic nothingness of immense boredom (save that sweet little thing sitting 4 rows in front).

Allow me to quote Remy Jones’ song:
SOMEBODY SAAAAAAAVE ME!!

Lethargy… my mind is drained of any will power. I might as well lie down on the table and doze away, and pray that I hopefully go unnoticed by the (seemingly) sharp eyes of the lecturer (and she might make some snazzy comment. Let’s not give her that privilege).

So what am I doing here again? Sitting lonely behind the class and lamenting the sad fact that the guys had ditched me for the sake of surviving this monotonous drawl of a lecture, and penning this thing down. So let’s change the question here a little; what can I DO here (I mean, apart from penning this, which I believe will be running out of things to say in a few moments)?

Ok, gather my options. What can I do? Sleep. No, not sleep. Apart from sleep. Listen. Can’t. Will bleed with severe depression due to overwhelming boredom. Perhaps I can settle myself in a 2 hour session drawing really crappy manga on the tables (do the class a favour, by inducing a little if not ugly art to liven things up). Ah, what the heck. Maybe I can try to list things out like what Matt Beaumont does, or Sophie Kinsella (now that I notice it, the two authors does have certain similarities, mainly their first-person perspective writing. Rachel, I need clarity).

What to list? Right. Nothing. As expected from the brain dead spectacle of JE the er…Brain Dead. The back of Isaac’s head is tempting me to stab it with a pencil. His hairs are literally brandishing banners saying “Stab me! I’m fun!” and “You know you want it. Just do it.” Whoa. Ok, now I’m hallucinating. Better lay off the fantasies and start listing.

Hence this list of lists of things I want to list:

1) Moments to confess to HER (which I have a feeling will always end up with something like this…)

(on a New Zealand hill overlooking a plain)
Music: “The hills are alive… with the sound of music…”

HER: (wearing something of a close resemblance to Julie Andrew’s dress) Oh, the beauty! Look at the flowers, and the wind! Oh, all so sweet!

ME: (in a Tux and James Bond British accent) But all of this… such trivial beauty… they cannot match yours. That dazzle in your eyes, that warmth of your smile…

HER: But surely none can compare to the beauty of summer.

ME: (whips out a ukulele, singing) “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds to shake the darling buds of May. Summer’s lease hath all too short a date…”

HER: *Swoon*

ME: I have always loved you, always.

(And the winds lift the dandelions across the horizon and into the setting sun, as a shower of spectacle rains down from the heavens illuminating two silent figures standing hand in hand on top of a hill…)

(Ok, pardon the cheesiness. FAT chance to happen. And I just remembered that she prefers coke machines to flowers and hills.)

2) How to think faster, answer smarter and not make myself look like a fucking fool.
(I doubt the usefulness of such a list).


3) Things to do if I happen to be diagnosed with testicular cancer.
- Confess to her. ASAP.
- Taste every single food in Malaysia.
- Finish up every novel that I have in plan.
- Travel the world.
- Watch every single great movie that I happen to miss.
- Confront Phillip Pullman and demand that he tell me what the fuck happens to Lyra and Will later in their lives (and if I’m unhappy, I’ll kill him with a BB gun).
- Walk up to JK Rowling and reads her ending to Harry Potter.
- Make requests so that my ashes are to be scattered across the south china seas, or perhaps poured over some hill in New Zealand.
- Have Daniel Powter’s You Had a Bad Day playing at my deathbed.

4) Things that make her look beautiful.
- Her smile.
- The cuteness in her smile.
- That look and smile she makes whenever she sees something so shockingly funny.
- The way she silently mocks the people she dislikes by muttering something in a discontented look.
- Her “Oh, I see” face.
- Her “Oh, I see. Whatever” Face.

(This list can go on for another 3 notebooks, so I guess I’ll leave it here).

5) Why she would never like me (this, I put a lot of emphasis in).
- My horrendous looks, physique and idiocy.
- My slacking, procrastinating behaviour (remediable)
- The boredom that I can severely induces.
- I’m about as charming as a blackboard with hair.
- I’ve seen a ton of other guys with her. All better looking, more charming, and closer. A chance? Nope.
- My utter stupidity.
- My cowardice.

I’m starting to wonder if I’m glancing at her too much.

Is this thing here all about her? Perhaps I’m thinking about her a little too much above the healthy level.

Did I mention how pretty she is with that hair of hers? The way she brushes her fringe… (I’ll list it under 4)

I AM thinking too much of her. Time to stop.

My sincerest apologies, lecturer. I have NOT been listening closely to you, hence I do not understand what you’re trying to say now. Please let me go home. Now.

Isaac’s hair is tempting me again…

It’s over? It’s finally over?

YES!

Now to go pay my bills.


Word of the day: emblazon ~ To deck in glaring colors; to set off conspicuously; to display pompously; to decorate

Currently reading: Staying Alive by… Matt Beaumont…

Song of the day: Save Tonight by Eagle Eyed Cherry.

Sick (sung according with the tune of Ben Folds Five’s Brick)

5 a.m., day after Sunday,
I finished up my damn report,
The smell of cold; air cond is freezing,
My bro is sleeping I am… not.

Amanda’s box was set to busy,
She must have been tired out,
I fried some ham, toasted some wholemeal,
Ate some egg and I was out.

And I drive…
Now that I’ve eaten up
But I’m feeling like a mould
Than I ever had… before…

I’m so sick and I’m sighing slowly,
Down the drain and I’m headed nowhere
I’m so sick and I’m sighing slowly…

The bloody pumps, they aren’t working,
Petronas can suck my sock,
The God damn jack was pretty fucked up,
My tire’s air is running out…

And I slept…
Now that I have eaten up,
But I’m feeling like a mould
Than I ever had… before…

I’m so sick and I’m sighing slowly,
Down the drain and I’m headed nowhere.
I feel like sick and I’m drowning in it…

As time went by,
It shows that work is not fine,
And dad came home, he screwed my ass like some shit,
No I’m not wrong, the tire’s long gone
And I was tired… of sighing.

Closing down my car’s compartment,
For a moment I’m alone,
I feel like mould,
I ate some mould.
Now I knew it…

I’m so sick and I’m sighing slowly,
Down the drain and I’m headed nowhere,
I’m so sick and I’m sighing slowly…

(Goodnight people)

Word of the day: Complaisant - exhibiting a strong desire to please; obliging; compliant.

Currently reading: Staying Alive by Matt Beaumont (dead slow progress)

Anime of the day: KIBA ep 13

Movie of the day: Monsters, INC.

Song of the day: Tonight, tonight, tonight by the Beat Crusaders

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)