Edisi Istimewa Merdeka

Sekiranya anda merupakan pengikut setia Ayah Saya Petani, anda tentu tahu saya hanya berblog dalam Bahasa Malaysia setelah habis meziarahi kasino. Saya berasa sedikit sakit hati kerana saya akan memutuskan jaringan tradisi tersebut pada hari ini.

Untuk maklumam semua, saya tidak berjudi hari ini. Tak tipu.

Hari ini merupakan hari yang amat istimewa. Hari yang gemilang, hari yang memang bermakna bagi semua insan yang melafazkan diri anak Malaysia. Negaraku yang tercinta dilahirkan pada tarikh ini, tepat empat puluh lapan tahun yang lalu.

Dan oleh sebab hari yang bersejarah ini, ramai blogger Malaysia bersetuju untuk berblog dalam Bahasa Malaysia sebagai suatu lafaz cinta yang kecil.

Semua yang hendak saya katakan tentang negaraku yang tercinta sempena hari bersejarah ini telah saya lakukan dalam post Merdeka! beberapa hari yang lalu. Tentunya, cinta yang dipegangku akan negara tersayang tidak dapat diwakili tepat oleh beberapa perenggan yang ditaip di laman Web.

Sekiranya anda berasa patriotik, saya menggalakkan anda melawati beberapa laman Web yang pada pendapat saya, sememangnya menyampaikan suatu representasi yang tepat akan Malaysia pada hari kemerdekaanya: Minishorts.net dan Merdeka Blogger Project.

Terima kasih, Malaysia. Kamu telah membimbing dan memegang tangan yang ramai tanpa penat lelah. Kamu telah mengkurniakan suatu hadiah kepada jiwa semua yang memanggilmu Negaraku. Dan kami sememangnya bersyukur.

Selamat Hari Merdeka.

Brain Drain

Apa khabar, it's been awhile, hasn't it?

Was forced to turn on word verification for the comments as asswipe spammers have been doing what they do best. Sorry for the kemahuanan.

I don't mean to be superstitious, but since I've moved, all inspiration for a post eludes me.

Oh no.

How?

Analogy

Today is a good day. I'm the happiest guy alive today. I had to tie myself down to my chair to post, I was jumping around way too much all morning. Happy ma. Happy! I'm so happy today! I hope you get the picture; I'm trying to tell you how happy I am.

And it's all thanks of a piece of chocolate.

A little background to facilitate your understanding of my chocolate plight.

I have always been a fan of chocolate. A huge fan. I have subscriptions to many chocolate magazines back home and even here in Dublin. Whenever the guys all meet up, we don't talk cock, we talk choc.

I have never really had a piece of chocolate to call my own. I have always had to share with either my dad or my sister. My mom's not really a chocolate person, you see, so she doesn't really give a shit.

I messed up a piece of my dad's chocolate a few years back. And I mean messed up. I accidentally sat on it, stepped on it, crushed it. It was fucked, basically. Even after a visit to the chocolatier, it wasn't ever the same. It didn't taste right, it made funny noises when you tried to eat it.

We have lived with the fucked piece of chocolate for years now, as we couldn't find someone stupid enough to unload it on.

Over the summer though, the aforementioned piece of chocolate started giving real problems. It was insane, really. You couldn't even bring the piece of chocolate close to your mouth, it was that serious.

That prompted my dad to consider getting a new piece of chocolate. And being the resident chocolate fanatic of the family, he naturally discussed it with me.

It started out as careless banter, and knowing my dad, I was doubtful whether he would really spring on a fresh chunk of chocolate. But we talked about it nonetheless, mostly as an excuse to bond over guy stuff. Any nothing's more manly than chocolate, I tell you.

The discussion picked up momentum about two weeks ago, when even my mom was bitching at my dad to get some fresh chocolate. She complained that we don't have enough chocolate to go around in the house, and she sure as hell was tired of sharing, especially with me, as my chocolate eating habits were rather rough, gruff and disgusting.

So, the initial plan was to get Japanese chocolate. Dependable, easily maintained. The trade-off was that it lacked any real flavour, it hadn't any substantial flair. But that didn't matter. Practicality, my good man. I was to share the piece of Japanese chocolate with my sister.

It was a pretty good deal, and not earning any money myself, I couldn't ask for more (nor did I dare to). If you didn't know, the farmer is a complete psychopath. On a good day.

So it was a done deal. Japanese chocolate it was to be.

But the deal did not close, it did not materialise. My dad called to tell me that it could wait, and the best thing was to delay the purchase till I went back home next year.

I wasn't disappointed in the least, as I knew something like that was bound to happen. The farmer's a real hot hot chicken shit character, a trait which unfortunately passed on to me by way of genomic imprint. Cibai DNA.

So all talk of chocolate ceased. At least for a few days.

A few days later the farmer called to talk cock. I was rather surprised as talking cock was not one of his regular indulgences, especially with me. We were talking about chocolate, as it was the topic of the moment.

The conversation naturally veered to me salivating over the phone about my favourite chocolate, my dream chocolate. German, baby. It was just a dream, definitely, as it was not a realisitic investment. Especially at my age. I told him I would spring for it with my first chunky paycheck.

The offhanded suggestion on my part turned out to produce some effect on the farmer. Maybe he could hear the desperation in my voice, maybe he could sense the incessant longing in my tone. Whatever it was, it doesn't matter. What matters is that it worked somehow.

He called almost every day, asking for more information about the particular piece of chocolate I was interested in. Specific details, down to how large the chocolate was, what was the percentage of cocoa, etc. He actually showed some interest, which was surprising.

Then came a commitment on his part. He talked it over with my mom, and he said there was a possibility of him getting me that particular piece of chocolate. It would require some hard work on my part, getting the proper grades and all that jazz.

I was surprised. I'm sure there was some joy intermingled with the surprise I felt, but knowing the farmer, I didn't put too much stock on his words. I would have to wait and see, I thought.

Fast forward to a few hours ago. I was awakened by a phone call from the farmer. He sounded really excited. He was at the chocolatier. He just taste-tested the particular piece of chocolate I was cumming all over over carpet about.

He said it was really something. Real German chocolate, balls. Smooth, with a kick, not too sweet either. Once you bite, you can't turn back. Ho ho ho. I knew I had the farmer by the balls.

He asked me really weird questions, specific questions like what colour did I want it in, what packaging I want it to be wrapped in, and lots more. Groggy with sleep, I just played along, as I know he's as screwed in the head as I am (after all, he did pass it on to me).

"Why the questions, farmer?"

"My friend who's in the chocolate business said that in a month of two, all imported chocolates will increase in price. Something to do with the imminent Imported Chocolates Act. So I'm buying you the piece of chocolate now. It's gonna be all yours, so you better take care of it. There's also a waiting list for the chocolate, so the timing is just right."

I was dumbfounded, balls. My mind ran wild.

"Are you serious? For real? Why are you being so nice to me? Are you afraid I'm going to go mad from all the studying?"

"Take it as a form of motivation. Study hard, knowing that this piece of chocolate will be waiting for you when you return."

"Waa? A bribe ah? I'm not seven anymore, you know? You can't buy me a Lego set and expect me to be all different after that."

"Oh shut up and be grateful."

"Uh. Thanks. Really. Thank you very much."

And that concludes my chocolate story, ladies and gentlemen. I'm still a little fuzzy from all the excitement.

Bloody hell I'm so fucking happy. Even Jessica Alba, naked and willing can't top this. I'm so happy. It's a beautiful day. Fuck yeah. Thanks, farmer.

Merdeka!

"Tanggal tiga puluh satu, bulan lapan, lima puluh tujuh.." In a week of so, Malaysia will turn 48.

Merdeka Day has always been fun. It meant going out late to the padang to watch fireworks back home. It meant the insane traffic jam to get there. It meant joining hundreds, thousands of others jumping up and down, screaming Merdeka! Merdeka! at the top of our lungs.

I'm sure most of us jumped and screamed just for the heck of it. Hey, when you're young, being able to jump and scream in public is quite syok.

Merdeka Day meant staying overnight in school, polishing our (music) instruments. It meant waking to wash up in the school toilet at 4a.m. It meant Merdeka Day parade, a fantastic affair where hot Red Crescent chicks would march by your side in case you collapsed. You'd be tempted to faint, trust me, you would.

I can still remember remember the cold, I can still smell the Brasso. The sights and sounds are still vividly imprinted.

Getting slightly lame. Sorry. Better check myself.

I guess this post was provoked by something I read online. Ungrateful Malaysians giving stick, taking the piss outta the country.

I can't understand why some people hate Malaysia so much, I really can't. Don't you feel blessed in the tiniest way at all? Lucky, maybe just a little bit? I'd even take indifference in the place of spite.

Sit down and think hard. Has Malaysia given you nothing at all?

We grew up in relative peace and prosperity. I'm not going to launch into a be-grateful-you're-not-in-Gaza tirade, that's just unrealistic; but think about it.

We were never persecuted socially. Really. The whole education quota/Bumi discount policy will immediately spring to mind here. But really, what do you think can be done? We're barely fifty years old, radical changes (if they ever do take place) take time. What do you think is ideal? All the pro-Bumi benefits retracted suddenly?

That'll be a sight. Bid farewell to the steady racial/political climate that we've worked so hard to attain.

Education. You always hear of the poor little guy who gets shat on. He got thirty A1's and yet there's no placement anywhere for him. Follow up, please do. It always gets resolved. It might take an appeal to some political party and a guest appearance in a local newspaper, but it always gets resolved.

By the way, getting thousands of As doesn't really mean shit anyway. So you can memorise a textbook. Woohoo. No one owes you shit. And if you think someone owes you shit, you're likely not going to get any shit at all.

And do you seriously know of anyone who's stuck after high school? Like really stuck, and forced to rummage through the refuse to stay alive?

It doesn't happen. It doesn't.

And so what if things work a little different?

People complain about the police. You bitch about how they're soft. I don't think you'd have the same opinion if you're slapped with a RM350 fine everytime you fart at the wrong place. What's wrong with a chance to talk your way out of it? I personally think it's cool that you can talk shit to the policeman who stopped you for being on the phone while driving.

"Tolonglah tuan, saya pelajar, tak ada duit bayar lah".

It's just a minor offence, so what if he lets you off? It's not like you can bargain with him if you've just committed murder. We're alright when it counts, and that's what counts.

You say "Screw Malaysia, I'm leaving for country X". That's all really nice, but where do you think you made the money to buy for the plane ticket to wherever you're going? To settle down in the random country you picked?

And where do you think you picked up the education to be financially/socially-aware enough to mess with the idea of emigration?

I'm not judging anyone, nor am I condemning Malaysians who've left for somewhere else. There are many scenarios and many circumstances that can't be solved by one's love of one's country, that I'm not stupid enough to ignore.

I'm just talking about those type of people. You know? Ignorant fucks who know fuck all but enjoy condemning Malaysia just for the sake of it.

We're still a young country, and we're still weeding out the fuckheads. So if you want to leave, leave I say. We won't have you anyway.

What's wrong with a bit of colour? It might take hours to get anything done in a government office. But you don't see people sitting on their asses and doing nothing right? People are actually working, documents are actually being printed.

It just takes a long time cause the system is fucked, it's old. Are you doing anything about it? Are you helping? If not, shut the fuck up, sit down and wait your turn.

Maybe it's just the particular mood I'm in, but I really don't think these minor bumps are a problem at all. They are part and parcel of who Malaysia is, at least right now. Take away any of her eccentricities and you're left with a dark, dull place.

Do you get what I mean? I don't mind the minor annoyances. It's fine if everything doesn't work perfectly, clockwork-like. It's fine that the streets are somewhat dirty. If everything was so perfect, it wouldn't be a nation, it'd be a colourless, lifeless anthill. We have muhibbah, majmuk, toleransi, perpaduan. You think it's everywhere? You think it's so easy to find?

Spend some years of your life far away from home, in a totally alien culture, and see if you still feel the same way.

Nothing will change if we keep leaving. It's not that simple, I know. It's not always easy back home. I didn't even apply for placement in a local university, it just wasn't a viable/realistic option.

There's the issue of better recognition of degrees attained overseas. As with work, there's better opportunity, better pay, whatnot. Many are forced to leave the country to pursue what can't be pursued at home.

I don't think that even I, after professing my love for my country in this post, will work in Malaysia right after I graduate. Hypocrisy? I don't know. I love my country, but yet, if I can make loads and loads more somewhere else, how? Of course, right now I truly believe that one day I'll come home. But you never know what's going to happen.

What to do? I don't know. I don't hold the answers. Bloody hell I've gone on and on for so long I'm slightly confused already.

Bottomline is, happy 48th, Malaysia. You're like family. Even if your dad is quite the fuck, you can't help but love him, right?

And fuck it if you don't agree with me, it doesn't bother me none. If I want to wave the Jalur Gemilang while screaming Malaysia Boleh! at the top of my voice, that's my business, and I'll do as I please.

And it's not just for the heck of it either, I think the screaming has finally been infused with some meaning. This is me hoping the meaning gains strength over the years.

Happy Merdeka, people.

Fresh Kicks

The day has been good.

So it's finally over. The final paper turned out pretty okay, so all's well. I think. Just gotta cross me fingers and wait for the results. Please, Aslan, be kind.

Last night's slumber was peppered with freaky interruptions. Kept waking up every few hours or so, pharmacological terms running wild in my head. Didn't feel right to be sleeping so much, remnants of exam stress I guess. It's over dammit, now get the fuck outta my head.

Anyway.

Got myself some new kicks. Walking by Foot Locker earlier proved to be far too tempting. Now there's a lubang in my saku.

That said, I have always had a thing for white sneakers.

Bought a pair of K.Swiss Tongue Twisters when I first got here. It's been two years or so. They have served me well. Fare thee well, guys. Thanks for keeping me safe and warm.



And why, hello to my new Air Force 2s! How do you do?


It wasn't a premeditated decision, getting the Nikes. The Foot Locker here carries special 35th-anniversary-edition Superstars, and have always thought I'd get them eventually to replace the old sneakers. And since giving away my old Superstars, I've kinda missed them.

But Aisyah said the AF2s look better. Had to listen, no choice, lady ma.

Getting new kicks wasn't the ultimate highlight of the day.

It was this.


While I was paying for the shoes at the counter, the salesgirl said I was her easiest customer of the day, so she slipped me a tub of polish (waterproofs and protects, she said) for free. Told me not to tell anyone. Very Mission Impossible. That's €10 outta the sky, balls. Now I can finally pay for a new Porsche. Ho ho ho.

It's the first time anyone have had anything positive to say about my manners/attitude. I like the salesgirl. Too bad she's a bit fat. Boing boing.

Right, so maybe posting about new shoes is not very macho, but I more than make up for it with my excessive use of profanities, right?

Nabeh puki tiau.

Am still hung over. Head pain, head pain.

I Like It Rough

Weeks of toil, thinking and ting tong tiang will soon come to an end. I'm leaving for my final paper in a few minutes. And after, I will be bursting out. Once more. I really hope it's the end I ever see of these papers.

The first and second paper went far better than I could ever have dared hope. So all is well. I think. Unless I'm really fucking inept at gauging circumstance.

The next paper is one which everyone brushes off as nonsense. Nonsensically easy, that is; because most people I know passed it. It's only a small itch to most of my other classmates. One which they scratched rather successfully but turned out to be the equivalent of chicken pox for me. Cibai.

But I've always found it to be the toughest section. Mental block? Underlying psychological reasons? Has it anything to do with the fact that I played with dolls growing up? Fuck.

In my defense, I'd like to think I'm not stupid. It's just that my fantastic mind works in ways markedly different from the average dumbass medical student. That means all you who passed, bitches.

Ah. The joy of subconscious rage release. Ho ho ho.

But fuck all that, I'm just gonna shower, get dressed and go do it. Fuck everything else. If all fails, let's just hope the first two papers will compensate for this one. Tolonglah, puki ayam.

Have kinda lost all drive to slog anymore. Am drained, saturated. Spent mostly the entire night blasting Disturbed (Fear is the song of the moment, go listen) on the iPod and jumping up and down in my living room, kicking my sofa from time to time.

The curtains were closed, of course.

Ah, they joy of closure. It will all be over the next time I log on to check my mail.

Will be reacquainted with my very best friend, Mr. Fridgepack, after one whole month of unavoidable detoxification. Oh how I look forward to violating your small tinny hole of a mouth once again.

I promise I will go through the whole of you before I depart for the post-exam party in the pub. That way, I will be so smashed I wouldn't need to spend much more in there. I'm saving the money for new sneakers and earphones, see.

So Mr. Fridgepack, welcome me with open arms. Look not away, but accept me into your cool embrace. I know I have forsaken you, but it could not be helped. Please understand. If I don't do well, pass, graduate and start making money (and uh, yeah, help a few people along the way, that too), it will be the last I ever see of you. How will I afford you then?

I know how you like it; I'm not going to be gentle this time.

I won't stop till I see blood, baby.

Kopi!

Wah, this post will have a lot of picture, okay?

I will show you how is the perfect start to the day. The food part lah. I show you how to make the best sandwich in the world! You will feel like you are in coffee shop in Penang! If the coffee shop got make sandwich lah, okay?


First you must have the bak. Meat lah. I like to use fish and bacon. Throw both into oven for thirty minutes at two hundred degrees. They will both come out damn crispy, okay? Damn nice man when the bacon and the fish is crispy!


While you wait for the meat in the oven, don't waste time! Got other things to do! Like fry egg. Must fry mata kerbau style. Pan must be very hot, so the bottom of the egg is brown before the yolk is cooked! Yolk cannot be cooked, okay? If not everything spoil. Must be wet wet. Mmm.. Wet wet.


Next, toast two slice of bread. If toast bread also you need me to teach you, you are stupid. Don't try to cook, later you set yourself on kebakaran.


Next, get ready the mayonnaise and cheese. Must use normal mayonnaise, no pondan light/low fat bullshit. Cheese is up to you what you want to use, but I like the edam cheese. Must be elitist, okay? If chances are people you see on Penang Road don't know how to pronounce the name, you are elitist! Congratulations!


Okay, sapu both slices of bread with a lot of mayonnaise. A lot, okay?


Then put cheese on top. Two slices for two slices ma.


The meat will usually be ready by now. If not, it means that you work too fast. Must slow down next time, okay? Put the bacon on one slice of the bread.


Then put the fish on top. If you put the fish first, the bacon will fall off the fish. Because the fish is not flat, okay?


Wah! Almost ready! Now put the egg on top! Must be careful, later the egg pecah. Then all wasted. Use spatula to pick up the egg lah, don't be lazy.


Cover lah, okay?


Now for the high class feeling and style, you must cut the sandwich! I like to cut diagonal, cause I feel that one more class.


Wah! Look at it! So nice! This is the best sandwich in the world. See the yolk spill everywhere, so perfect! Don't say no ah. Very nice, okay? Too bad you cannot taste it. I use special sauce some more. So special I cannot tell you what it is. Sorry lah.


For the coffee shop feeling I promise just now, go and buy this one. Nanyang Roasted White Coffee! It is the best kopi-O out there. Kopi-O means no milk lah. This one is special because got that kao kao taste. Kao is thick lah.


See? The coffee so kao! So black! Cannot put too much water, okay? Half cup is enough. I tell you, the coffee so kao it make your heart go pom pom pom. So much blood flow and the blood flow so fast, your ku ku ciau also can khi ngek. That is what you call kopi-O KAO man! If you don't have ku ku ciau, I think you will just dizzy lah, sorry.


Of course, not really coffee shop without the hoon kee. For best result, put one leg on the chair when you smoking, okay?

I hope this is useful to you!

Cold Water

Lemmaleh I have not any cold water from the kitchen tap.


There's plenty when the arm the swung to red, but hit the blue and not a drop flows. Bloody hell. I've always felt that warm water from tap is helluva dirty. I always imagine loads of dissolved shit in it. Is it just me, or are you the same?

So how?

The rice cooker is missing out on its monthy washing. And I have to wash my cups in the toilet sink. And also fill my boiler in the toilet sink. Bloody hell.

I've checked the valves in the kitchen, and they're all open. It can't be due to an obstruction, can it? What could possible block it till there's nary a drop?

I'm very annoyed.

On another note, the first paper went rather well. Which makes me worry, will the other papers be just as good? Or are they just fucking around with my head; letting the first one lull me into a false sense of security, and shooting me dead with the next papers?

Damn, balls. Damn it.

Watching the Narnia trailer took me back. Am re-reading the chronicles of C.S. Lewis. The second time round, it's fantastic what you pick up; now that you're no longer a dumb kid. Read it, and see if you can spot the various subtle analogies to theology, politics and whatnot.

It's uber coolness. It's like christmas all over again.

Hey

I'm sure my words no longer hold any meaning for you. But I really hope that one day, we'll be able to share a shred of normalcy once again.

Is that a too selfish a request?

Have grown a bit, methinks. I know more now than I did then. I have to right my wrongs. Can I at least have that, please?

Righto, off to my first paper then.

Please let it be a good one.

It's Here

My new toy has arrived. Am thankful for the few minutes of blissful distraction.


Arrived this afternoon. For once, was not grumpy when woken up by a call. Don't you just love brown boxes? Don't you just love mail? Parcels? Wowie.


Careful extraction now.. Be careful now..


And now it sits majestically in its snug dock, begging to be heard. Caressed. Licked even.

Am satisfied with everything except one. The stock standard earphones are kinda shit. Want to lay down for a pair of white in-ears, but don't think they're worth the dough they demand.

Annoyance

This is the scene outside my bedroom window. Notice the guy in yellow. I fucking hate him. Every morning, as soon as I lay down on my bed, he starts work. His work involves wielding a jackhammer. Which involves generating a lot of noise. Which forces me to close my window in order to fall asleep. Which causes me to wake up a few hours prematurely to open the window as it gets too stuffy.

I know you're just doing your job, man in yellow. But that still does not stop me from hating you. Why does it take you so long for you to finish? You've been fucking jackhammering for four days now. I hope you forget your pondan reflective safety vest and get run over by the garbage truck.

My first paper is tomorrow. Fuck.

David

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, a squirrel came to be. The mother wanted to name him Nutty, but upon the all-powerful, ever-encompassing word of the father, it was decided that he would be called David.

Thus, began the chronicles of David the squirrel of Nutland. Chit chit. David grew up in an ordinary squirrel home, where females were of insignificant value. A female squirrel was worth less than a quarter of a nut. A quarter of a peanut, to be precise.

The males squirrels spent most of their time fucking around whilst the females busied themselves with work. Gathering nuts, shelling nuts, storing nuts. And when I said fucking around, I meant fucking around. Leisure equated to Chit Fuck Spas, quality, swanky establishments where the males would play with each other.

Literally play with each other.

Female squirrels were only violated when there was need to further the family line. Sexual intercourse as a recreational activity meant male squirrels fucking male squirrels. Odd as it might seem, it had been such since anyone could remember.

Nutland was a place filled with nuts. Chestnuts, hazelnuts, peanuts. But the most coveted of all nuts was the Golden Coconut. The Golden Coconut was the stuff of legend. Its existence could not be confirmed, as the last time any squirrel came face to face with it was almost three years ago. Which is fucking long in squirrel years.

Yet, every squirrel in Nutland dreamt of the Golden Coconut. It was rumoured that the Golden Coconut would bring balance to Nutland. How? There were many different postulations.

The fat squirrels theorised that it would bestow upon its owner an inexhaustible supply of nuts. And not just coconuts. Any kind of nut!

The right-winged squirrels pressed that the owner of the Golden Coconut would be recognised as rightful ruler of Nutland, which was leaderless as long as anyone could remember. He would be crowned the King Chit, with hundreds of squirrels at his beck and call.

The radical squirrels said to anyone who would listen that it would restore normalcy to the sexes. With the finding of the Golden Coconut, females would finally garner a place in squirrel social hierarchy. And the male squirrels would actually want to screw the females. For leisure! As would be expected, this unorthodox theory was not very popular.

Growing up, David always questioned his sexuality. Although he was content spending his days in the various Chit Fuck Spas, deep down he felt uneasy. Queasy almost. He longed for something he did not know. Something he did not dare ask anybody.

In Nutland, a male squirrel with questions, an uncertain male squirrel was the bane of society. Male squirrels lacking conviction would be.. would be.. It is too awful to say. Awful, awful.

David wondered (silently to himself, of course). How could living in such a society be normal? Where you can't even ask questions? Where recreation meant a dark, black hole? Where your mother meant less to you than half a peanut?

The questions gnawed at him. It ate David up, slowly but surely. His threshold was fast approaching. He was soon feeling as if he would burst.

One fine morning, he got up from his comfortable crushed-peanut-shell bed, brimming with confidence, full of conviction.

He was going to find the Golden Coconut, and pray that it did what the radical squirrels said it did. Nothing would stand in his way.

to be continued..

Sia, Sial!

Short post.

Am supposed to be studying.

Just spent the last four hours reading kennysia.com. Damn he's entertaining.

If you haven't been, go. Really.

Am supposed to be studying.

Nabeh. Gotta go back to my books.

What's the fucking difference between bronchitis and bronchiolitis?

I just don't get it.

Am frustrated. Lemma puki chao cibai.

Will study. Now.

Sunday

I used to wake up happy on Sundays.

Apt. The seventh day, the day of rest, the number of perfection, the Lord's day. Wowie.

When I was a kid, I'd automatically wake in time for the cartoon marathons. There'd be roti canai on the table, perfectly complemented by spicy-sour meena kari. The farmer's Sunday ritual involved driving to the roti canai van-stall near Lam Wah Ee hospital to get breakfast for us all.

That has stopped. A long time ago.

I don't know what happened to the roti canai van-stall. Since the autopont came to be, they vanished. Together with the best roti canai on the island. And its perfect complement, spicy-sour meena kari.

When I got a little older, I'd wake up, looking forward to church. All scrubbed and in my Sunday best, I'd go downstairs to wait for Uncle Eddie and Aunty Mei. We'd always go somewhere new for lunch after. It's a wonder we never ran outta new places to go to.

I haven't seen Uncle Eddie and Aunty Mei in years.

What do I have to look forward to now? The only plus of it being a Sunday is that the rubbish truck doesn't come by and make a racket, so I can stay asleep for a few hours more.

Sad.

I was rudely awakened today, even minus the rubbish truck. Fucked up dream. Same dream. Stress, balls.

Dreams are shit. If they are fantastic, you wake, hopeful, searching. If they suck, you wake, gloomy, fucked.

I used to be a believer. A very staunch one at that. Am slipping, slowly but surely. I wonder, how can you be happy with one, just one? Nicer ones appear all the time, tempting you, pulling you down. I'd ponder more, if there was even one right now, but there's none. Haha.

I wonder, how come that question has never surfaced before?

iPods & Jello

I'm bored to death.

Half an hour ago, I was feeling rather optimistic about the whole resit affair. It's all good. It can be done. No worries.

Then ten minutes ago, I felt a twinge of panic. A twinge, but it was there nonetheless. How can I possible remember all this shit? In case you didn't know, there's quite a lot of shit. Loads of shit.

Fickle.

I was surfing Apple last night. I discovered students were entitled to educational discounts off Apple goods. I could save €10 on the new iPod, €5 on the vinyl case and €6 on the dock. That's €21 in total savings, balls. In Cina logic, it would be unwise not to buy. Plus there was free shipping. And free laser engraving. Whoah.

Bloody hell this deal was tailor made for chinamen like me. Can you spell the words impulse buy?

So I jumped on the iPod bandwagon. I will be joining millions on the street who walk by each other with nary a nod or a hello. With white earphones sticking out of my.. um.. ears.

It arrives in a few days' time. 20 gigs of music with.. wait for it.. a colour display! COLOUR WOR!

I engraved life is shite. cope. listen. on the back. Smart, huh? Thank you, thank you. I wanted life is shit, but apparently you can't engrave naughty words. Adding the e makes it alright, in case you didn't know.

Anyway.

Larry's birthday is days away. I still remember last year's celebs. We were drinking warm (not by choice, we ran outta ice) black label by the pool downstairs his place after a great barbecue. Too bad there won't be a repeat this year.

Have a good one in Dundee, bro. You're an adult now. No more 'weed gives me jello legs' bullshit. Haha. Jello legs.

Funny.

Shite

Shit is raining down in the truckloads today.

Broadband's fucked. It couldn't connect at all yesterday, and the connection is fucking erratic today. Online. Offline. Online. Offline.

Fuck.

Cable is fucked as well. All the sixteen channels are gone. Normally, I wouldn't complain, as I don't watch that much television to begin with. But it's proven to be a vital source of noise in these days of insane quiet.

The house is so fucking silent I can hear the clock ticking. Ominously, almost. It's counting down.. Tick. Tick. Tick.

If my life was all cartoony and animated, I'm sure you'd be able to hear the crickets by now.

Fuck.

I also accidentally deleted my entire phonebook. Gone. Gone from my mobile, my Palm, my PowerBook. There's no way for me to salvage anything. Anything at all.

I've lost everything. The next time you call, I'll most probably ask who you are. Don't hold it against me. Shit.

Oh shitty day. Oh shitty day.

No Idea

..as to what the title should be, that is.

D-day is fast approaching. Funnily enough, the train seems to be losing steam when it desperately needs to be picking up speed. Oh damn.

Head was saturated with shite pharmacological terms yesterday. I swear, one more fucking drug and I would've gone pop. The neighbour suggested we go watch Charlie in his chocolate factory, and I gratefully agreed.

The book was one of my favourites growing up. The Oompa Loompas disturbed me then, and they still do now. I thought it was a fantastic feel good movie. Depp is a genius, and so is Burton.

I found Veruca Salt to be quite attractive. Fuck. Is paedophilia going to be my new thing?

Anyhow, the neighbour invited me over for soup afterwards. She's scaring me. I think she's so stressed with the papers, she's on the verge of insanity. Imagine, she'd even hang out with me to escape the books.

Worrisome. Very.

The tom yam-bunjut concoction was fantastic. Very good shit.


Why a clean plate? Because I was having so much fun stuffing myself I forgot to take a picture till after I was done with the washing. Thanks again.

Afterwards, we ended up talking over tea for hours. Well, slap some FCUK on me and call me a homo - we talked about past relationships.

As she possesses a one year advantage over me, she deemed it necessary to bestow love advice on me. I was a willing bestowee.

Kesimpulannya, I made many mistakes. That was her conclusion.

"Oh. That was wrong."

"Oh. You shouldn't have done that."

"Oh. You're such an asswipe."

Haha. I could've figured that out by myself.

On a sidenote, don't you get all happy when a song you've totally forgotten about resurfaces from the depths of your memory banks? When you jump over your bed to get to your laptop just so you can get on LimeWire? Especially if it's a song you liked. Well, I'm all happy right now. Lucy Pearl featuring Tony Toni Tone - I Wanna Dance Tonight. Pay extra attention to the bass-line.