The first year of my primary school – I managed to claim the first spot in my school. I couldn’t remember very well how I managed to achieve that, but because of that – my father decided to reward me by taking me to a cinema.
It was the first time I ever been to a cinema and the movie that was showing at the time was Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. The cinema itself was a run-down Cathay (we pronounced it KokTai in Hokkien) in our small town of BM. Back in those times, we still do not have Cineplex, so the cinema was an old-fashioned building with no popcorn stalls and an old hunchback ah pek is the one who shows you your seat with torchlight. I also heard that the chair will snap your ass up if you are not careful.
My first impression was – the cinema was a cold and creepy place. My father bought a pack of corn crackers for me and we sat like 3 row from the back.
And then the movie began. The giant screen flickered to life and I was completely swept away. Somehow I got the amazing feeling of being swallowed by the screen, sucked into the world of the movie. For a kid my age at the time, I couldn’t find the words to describe what I felt. My mouth was a gaping hole where if a mosquito were to fly inside at that particular moment, it could fly straight into my stomach. I was completely awestruck.
Till this day I could still remember the story vividly. I laughed till my tummy hurt when the Chinese kid run around with his antic. I squirmed when I saw the tribe eating the monkey’s brain. I lost myself inside the movie for the entire length of the movie. I entirely forgotten about my father’s presence till when the credits rolled out and he put a hand on my shoulder, saying: “Time to go, son.”
That night Little Sean fell in love with the cinema.
*****
Over the adolescent years of my life, I tried to go to the cinema whenever I saved up enough money to afford a ticket. I didn’t get much of a pocket money, so I had to pick only movies I really like – unlike some of the filthy rich friends of mine who could go to cinema simply to watch any movies, sometimes even for multiple times.
I remembered one time I was watching a forgettable Hongkie movie with a few friends and this particular girl told me this is the third time she was watching this.
“Then why did you still wanna come?” I asked her, perplexed. “It is certainly not a very good movie.”
“Oh, I don’t mind” she said. “Just come here because you guys want to come.”
I scratched my head. If she were to say it’s because of the atmosphere of the cinema and the thrill you get when the big screen jumps at you, I would have saluted her, but clearly she just came because she had nothing better to do and too much money in her purse. It was like an abomination to the cinema – how could you treat such a significant place with such insignificance?
I myself had never been to a same movie in a cinema for more than once. Even when the Titanic mania hit us in the early 2000s, when people compared the number of times they watched that movie in cinema, I would rather scourge the internet looking for that particular chopped scene where Leonardo Di Caprio was painting Kate Winslet.
“This is the 7th times I am watching this,” one of the girl who were watching the movie with me – I was in college at the time – giggled happily and whispered to my ear. I didn’t tell her I had watched that downloaded painting scene more than 7 times.
“7 times?” one of my less illustrious college friends asked. “I would rather have sex 7 times in one night.”
“Can you?” one the girls asked, followed by a round of well-rehearsed chuckle.
At the turn of the century, technology had forced most of those old-fashioned stand-alone cinema houses out of business, replaced by the smaller Cineplex – cinema in a shopping complex with Dolby sound system; not to mention those seedy Laser disc theatres which show compromising uncut pictures. The enjoyed only a short-lived fame though after a few scandals involving people doing compromising stuffs in the theatre while watching compromising scenes.
Like an endless cycle of existence, you started working after those honeyed years in college. My fiery adoration for the cinema was still burning at the time so I joined these movie gang colleagues who go to cinema every Friday night. I wouldn’t say their choice of movie are exactly my cup of tea, but I did tag along from times to times – meeting some interesting people, some obnoxious people and some pretentious people.
Normally after these movie sessions, the movie gang would go for supper in Sri Murni at SS2 – where as expected some people would ask questions like “What do you think of the movie just now?” And where as expected you hear replies like: “Not bad, not bad,” even though I could swear I heard the guy replying snoring in the movie just now.
Well, that’s what you get when you go out with a large gang for movies. After some time, I wondered whether the real intention of that gang was to enjoy the movie at the cinema or to enjoy the close proximity of other human beings, eh, social networking I means. I couldn’t enjoy it much because instead of being overwhelmed by the big screen, I was overwhelmed by body odours and sound or people snoring.
Then the inflation hits.
People became more reluctant to go to cinema. The cineplex tried to counter by introducing Wed discounts and Ladies Nite discount, but still business was a bit slow in the times of downturn.
“It is still the best choice for dating couples,” a cineplex operator told me while we were smoking. “You know la, when you are dating in country like Malaysia, there’s not much choice of activities. Outdoor? The gals are afraid of sunburnt. Going to cinema is still the cheapest and logical option.”
I nodded in agreement, silently wondering when I would have a chance to bring a particular gal to movie for a date.
It might be difficult because the girl I had in mind was already engaged and possibly getting married early the following year. I had this infatuation about her from the first day I met her but never had the courage to tell her. She was the girl I have been looking for - but never found before. So we remained best of friends, and from times to times we would go for lunch or dinner together.
“I think the reason we have so much in common is because we both comes from a small town,” she told me once. “Plus we are both Virgos.”
“Too bad I did not meet you much earlier – before you met your fiancée,” I tried to crack a joke, but it turned out to be awkward and induced a long silence.
When I finally took her to the movie, I was nervous. It was two weeks before her marriage ceremony. If this were a normal date, I would normally choose a horror movie, so when the scary part arrived, you can pretend to calm your date or if you are lucky, you can even get to hold her. But this is not a normal date, I kept reminding myself. This is a girl who every time I see her falling I want to get down on my knees and pray – waiting for the moment when she would said the things I couldn’t say (ok, I stole this lines from the song Bizarre Love Triangle).
So we went to watch Spiderman 2. Never for once that would I expect that movie is to be so emotionally moving. I thought it was a superhero movie – but the unspoken tension between Peter and Mary Jane was played to the utmost, making the unrequited love scenes between them almost unbearable. Who would have expected a director like Sam Raimi who made the quirky and comical Evil Dead trilogy could come up with something like this? It was more like a love story than a superhero story. Especially the part when Mary Jane left her wedding altar to look for Peter – it really killed me.
We didn’t speak much on our way back. I drove her back to her home, my emotions welling up in my heart like the bubbles from a quickly poured beer.
“2 weeks from your marriage…are you nervous?”
“Very…”
Maybe I would never have the chance to say it if I didn’t say it now.
“I have a confession,” I began. “You know how much I love going to the cinema since I was a kid, right?”
“Yes,” she said. “Everybody knows that.”
“Well, to tell you frankly, tonite when I went to the cinema with you, the joy was multiplied.”
She was silent for a while. “So what are you trying to imply? We could still go to the cinemas after I’m married.”
“The truth is…” I told her. “I have always been passionate about movies and cinemas, but after I know you, I realized the passion I had for them is nothing compared to the passion I have for you.”
Another long silence.
“Oh, damn it, Sean. Why do you have to say it? I hate you so much…” she suddenly erupted. “I hate you so much because you make me like you…”
Her lips were on mine before I could say anything. Not that I would want to say anything at that moment.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Thursday, August 07, 2008
The City of Beauty
The city of KL and its surrounding Klang Valley is filled with beauties; everywhere you turn your head, you can expect to feast your eyes on at least several of them walking or talking or pretending to ignore you. Compare this to Penang - the city where I grown up in – you can say that Penang is almost like countryside filled with pasture of grass that not only all the beauties shun – even the cows and goats refuse to feed here.
Even the cleaner ladies make-up in KL. In Penang you would be lucky if you can catch a lady with decent make-up even in downtown. The keyword here is decent. No doubt if you prowl in some hip and trendy mall like the Queensbay or the Gurney Plaza, it would be very likely to run into some young high school girls who tried to make-up – but it is very likely that you would feel more repelled than attracted.
The problem is – women in Penang don’t even bother to make-up or attempt to look good. It’s basically a silicon island famous for its semiconductor industry and obviously not for its silicon implant. I have a former unimates who just return to PJ to work after staying in Penang for the past 5 years. She complained to me that she no longer can walk around with her Teambuilding T-shirt, jeans and slippers.
“Now I have to wear high heels and tight working suit. Craps,” she whined.
“You’re an engineer, come on. Why do you need high heels for?” I asked her.
“Two words – peer pressure. Every woman make-up here; how can I afford not to?”
Do you know what a corset is? I used to think this kind of thing only exists in Alexander Dumas’s 3 Musketeer’s tales, but some women in KL actually do wear corset.
This kind of peer pressure may be a bit stressful for some women – not to mention the discomfort they feel from putting on all these super-tight garments – but for guys, it’s an absolutely good thing. Tell me which guy doesn’t like looking at women in formal suit? Gays?
The women here also have better taste when it comes to choice of apparels. Brands like Zara can flourish here but in Penang I think they will go bankrupt within one month. Women dress smartly and elegantly – closely resembling the pin-outs from Cleo and FHM. Maybe because there is more MPH or Borders here where you could read those magazines for free. Whereas in Penang, some women just dress-up like rojak – mix and match – heavily laced top with those skirt and striped three quarter pants…God, don’t they realize they look more like a slut than hot?
Now I understand why all the Penang guys who come to KL never want to go back to Penang. You could meet all sorts of beauties here; just last week I almost managed to have a date with a girl from finance who works as part-time model, but somehow at last minute, she FFKed. That’s OK though – I ended up meeting this hot matured lady with a one-piece spotted dress that resembled a leopard skin in the Finnegan at Sri Hartamas – Growl!!!
It’s so easy to meet and date good looking girls here, my friend Kev told me. I am not sure whether he was bluffing or not, but he told me he could change girl friend almost every week, and good looking one at that.
“Girls here are so easy, dude,” he boasted. “They are not looking for long term or commitment. They just wanna hook up for fun, they just wanna party!”
With his slick haircut and thick eyebrows, he did look convincing – not to mention while we talked, his handphone – a HP IPAQ – rang and he whispered suggestively to me: “See, here is one of them calling me now…my new f**k buddy.”
For a rural guy from Penang like me, it’s real easy to be overwhelmed by all these great temptations – these endless beauties. Tons and tons of available beauties roaming the streets of KL. Drinking joints are abundance with model-like personality. Some of them are pretentious – some of them glaringly fake, but still they are beauties nonetheless. Beauty rules – that’s the reason why some drinking joint can afford to have Ladies Nite every night.
Drinking with some friends in the Laundry Bar at the Curve last night, my eyes never get tired of looking at all the gorgeous girls around me. It’s like a feast of beauty. I slowly sipped my drink and enjoyed the view. This city was really like heaven. But despite all the beauties here, the one you missed the most is always the one you could really talk to – the one that makes you laugh the most.
Even the cleaner ladies make-up in KL. In Penang you would be lucky if you can catch a lady with decent make-up even in downtown. The keyword here is decent. No doubt if you prowl in some hip and trendy mall like the Queensbay or the Gurney Plaza, it would be very likely to run into some young high school girls who tried to make-up – but it is very likely that you would feel more repelled than attracted.
The problem is – women in Penang don’t even bother to make-up or attempt to look good. It’s basically a silicon island famous for its semiconductor industry and obviously not for its silicon implant. I have a former unimates who just return to PJ to work after staying in Penang for the past 5 years. She complained to me that she no longer can walk around with her Teambuilding T-shirt, jeans and slippers.
“Now I have to wear high heels and tight working suit. Craps,” she whined.
“You’re an engineer, come on. Why do you need high heels for?” I asked her.
“Two words – peer pressure. Every woman make-up here; how can I afford not to?”
Do you know what a corset is? I used to think this kind of thing only exists in Alexander Dumas’s 3 Musketeer’s tales, but some women in KL actually do wear corset.
This kind of peer pressure may be a bit stressful for some women – not to mention the discomfort they feel from putting on all these super-tight garments – but for guys, it’s an absolutely good thing. Tell me which guy doesn’t like looking at women in formal suit? Gays?
The women here also have better taste when it comes to choice of apparels. Brands like Zara can flourish here but in Penang I think they will go bankrupt within one month. Women dress smartly and elegantly – closely resembling the pin-outs from Cleo and FHM. Maybe because there is more MPH or Borders here where you could read those magazines for free. Whereas in Penang, some women just dress-up like rojak – mix and match – heavily laced top with those skirt and striped three quarter pants…God, don’t they realize they look more like a slut than hot?
Now I understand why all the Penang guys who come to KL never want to go back to Penang. You could meet all sorts of beauties here; just last week I almost managed to have a date with a girl from finance who works as part-time model, but somehow at last minute, she FFKed. That’s OK though – I ended up meeting this hot matured lady with a one-piece spotted dress that resembled a leopard skin in the Finnegan at Sri Hartamas – Growl!!!
It’s so easy to meet and date good looking girls here, my friend Kev told me. I am not sure whether he was bluffing or not, but he told me he could change girl friend almost every week, and good looking one at that.
“Girls here are so easy, dude,” he boasted. “They are not looking for long term or commitment. They just wanna hook up for fun, they just wanna party!”
With his slick haircut and thick eyebrows, he did look convincing – not to mention while we talked, his handphone – a HP IPAQ – rang and he whispered suggestively to me: “See, here is one of them calling me now…my new f**k buddy.”
For a rural guy from Penang like me, it’s real easy to be overwhelmed by all these great temptations – these endless beauties. Tons and tons of available beauties roaming the streets of KL. Drinking joints are abundance with model-like personality. Some of them are pretentious – some of them glaringly fake, but still they are beauties nonetheless. Beauty rules – that’s the reason why some drinking joint can afford to have Ladies Nite every night.
Drinking with some friends in the Laundry Bar at the Curve last night, my eyes never get tired of looking at all the gorgeous girls around me. It’s like a feast of beauty. I slowly sipped my drink and enjoyed the view. This city was really like heaven. But despite all the beauties here, the one you missed the most is always the one you could really talk to – the one that makes you laugh the most.
Monday, August 04, 2008
The Rabbit Feeder
The rabbit refused to gnaw on the carrot. Maybe like her, it has lost its appetite. Her mind was in turmoil – full of heartbreaking images of her father who had shrunken almost down to just skin covering the skeleton.
On her way back from the cafe, she had used her credit from her meal card to buy some carrots for the rabbit. The rabbit was kept in a small garden where the factory workers go for fresh air. Usually, however, not many people go there – because smoking is not allowed. She was hoping by feeding the rabbit, she could give her mind a rest – and stop thinking about the depressing state her father was in. Looking at the rabbit biting at the carrot – its buckteeth working diligently had always given her inner peace. But today, it had failed to achieve that. The rabbit wasn’t co-operating at all.
The diagnose report of her father was finally out – after a few agonizing weeks. It was a lymphatic cancer – a rare case of cancer. The doctor had a hard time making their decision because the symptom was always so near between a lymphoma (a type of blood disease) and a lymphatic cancer. The lymphatic system is a very important part of the body immune system – therefore it couldn’t be treated like a normal case of cancer, direct radiation to the cluster of the malignant cells would kill the immune system as well.
“I would have to completely frank with you, Miss L,” the doctor had said gravely. “The chance of making a full recovery is not high. Nevertheless, we would try our best.”
Weeks earlier, she had been heckling the doctors at a renowned Singapore hospital for the result of her father’s examination. The doctors kept avoiding her and after a futile week there – one of the most expensive hospitals in Singapore, she busted her credit card for that, she had to finally make a decision to move her father back to Malaysia for another examination and subsequent treatment.
“You have to understand, Miss L,” the doctor told her shortly before delivering the result. “The difference between the lymphoma and lymphatic cancer is very delicate. We have to be really sure before arriving at a verdict. It’s not that we are stalling your time. We just need to be really sure…”
Colleagues and boss at work had been very understanding. Nobody bothered her even though the project she is handling is slightly overdue. Her boss came personally to enquire about the condition of her father.
Her mind returned to the presence. The rabbit had gone into hiding – she was still holding the carrot, alone. She tried to look for the rabbit but it was nowhere to be seen.
She turned to go – her heart heavy with despair. She had got to look for another specialist, another doctor, another oncotologist, another hospital – anyone who can give her a more optimistic outlook, a more positive and hopeful verdict. She couldn’t stand the sight of her father withering away just like that; she couldn’t bear the sorrow of seeing him in pain – the least she could do is to keep on looking for a better treatment for him.
Going out of the garden she almost stumbled headlong onto a man. The man was standing at the entrance of the garden, his enormous frame blocking the path. She looked up to apologize – the carrot still in her hand - then recognized the man was actually a colleague working in the same department as her.
It was Po, the new guy who just joined not so long ago. He had this innocent look about him which made him looked like almost a boy in a big man’s body – emphasized by his sometimes clumsy and bumbling manner. She didn’t know him very well but had heard about him being always energetic and enthusiastic in work – constantly motivated.
The man - in bright polo shirt and beige slacks – looked at her with an undecided look. He seemed to be hesitating to say something.
“Are you going out for fresh air?” she asked – trying to break the awkwardness.
“Actually, er…I am looking for you, Miss L,” Po said in a slightly shy tone.
“Looking for me?”
“Yes, I am forming a team for a coming bowling tournament and I wonder whether you would like to join my team.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed, surprised by the invitation. “I am, eh…not good in bowling.”
“It’s OK, I am not good either,” Po said in an elated tone, perhaps trying to persuade her further. “But I am going to do my best, so don’t you worry. Even though I know there will be a lot of strong teams competing, and there is a slim chance of us beating them, we are going to try nevertheless…because as long as we have hope, we will have the direction and the energy to move by.”
She was stunned by his sudden outburst of inspiration. She had always thought of him as a very quiet man.
“When is it, this competition?”
“Next Saturday,” he said – his voice filled with excitement.
“Oh,” she said, suddenly realizing something. “I am so sorry; I wouldn’t be able to make it. I have to cook on Saturday.”
There was a clear disappointment on Po’s face but he gave her a buoyant smile nonetheless. “It’s OK then…I will try to look for someone else.”
He tottered away in his usual gawky manner – his hands swinging every time he takes a step forward.
She looked at him walking away. Strangely, the conversation had an unexpected effect of lifting her mood up a little. She pondered at words he had said - because as long as we have hope, we will have the direction and the energy to move by.
She took a deep breath, and then realized the half bitten carrot was still in her hands. She took a bite – hope was building up in her.
On her way back from the cafe, she had used her credit from her meal card to buy some carrots for the rabbit. The rabbit was kept in a small garden where the factory workers go for fresh air. Usually, however, not many people go there – because smoking is not allowed. She was hoping by feeding the rabbit, she could give her mind a rest – and stop thinking about the depressing state her father was in. Looking at the rabbit biting at the carrot – its buckteeth working diligently had always given her inner peace. But today, it had failed to achieve that. The rabbit wasn’t co-operating at all.
The diagnose report of her father was finally out – after a few agonizing weeks. It was a lymphatic cancer – a rare case of cancer. The doctor had a hard time making their decision because the symptom was always so near between a lymphoma (a type of blood disease) and a lymphatic cancer. The lymphatic system is a very important part of the body immune system – therefore it couldn’t be treated like a normal case of cancer, direct radiation to the cluster of the malignant cells would kill the immune system as well.
“I would have to completely frank with you, Miss L,” the doctor had said gravely. “The chance of making a full recovery is not high. Nevertheless, we would try our best.”
Weeks earlier, she had been heckling the doctors at a renowned Singapore hospital for the result of her father’s examination. The doctors kept avoiding her and after a futile week there – one of the most expensive hospitals in Singapore, she busted her credit card for that, she had to finally make a decision to move her father back to Malaysia for another examination and subsequent treatment.
“You have to understand, Miss L,” the doctor told her shortly before delivering the result. “The difference between the lymphoma and lymphatic cancer is very delicate. We have to be really sure before arriving at a verdict. It’s not that we are stalling your time. We just need to be really sure…”
Colleagues and boss at work had been very understanding. Nobody bothered her even though the project she is handling is slightly overdue. Her boss came personally to enquire about the condition of her father.
Her mind returned to the presence. The rabbit had gone into hiding – she was still holding the carrot, alone. She tried to look for the rabbit but it was nowhere to be seen.
She turned to go – her heart heavy with despair. She had got to look for another specialist, another doctor, another oncotologist, another hospital – anyone who can give her a more optimistic outlook, a more positive and hopeful verdict. She couldn’t stand the sight of her father withering away just like that; she couldn’t bear the sorrow of seeing him in pain – the least she could do is to keep on looking for a better treatment for him.
Going out of the garden she almost stumbled headlong onto a man. The man was standing at the entrance of the garden, his enormous frame blocking the path. She looked up to apologize – the carrot still in her hand - then recognized the man was actually a colleague working in the same department as her.
It was Po, the new guy who just joined not so long ago. He had this innocent look about him which made him looked like almost a boy in a big man’s body – emphasized by his sometimes clumsy and bumbling manner. She didn’t know him very well but had heard about him being always energetic and enthusiastic in work – constantly motivated.
The man - in bright polo shirt and beige slacks – looked at her with an undecided look. He seemed to be hesitating to say something.
“Are you going out for fresh air?” she asked – trying to break the awkwardness.
“Actually, er…I am looking for you, Miss L,” Po said in a slightly shy tone.
“Looking for me?”
“Yes, I am forming a team for a coming bowling tournament and I wonder whether you would like to join my team.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed, surprised by the invitation. “I am, eh…not good in bowling.”
“It’s OK, I am not good either,” Po said in an elated tone, perhaps trying to persuade her further. “But I am going to do my best, so don’t you worry. Even though I know there will be a lot of strong teams competing, and there is a slim chance of us beating them, we are going to try nevertheless…because as long as we have hope, we will have the direction and the energy to move by.”
She was stunned by his sudden outburst of inspiration. She had always thought of him as a very quiet man.
“When is it, this competition?”
“Next Saturday,” he said – his voice filled with excitement.
“Oh,” she said, suddenly realizing something. “I am so sorry; I wouldn’t be able to make it. I have to cook on Saturday.”
There was a clear disappointment on Po’s face but he gave her a buoyant smile nonetheless. “It’s OK then…I will try to look for someone else.”
He tottered away in his usual gawky manner – his hands swinging every time he takes a step forward.
She looked at him walking away. Strangely, the conversation had an unexpected effect of lifting her mood up a little. She pondered at words he had said - because as long as we have hope, we will have the direction and the energy to move by.
She took a deep breath, and then realized the half bitten carrot was still in her hands. She took a bite – hope was building up in her.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Clubber Cinderella
Once upon a time, back in the days when I was still not sick of clubbing, I used to join this gang of clubbers which consisted mainly of my fellow colleagues. We used to hit the hippest joint in town, partying and drinking till the wee hours of the morning, having hangover and blackened eyes the next day and despite that, we would still tell each others that we were having loads of fun.
One of the most memorable characters from those wild clubbing days was a girl called Cindy. She had this crazy rule that she has to get home by twelve. Because of this we nicknamed her Cinderella. We have no idea why she is such an unsporting person and for God’s sake, she was 28 and all that – but like all true comrades, we accepted her shortcoming hesitatingly. Just to be safe however, the gang leader – Ryan would always ask her to drive herself so as not to inconvenience ourselves – although in reality it might not be so safe for her to drive alone at nights.
Cinderella tried explaining once that she has an evil stepmother with fangs and claws and even horns like Lucifer. The stepmother set a rule that no matter where she is, she must be home by 12 or else all her Bae Yong Joon posters would be confiscated and burned.
On top of this ridiculous rule, the stepmother also brings along two daughters from previous marriage into the family – with evil names of Devila and Lucyfa. These stepsisters of her would torture her to no end, stealing her expensive bra and wearing it without her permission. To make it worse, they didn’t bother to handwash it – just throw it into the washing machine. There goes another one of her Triumph Wonderbra – auch!
Talking about depressing things like this, however, tends to make me depressed – so I would like to skip to more uplifting stuffs, like this one day when Ryan brought along news that there would be this extravagant ball in town on the coming weekend.
“A ball? Is it some kind of parade with a big balloon?” one of the less learned members of our clubbing gang asked.
“No, you idiot. A ball is a party held by rich bored people where the guest must wear pretentious costumes. For clubbers like us, it would the event of the year.”
The organizer, a renowned bachelor from a royal family nicknamed The Playboy Prince, allegedly held the ball to choose his next girlfriend. Since this Playboy Prince was a very rich dude with servants and all that – Ryan conjectured that a lot of gorgeous young women would be dying to be his girlfriend – and hence would be at this particular event.
Every one of us couldn’t wait for this ball of the year - especially the guys. In our opinion, since Playboy Prince would only choose one girl, all the other candidates would be available for other lucky dudes to court. So we went around buying all sorts of costumes in anticipation of this not-to-be-missed party.
The girls in our groups didn’t want to be left out as well – who knows? Maybe Playboy Prince will choose one of them.
The only person who wasn’t looking forward to this ball was Cindy. The reason – as we soon learned – was that her stepsisters were invited as VIPs to the ball, and according to Cindy, they purposely confiscated all her nice dresses and costumes – leaving her with nothing to wear but T-shirts and jeans.
Ryan – who always stood for his gangmembers – tried to think of a way to help her. After much thinking and arching of eyebrows, Ryan finally spoke up:
“In that case, Cindy, since you have nothing nice to wear to the ball, I think the best way is for you to stay home on that night.”
Needless to say, upon hearing Ryan’s words, Cindy was heartbroken and went home to cry. She cried and cried until the day of the ball itself, locking herself in her room and even refusing to go to work.
Her evil stepsisters – in a move to further rub salt to her wound – purposely talked about the ball in a very excited and loud manner every time they passed her room.
When all seems lost, suddenly on the evening of the big event, there was a puff of smoke in Cindy’s room and an old woman with 60s hairstyle and a winged white costume appeared before her. The old woman looked ominously like Lydia Sum, a famous Hong Kong talk show host who passed away not so long ago. Too depressed to be scared, Cindy just looked at the woman listlessly.
“I am your fairy Godmother and I am here to help you,” the Lydia Sum look-alike said.
“Am I dreaming?” Cindy asked.
The old woman ignored her impertinent question and instead she took from behind her a skin tight rubber costume with a matching headcover.
“This will fit you nicely and Playboy Prince would fall for you with no doubt.”
Cindy put the costume up and looked at herself in the mirror.
“I looked like Catwoman,” she said.
“That’s the whole idea. To look irresistible.”
“But what kind of shoes should I wear with this?”
Like a magician, the fairy Godmother took a pair of crystal clear high heels from behind her. “Wear this…a crystal made shoes from Swarovski.”
“It’s so dazzling,” Cindy said and put it on. “And best of all, it’s a correct size!”
Next the issue of transport came up, but the fairy Godmother came well prepared. She told Cindy to look out of the window and lo, behold – there was a BMW and with a Bangladesh driver waiting for her outside.
To cut our story short, moments later, the BMW was cruising towards the location of the ball with the excited Cindy inside. She arrived to standing ovation and the Prince was dumbfounded because he had never seen someone in rubber skin suit before. For the rest of the night, Cinderella and the prince were constantly in each other’s company, and the two sisters, who did not even recognize their own stepsister, were rather flattered when Cindy said “Hi” to them.
The hours flew by so fast that Cindy did not even notice the time until the clock began to strike midnight. Knowing well that her stepmother would be infuriated if she didn’t get home, with a cry of alarm she fled from the room. One of the glass high-heels flew from her foot and landed on Playboy Prince’s head, knocking him unconscious.
When the prince came to his senses, Cindy was already gone. The prince grabbed the Swarovski high heel and said determinedly: “I must find this woman no matter what.”
The next day, the search for the owner of the high heels began. Playboy Prince paid a bunch of private investigators and after days of investigations, they managed to narrow down the most probable owners down to the house where Cindy was living – after allegedly obtaining information from a Bangladeshi driver who said that he was hired by a fat old woman to drive a woman in rubber suit to a ball from that house.
The prince – upon hearing this – went to Cindy’s house in person. He held a glass shoe on one hand and announced that any lady in the house who could fit the shoe on her foot and could produce the pair would be his wife. Both stepsisters tried, but their feet were too montrous to squeeze in. In the end Cindy begged to try, and, to the scorn of her sisters, the prince agreed.
The glass high heel slipped easily on, and Cindy pulled the matching pair from her pocket.
The prince was overjoyed. However, the jealous stepsisters decided on the spur of the moment to sabotage Cindy’s happy moments. They poured hot boiling waters on her and Cindy cried out in agony, her face scalded badly.
The Playboy Prince’s joy turned into disgust.
“Crap,” he said. “How could I marry a woman with a face like this?”
With that, he turned to walk away – and Cindy would never see him in her life again.
Cindy – scarred for life by her stepsister’s irresponsible jealousy – related the whole story to us. Although her face did look burned in a way, we found it hard to believe her story hundred percent.
Ryan – who always stood by his clubbing friends no matter what – tried to think of a way to console her. After much thinking and arching of eyebrows, Ryan finally spoke up:
“Cindy, I think you should not go clubbing with us anymore. This face of yours is kind of embarrassing…”
One of the most memorable characters from those wild clubbing days was a girl called Cindy. She had this crazy rule that she has to get home by twelve. Because of this we nicknamed her Cinderella. We have no idea why she is such an unsporting person and for God’s sake, she was 28 and all that – but like all true comrades, we accepted her shortcoming hesitatingly. Just to be safe however, the gang leader – Ryan would always ask her to drive herself so as not to inconvenience ourselves – although in reality it might not be so safe for her to drive alone at nights.
Cinderella tried explaining once that she has an evil stepmother with fangs and claws and even horns like Lucifer. The stepmother set a rule that no matter where she is, she must be home by 12 or else all her Bae Yong Joon posters would be confiscated and burned.
On top of this ridiculous rule, the stepmother also brings along two daughters from previous marriage into the family – with evil names of Devila and Lucyfa. These stepsisters of her would torture her to no end, stealing her expensive bra and wearing it without her permission. To make it worse, they didn’t bother to handwash it – just throw it into the washing machine. There goes another one of her Triumph Wonderbra – auch!
Talking about depressing things like this, however, tends to make me depressed – so I would like to skip to more uplifting stuffs, like this one day when Ryan brought along news that there would be this extravagant ball in town on the coming weekend.
“A ball? Is it some kind of parade with a big balloon?” one of the less learned members of our clubbing gang asked.
“No, you idiot. A ball is a party held by rich bored people where the guest must wear pretentious costumes. For clubbers like us, it would the event of the year.”
The organizer, a renowned bachelor from a royal family nicknamed The Playboy Prince, allegedly held the ball to choose his next girlfriend. Since this Playboy Prince was a very rich dude with servants and all that – Ryan conjectured that a lot of gorgeous young women would be dying to be his girlfriend – and hence would be at this particular event.
Every one of us couldn’t wait for this ball of the year - especially the guys. In our opinion, since Playboy Prince would only choose one girl, all the other candidates would be available for other lucky dudes to court. So we went around buying all sorts of costumes in anticipation of this not-to-be-missed party.
The girls in our groups didn’t want to be left out as well – who knows? Maybe Playboy Prince will choose one of them.
The only person who wasn’t looking forward to this ball was Cindy. The reason – as we soon learned – was that her stepsisters were invited as VIPs to the ball, and according to Cindy, they purposely confiscated all her nice dresses and costumes – leaving her with nothing to wear but T-shirts and jeans.
Ryan – who always stood for his gangmembers – tried to think of a way to help her. After much thinking and arching of eyebrows, Ryan finally spoke up:
“In that case, Cindy, since you have nothing nice to wear to the ball, I think the best way is for you to stay home on that night.”
Needless to say, upon hearing Ryan’s words, Cindy was heartbroken and went home to cry. She cried and cried until the day of the ball itself, locking herself in her room and even refusing to go to work.
Her evil stepsisters – in a move to further rub salt to her wound – purposely talked about the ball in a very excited and loud manner every time they passed her room.
When all seems lost, suddenly on the evening of the big event, there was a puff of smoke in Cindy’s room and an old woman with 60s hairstyle and a winged white costume appeared before her. The old woman looked ominously like Lydia Sum, a famous Hong Kong talk show host who passed away not so long ago. Too depressed to be scared, Cindy just looked at the woman listlessly.
“I am your fairy Godmother and I am here to help you,” the Lydia Sum look-alike said.
“Am I dreaming?” Cindy asked.
The old woman ignored her impertinent question and instead she took from behind her a skin tight rubber costume with a matching headcover.
“This will fit you nicely and Playboy Prince would fall for you with no doubt.”
Cindy put the costume up and looked at herself in the mirror.
“I looked like Catwoman,” she said.
“That’s the whole idea. To look irresistible.”
“But what kind of shoes should I wear with this?”
Like a magician, the fairy Godmother took a pair of crystal clear high heels from behind her. “Wear this…a crystal made shoes from Swarovski.”
“It’s so dazzling,” Cindy said and put it on. “And best of all, it’s a correct size!”
Next the issue of transport came up, but the fairy Godmother came well prepared. She told Cindy to look out of the window and lo, behold – there was a BMW and with a Bangladesh driver waiting for her outside.
To cut our story short, moments later, the BMW was cruising towards the location of the ball with the excited Cindy inside. She arrived to standing ovation and the Prince was dumbfounded because he had never seen someone in rubber skin suit before. For the rest of the night, Cinderella and the prince were constantly in each other’s company, and the two sisters, who did not even recognize their own stepsister, were rather flattered when Cindy said “Hi” to them.
The hours flew by so fast that Cindy did not even notice the time until the clock began to strike midnight. Knowing well that her stepmother would be infuriated if she didn’t get home, with a cry of alarm she fled from the room. One of the glass high-heels flew from her foot and landed on Playboy Prince’s head, knocking him unconscious.
When the prince came to his senses, Cindy was already gone. The prince grabbed the Swarovski high heel and said determinedly: “I must find this woman no matter what.”
The next day, the search for the owner of the high heels began. Playboy Prince paid a bunch of private investigators and after days of investigations, they managed to narrow down the most probable owners down to the house where Cindy was living – after allegedly obtaining information from a Bangladeshi driver who said that he was hired by a fat old woman to drive a woman in rubber suit to a ball from that house.
The prince – upon hearing this – went to Cindy’s house in person. He held a glass shoe on one hand and announced that any lady in the house who could fit the shoe on her foot and could produce the pair would be his wife. Both stepsisters tried, but their feet were too montrous to squeeze in. In the end Cindy begged to try, and, to the scorn of her sisters, the prince agreed.
The glass high heel slipped easily on, and Cindy pulled the matching pair from her pocket.
The prince was overjoyed. However, the jealous stepsisters decided on the spur of the moment to sabotage Cindy’s happy moments. They poured hot boiling waters on her and Cindy cried out in agony, her face scalded badly.
The Playboy Prince’s joy turned into disgust.
“Crap,” he said. “How could I marry a woman with a face like this?”
With that, he turned to walk away – and Cindy would never see him in her life again.
Cindy – scarred for life by her stepsister’s irresponsible jealousy – related the whole story to us. Although her face did look burned in a way, we found it hard to believe her story hundred percent.
Ryan – who always stood by his clubbing friends no matter what – tried to think of a way to console her. After much thinking and arching of eyebrows, Ryan finally spoke up:
“Cindy, I think you should not go clubbing with us anymore. This face of yours is kind of embarrassing…”
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Hell is the path you need to go through to reach Love
“You are enjoying yourself, aren’t you? Having a lot of fun, eh?”
The mother’s voice is full of mockery. Even with more than hundreds of kilometers away, the father could sense the sarcasm in her voice. The accusing tone of her voice cut like a knife.
“Do you know that your daughter was looking for you last night? She was crying and saying that she wanted to play with Papa. And you know what I told her? I told her Papa doesn’t want her anymore.”
Anger consumed the father like a fire building up on a pile of woods. He feel like strangling her, that bitch.
“You can go for movies and drinking session with your friends while we suffer here – with your meager allowance of 2K. You know how much things cost these days? We could hardly survive with your two bloody K. And still you could afford to go out and have fun.”
“What do you expect me to do then? Stay in my rented room all night long, staring at the wall?”
“Yes, you should. The money you save from those outing you could give to me. That way, I could do my facial more frequently and also tends to my hair.”
“Why do you need to do that? I don’t want to look at you.”
“Is it wrong to make myself look good?”
“Is it wrong for me to go out once in a while?”
“How could you have the heart to go out when you daughter here is crying - looking for you every night? Even in her sleep, sometimes she would call out for you.”
Here we go again. Crunching session. The guilt instilling game. A father and a mother arguing – a child used as a shield. You seen it all before on television. Only in real life, it is much more agonizing.
The father wanted to hang up – but he still hasn’t spoken to his daughter yet. He calls her everynight – talking to her about her school (actually a nursery) – did she sleep at school today? He enjoy telling her bedtimes story over the phone sometimes – her laughter is the most beautiful music for him.
The problem is – everytime he wants to hear her voice – he needs to go through the mother. It’s inevitable that hell is the path you need to go through to reach your loved ones. It’s the crooked rule of life.
It’s useless to argue with a woman who is holding the only key to the door of your joy. Even though the woman had messed up your life pretty bad and is continuously adding damage to the wound. If acid is corrosive, this woman is the mother of all acid. So it’s only wise to give way – with usually means complying with her demand for more money. It’s useless to fight – just a waste of time. Like usual, the father would relented. It’s another crooked law of life.
The reason he go out is because the idleness made him think of her even more, his lovely daughter. It’s only by going out that he could stop thinking how he is messing her life up, a kid growing without a father nearby. No one could comprehend the pain he is feeling – a man torn between the need to get away from a doomed marriage and the boundless love for a child.
Sometimes ago when he was walking through a street market, he saw children’s apparel on display, dress with Minnie Mouse character and even one with her favorite character – Sponge Bob. She pronounces the word sponge as spon-gee, no matter how many times he tried to correct her. And standing there on the street, he suddenly felt an overwhelming emptiness. How he wanted her to be here - the sunshine of his life.
He thought of buying the dress for her – but on second thought, maybe she deserved something better than these knockoff dress her mother used to get for her. He made a vow to bring her to World of Cartoons next time he goes back to see her. He would let her choose her own dress. He could imagine how she would look at each sample dress on the hanger like a grown-up with comments – this is nice…this is not so nice and that put a smile on his face.
But thinking about thing like this didn’t make things better - it just makes the emptiness feels even more unbearable. He quickly walked away – but the next peddler is selling toys and that brought up emotions along the same line. Everywhere he goes, the world keeps reminding him of her. He ended up feeling more miserable – even lost his appetite for dinner.
People says if you find yourself in a meaningless relationship and it’s not working, just simply walk away. Move on. But the choice of simply walk away was never there for the father. No matter how excruciatingly painful the relationship may be, he needs to be there for the child. The relationship may turn him into a broken man, but he refuses to be a bad man.
To be a good father is never easy.
The mother’s voice is full of mockery. Even with more than hundreds of kilometers away, the father could sense the sarcasm in her voice. The accusing tone of her voice cut like a knife.
“Do you know that your daughter was looking for you last night? She was crying and saying that she wanted to play with Papa. And you know what I told her? I told her Papa doesn’t want her anymore.”
Anger consumed the father like a fire building up on a pile of woods. He feel like strangling her, that bitch.
“You can go for movies and drinking session with your friends while we suffer here – with your meager allowance of 2K. You know how much things cost these days? We could hardly survive with your two bloody K. And still you could afford to go out and have fun.”
“What do you expect me to do then? Stay in my rented room all night long, staring at the wall?”
“Yes, you should. The money you save from those outing you could give to me. That way, I could do my facial more frequently and also tends to my hair.”
“Why do you need to do that? I don’t want to look at you.”
“Is it wrong to make myself look good?”
“Is it wrong for me to go out once in a while?”
“How could you have the heart to go out when you daughter here is crying - looking for you every night? Even in her sleep, sometimes she would call out for you.”
Here we go again. Crunching session. The guilt instilling game. A father and a mother arguing – a child used as a shield. You seen it all before on television. Only in real life, it is much more agonizing.
The father wanted to hang up – but he still hasn’t spoken to his daughter yet. He calls her everynight – talking to her about her school (actually a nursery) – did she sleep at school today? He enjoy telling her bedtimes story over the phone sometimes – her laughter is the most beautiful music for him.
The problem is – everytime he wants to hear her voice – he needs to go through the mother. It’s inevitable that hell is the path you need to go through to reach your loved ones. It’s the crooked rule of life.
It’s useless to argue with a woman who is holding the only key to the door of your joy. Even though the woman had messed up your life pretty bad and is continuously adding damage to the wound. If acid is corrosive, this woman is the mother of all acid. So it’s only wise to give way – with usually means complying with her demand for more money. It’s useless to fight – just a waste of time. Like usual, the father would relented. It’s another crooked law of life.
The reason he go out is because the idleness made him think of her even more, his lovely daughter. It’s only by going out that he could stop thinking how he is messing her life up, a kid growing without a father nearby. No one could comprehend the pain he is feeling – a man torn between the need to get away from a doomed marriage and the boundless love for a child.
Sometimes ago when he was walking through a street market, he saw children’s apparel on display, dress with Minnie Mouse character and even one with her favorite character – Sponge Bob. She pronounces the word sponge as spon-gee, no matter how many times he tried to correct her. And standing there on the street, he suddenly felt an overwhelming emptiness. How he wanted her to be here - the sunshine of his life.
He thought of buying the dress for her – but on second thought, maybe she deserved something better than these knockoff dress her mother used to get for her. He made a vow to bring her to World of Cartoons next time he goes back to see her. He would let her choose her own dress. He could imagine how she would look at each sample dress on the hanger like a grown-up with comments – this is nice…this is not so nice and that put a smile on his face.
But thinking about thing like this didn’t make things better - it just makes the emptiness feels even more unbearable. He quickly walked away – but the next peddler is selling toys and that brought up emotions along the same line. Everywhere he goes, the world keeps reminding him of her. He ended up feeling more miserable – even lost his appetite for dinner.
People says if you find yourself in a meaningless relationship and it’s not working, just simply walk away. Move on. But the choice of simply walk away was never there for the father. No matter how excruciatingly painful the relationship may be, he needs to be there for the child. The relationship may turn him into a broken man, but he refuses to be a bad man.
To be a good father is never easy.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Rain
Rain is a symbol of unhappiness, and some may say loneliness. In most of the movies, a broken heart is usually accompanied by a torrent of heavy rain. Rain = tears from the sky? Is the sky crying for those poor broken hearted soul?
For me, rain is a symbol of something else – bad luck. Back in the old days when I was in college and couldn’t afford a car, I always go around in my faithful Honda EX5 motorbike. One time I actually got lucky when one very sweet looking girl from the Faculty of Language Studies asked me to ferry her to a commuter(train) station. Half-way there, the rain falls like no tomorrow. We were soaked wet and tried to find shelter under some deserted bus stop.
She was wearing a white blouse on that day – she looked absolutely nice - and the rain sort of improve it by making it significantly transparent. I was staring like an idiot. She looked away – her face a little red.
After the rain stopped, she asked me to bring her back to hostel – she needs a change. I waited for her for a very long time in front of her hostel – guys are forbidden to enter girl’s hostel – but she never showed up. I was waiting there like an idiot. In the end I asked a fat girl passing by if she could check whether she’s still in. Maybe the fat girl pitied me. She went around asking people for that white-blouse girl and they said she had left by the back entrance. A guy in BMW was waiting for her there and had probably driven her to the train station – as she was supposed to go back to her hometown that day.
Needless to say, I was crestfallen. I rode away with dejected look on my face.
Nowadays I have a big car, but there is no longer any sweet girl asking me to fetch her to any train station. And with the advance of time, rain is no longer a symbol of bad luck to me; it became a symbol of something more sinister – traffic jam.
So for those of you stuck in the jam this morning like me, let’s listen to some songs with the word “rain” as the title. Rain, no doubt, has been the main theme of countless songs. Here are 3 of my selections.
The first one is from a veteran Japanese band that comes from the same era as X Japan. While X Japan went on to become popular all over the world, Buck-Tich (from Japanese word bakuchiku – meaning firecracker) never made it that big, despite the fact that their music is much more original – dark, intense and gripping.
BUCK-TICK –Rain
Next we have a British cult band called Cult. Not many people heard of this band before in Malaysia, although they have been around for ages. Honestly, I think their music is way before their time – much more lethal than those 90s Brit Pop acts.
CULT – Rain
Finally, for those who are still stuck in the jam after hours in the rain and feel like crying, here’s A-Ha with their version of Crying in The Rain – which IMO, is better than the original version by the Everly Bros.
A-HA – Crying In The Rain
For me, rain is a symbol of something else – bad luck. Back in the old days when I was in college and couldn’t afford a car, I always go around in my faithful Honda EX5 motorbike. One time I actually got lucky when one very sweet looking girl from the Faculty of Language Studies asked me to ferry her to a commuter(train) station. Half-way there, the rain falls like no tomorrow. We were soaked wet and tried to find shelter under some deserted bus stop.
She was wearing a white blouse on that day – she looked absolutely nice - and the rain sort of improve it by making it significantly transparent. I was staring like an idiot. She looked away – her face a little red.
After the rain stopped, she asked me to bring her back to hostel – she needs a change. I waited for her for a very long time in front of her hostel – guys are forbidden to enter girl’s hostel – but she never showed up. I was waiting there like an idiot. In the end I asked a fat girl passing by if she could check whether she’s still in. Maybe the fat girl pitied me. She went around asking people for that white-blouse girl and they said she had left by the back entrance. A guy in BMW was waiting for her there and had probably driven her to the train station – as she was supposed to go back to her hometown that day.
Needless to say, I was crestfallen. I rode away with dejected look on my face.
Nowadays I have a big car, but there is no longer any sweet girl asking me to fetch her to any train station. And with the advance of time, rain is no longer a symbol of bad luck to me; it became a symbol of something more sinister – traffic jam.
So for those of you stuck in the jam this morning like me, let’s listen to some songs with the word “rain” as the title. Rain, no doubt, has been the main theme of countless songs. Here are 3 of my selections.
The first one is from a veteran Japanese band that comes from the same era as X Japan. While X Japan went on to become popular all over the world, Buck-Tich (from Japanese word bakuchiku – meaning firecracker) never made it that big, despite the fact that their music is much more original – dark, intense and gripping.
BUCK-TICK –Rain
Next we have a British cult band called Cult. Not many people heard of this band before in Malaysia, although they have been around for ages. Honestly, I think their music is way before their time – much more lethal than those 90s Brit Pop acts.
CULT – Rain
Finally, for those who are still stuck in the jam after hours in the rain and feel like crying, here’s A-Ha with their version of Crying in The Rain – which IMO, is better than the original version by the Everly Bros.
A-HA – Crying In The Rain
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Me and My Lazy Butt
I was born under the Zodiac Sign of a Snake, so by nature, I am already a lazy person. I hardly makes any difference in this world full of nothing, so I figure, why goes to all the trouble? Relax is my motto.
People heckle me all the time about my laziness. My mum lectured me non-stop when I was a kid – imploring me to do my homework and stop listening to the lazy Cocteau Twins songs. Friends scolded me for not playing harder when it comes to football. Run faster, will you, they said. You just missed a sitter. And all I ever said was Relax, brader, while they all shook their head.
I could not understand why people have to rush all over the trivial matters of life. People in Japan charged like crazy when the train arrived, even though they know the next one will come by in another 2 minutes. You see them dressed up in suit and high heels but in the train platform they ran as if they were some ancient tribes being chased by dinosaurs. That’s one of the reasons why I decided to return to my home sweet homeland Malaysia, where you could still see people walked to the tune of the lenggang lenggang kangkung.
But society in Malaysia is also slowly changing. Young people want to live their life to the fullest. Every seconds count. If your current boyfriend/girlfriend bored you in anyway, just ditch them and hook up with a new one. Why waste time trying to adapt and treasure the one beside you? There’s always another significant gems waiting in friendster or facebook. You just have to “poke” them.
Old people also do not want to be left out. Nowadays they wake up in the wee hours of the morning and bombarded the park with their Tai Chi music, and some even do aerobic. When night comes they attend all those direct sales seminars where you pay RM1 to go in and they give you these freebies to entice you to listen to their crappy talk and buy their even crappier products.
There’s no longer any place for a lazy bum like me.
If life is a photo album, browsing through mine you would only find a lot of snapshots of disappointment – thanks to my laziness.
Snapshot 1:
“I am breaking up with you, Sean,” my ex said. “You’re just wasting your talent. If you could just be a little more dedicated in submitting your stories, you would be a very popular writer by now.”
“Relax, honey…there is no publications worthy of the stuffs I write at the time.”
“Why can’t you at least try? You are just so bloody lazy all the time. The only time I could think of when you are not lazy is when we are on the bed.”
“Then we should stay on the bed more often.”
“No more, Sean…no more.”
Snapshot 2:
My lab partner in college: Sean, where’s the lab report you are supposed to type out?
Me: Lab report? It isn’t due till tomorrow right?
The Long-winded Dude: Sean, how many times do I have to remind you? It’s due today!
Me: Relax, relax, I will type it now. Still got 1 hour before our lab session, right?
The Annoying Dude: Why do you have to wait till last minute every time? Always relax, relax – the only time when I don’t see you relax is when you play ChoDaiDi. Why can’t you be more serious in study?
Me: I didn’t copy down any notes for that lab experiment la. Can I borrow yours?
The Angry Dude: #@&$* Sometimes I am really amazed how you could still keep up your 2nd upper grades. You are so $%#@!!!
As I continued to turn the pages, I became more and more disoriented. I have lost the woman I love because of my laziness. My dream of becoming a writer is withering away. And friends despised me because of my sluggish attitude. If I continue to live my life this way, I think I would become a very depressed lazy bum.
I used to think that to be able to take things easy is a virtue, but in the current intense world we live in, this virtue no longer applies.
According to the Chinese Zodiac system, the most compatible animal sign for a snake is a rooster. I figure maybe it’s because rooster are good at waking people up - and a snake like me definitely needs a wake up call from time to time. Then there is also a well-known fact that Ayam Brand’s Chicken Essence is a good tonic to drive someone up – so for a lazy snake like me, it’s a necessity. Can’t be merely a coincidence, right? The question is, where’s my rooster?
People heckle me all the time about my laziness. My mum lectured me non-stop when I was a kid – imploring me to do my homework and stop listening to the lazy Cocteau Twins songs. Friends scolded me for not playing harder when it comes to football. Run faster, will you, they said. You just missed a sitter. And all I ever said was Relax, brader, while they all shook their head.
I could not understand why people have to rush all over the trivial matters of life. People in Japan charged like crazy when the train arrived, even though they know the next one will come by in another 2 minutes. You see them dressed up in suit and high heels but in the train platform they ran as if they were some ancient tribes being chased by dinosaurs. That’s one of the reasons why I decided to return to my home sweet homeland Malaysia, where you could still see people walked to the tune of the lenggang lenggang kangkung.
But society in Malaysia is also slowly changing. Young people want to live their life to the fullest. Every seconds count. If your current boyfriend/girlfriend bored you in anyway, just ditch them and hook up with a new one. Why waste time trying to adapt and treasure the one beside you? There’s always another significant gems waiting in friendster or facebook. You just have to “poke” them.
Old people also do not want to be left out. Nowadays they wake up in the wee hours of the morning and bombarded the park with their Tai Chi music, and some even do aerobic. When night comes they attend all those direct sales seminars where you pay RM1 to go in and they give you these freebies to entice you to listen to their crappy talk and buy their even crappier products.
There’s no longer any place for a lazy bum like me.
If life is a photo album, browsing through mine you would only find a lot of snapshots of disappointment – thanks to my laziness.
Snapshot 1:
“I am breaking up with you, Sean,” my ex said. “You’re just wasting your talent. If you could just be a little more dedicated in submitting your stories, you would be a very popular writer by now.”
“Relax, honey…there is no publications worthy of the stuffs I write at the time.”
“Why can’t you at least try? You are just so bloody lazy all the time. The only time I could think of when you are not lazy is when we are on the bed.”
“Then we should stay on the bed more often.”
“No more, Sean…no more.”
Snapshot 2:
My lab partner in college: Sean, where’s the lab report you are supposed to type out?
Me: Lab report? It isn’t due till tomorrow right?
The Long-winded Dude: Sean, how many times do I have to remind you? It’s due today!
Me: Relax, relax, I will type it now. Still got 1 hour before our lab session, right?
The Annoying Dude: Why do you have to wait till last minute every time? Always relax, relax – the only time when I don’t see you relax is when you play ChoDaiDi. Why can’t you be more serious in study?
Me: I didn’t copy down any notes for that lab experiment la. Can I borrow yours?
The Angry Dude: #@&$* Sometimes I am really amazed how you could still keep up your 2nd upper grades. You are so $%#@!!!
As I continued to turn the pages, I became more and more disoriented. I have lost the woman I love because of my laziness. My dream of becoming a writer is withering away. And friends despised me because of my sluggish attitude. If I continue to live my life this way, I think I would become a very depressed lazy bum.
I used to think that to be able to take things easy is a virtue, but in the current intense world we live in, this virtue no longer applies.
According to the Chinese Zodiac system, the most compatible animal sign for a snake is a rooster. I figure maybe it’s because rooster are good at waking people up - and a snake like me definitely needs a wake up call from time to time. Then there is also a well-known fact that Ayam Brand’s Chicken Essence is a good tonic to drive someone up – so for a lazy snake like me, it’s a necessity. Can’t be merely a coincidence, right? The question is, where’s my rooster?
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Lousy Friend Like Me
When it comes to friendship, I consider myself a very lousy friend. Just like recently I did not even attend any farewell for a colleague (and a friend) who was leaving the company. I guess I could always give the excuse that I was not invited as I do not belong to any of her lunch gang, department gang or outing buddies. Despite the fact that I was actually informed that a group from my office was organizing a farewell for her. I didn’t join because I was having my weekly DOTA session with another bunch of buddies.
I guess if I were really a good friend, I would make the effort to join her farewell, ditching my DOTA buddies in the process. But I just got news about this farewell at last minute, and I was not even in the email loop. And never a thick-skinned person by nature, I decided to just skip it and play DOTA.
This friend of mine – we were friends really by accident. She was the ex of one of our DOTA buddies and after they broke-up, I kind of asked her out for lunch – with other colleagues of course, not just the 2 of us. The funny thing was, during that lunch – we sort of like ran into her ex’s lunch gang. We were in the same elevator – so you could imagine the awkwardness of the situation – I was as quiet as a stone.
Apart from that, we did spend a swell time in karaoke once – she had a great voice and could carry a tune like a professional singer – and other than that we also went for dinner once – where we talked about our aspirations and choices in life.
Well, people come and people go. That’s what I like to say, as if somehow to cover up my own indolence at going to the extra length for friends and relatives alike. Even when sometimes when I feel concerned over some friends in trouble, I hardly take the initiative to look them up and offer my help or express my concern. Perhaps it is because I usually feel a tinge of uneasiness whenever friends express concern over me – up to the point where one friend accused me of not allowing people to care about me.
“I don’t know, Sean,” she articulated. “You don’t allow people to be your friends, to care about you. A lot of people actually care about you, but you just push them away.”
“I am just an insignificant friend to you all – why would you care?”
“GRRR…You are not insignificant!!! I really feel like kicking your butt.”
Another example that I am not good when it comes to friendship.
By nature, guys friend basically don’t like to talk about their problem. Whenever they encounter some difficulties in their life, usually they will try to work it out by themselves, and if stressed out, they would prefer a drinking buddy instead of a talking buddy. Girls are different. They are constantly complaining no matter how trivial their problem is. They don’t really expect you to give them advice or solutions to their problems – they just like to talk about it. They just want a listener.
By understanding these very common sense concepts about guys and gals, I could sometimes make a very good friend – if I choose to do so. I am easy with people and I am a good listener when you buy me lunch or dinner or a round of drink (preferably a round of drink). I guess that’s the reason why sometimes old friend would call me out of the blue and start talking about their problem. I don’t judge people because I think there is no right or wrong – as long as you don’t betray your own conscience. And I seldom ask for explanation if let say people told me they had just done something horrible or inexcusable, purely because if you really understand someone – your friend – he/she don’t really have to explain. Only those who don’t understand you would keep asking you for explanation – and they don’t even believe what you said anyway – so why bother to explain yourself so much?
There’s one time I ran into an old friend from high school in Gurney Plaza when I was going out with this very gorgeous girl. We were very well dressed up because we planned to go to Slippery Senorita afterward. So this friend of mine – clad in dirty T-shirts and a worn-out pair of pants – came running out of nowhere and asked me to lend him money.
“Someone is chasing me, Sean. Could I like borrow like RM10 for transportation?”
Some people would just ignore this pathetic guy – he is actually a son of a teacher who became a rotten egg because of the influence of our high school buddies (I studied in a notorious high school infested with gangsters and very well known for gang fights between the teachers and the students) – and who would believe his lame excuses of being chased? And plus in front of a gorgeous high class girl beside me, the correct thing to do is to claim that I do not know this guy and shooed him away, right?
But I didn’t do the right thing. I took him aside and pushed RM20 inside his palm. “Take care dude,” I said to the guy who was as stunned as the girl who went out with me. Maybe I kesian the guy a bit. Or maybe I could never turn down a friend who ask me for help.
Either way, that guy cost me the chance to go out with the girl again. She said my taste in friends was disgusting and kept on pestering me to explain why I gave that loser money. “You give them money, next time they would come to you again,” she retorted angrily. “And I am supposed to feel secure with guys like that running out of nowhere asking you for money?”
I guessed I could explain and soothe her if I wanted – I could be really a sweet talker sometimes. But then again, to quote myself back: Only those who don’t understand you would keep asking you for explanation – and they don’t even believe what you said anyway – so why bother to explain yourself so much?
So now you know – I don’t only sucks at friendship, I also sucks when it comes to dating.
I guess if I were really a good friend, I would make the effort to join her farewell, ditching my DOTA buddies in the process. But I just got news about this farewell at last minute, and I was not even in the email loop. And never a thick-skinned person by nature, I decided to just skip it and play DOTA.
This friend of mine – we were friends really by accident. She was the ex of one of our DOTA buddies and after they broke-up, I kind of asked her out for lunch – with other colleagues of course, not just the 2 of us. The funny thing was, during that lunch – we sort of like ran into her ex’s lunch gang. We were in the same elevator – so you could imagine the awkwardness of the situation – I was as quiet as a stone.
Apart from that, we did spend a swell time in karaoke once – she had a great voice and could carry a tune like a professional singer – and other than that we also went for dinner once – where we talked about our aspirations and choices in life.
Well, people come and people go. That’s what I like to say, as if somehow to cover up my own indolence at going to the extra length for friends and relatives alike. Even when sometimes when I feel concerned over some friends in trouble, I hardly take the initiative to look them up and offer my help or express my concern. Perhaps it is because I usually feel a tinge of uneasiness whenever friends express concern over me – up to the point where one friend accused me of not allowing people to care about me.
“I don’t know, Sean,” she articulated. “You don’t allow people to be your friends, to care about you. A lot of people actually care about you, but you just push them away.”
“I am just an insignificant friend to you all – why would you care?”
“GRRR…You are not insignificant!!! I really feel like kicking your butt.”
Another example that I am not good when it comes to friendship.
By nature, guys friend basically don’t like to talk about their problem. Whenever they encounter some difficulties in their life, usually they will try to work it out by themselves, and if stressed out, they would prefer a drinking buddy instead of a talking buddy. Girls are different. They are constantly complaining no matter how trivial their problem is. They don’t really expect you to give them advice or solutions to their problems – they just like to talk about it. They just want a listener.
By understanding these very common sense concepts about guys and gals, I could sometimes make a very good friend – if I choose to do so. I am easy with people and I am a good listener when you buy me lunch or dinner or a round of drink (preferably a round of drink). I guess that’s the reason why sometimes old friend would call me out of the blue and start talking about their problem. I don’t judge people because I think there is no right or wrong – as long as you don’t betray your own conscience. And I seldom ask for explanation if let say people told me they had just done something horrible or inexcusable, purely because if you really understand someone – your friend – he/she don’t really have to explain. Only those who don’t understand you would keep asking you for explanation – and they don’t even believe what you said anyway – so why bother to explain yourself so much?
There’s one time I ran into an old friend from high school in Gurney Plaza when I was going out with this very gorgeous girl. We were very well dressed up because we planned to go to Slippery Senorita afterward. So this friend of mine – clad in dirty T-shirts and a worn-out pair of pants – came running out of nowhere and asked me to lend him money.
“Someone is chasing me, Sean. Could I like borrow like RM10 for transportation?”
Some people would just ignore this pathetic guy – he is actually a son of a teacher who became a rotten egg because of the influence of our high school buddies (I studied in a notorious high school infested with gangsters and very well known for gang fights between the teachers and the students) – and who would believe his lame excuses of being chased? And plus in front of a gorgeous high class girl beside me, the correct thing to do is to claim that I do not know this guy and shooed him away, right?
But I didn’t do the right thing. I took him aside and pushed RM20 inside his palm. “Take care dude,” I said to the guy who was as stunned as the girl who went out with me. Maybe I kesian the guy a bit. Or maybe I could never turn down a friend who ask me for help.
Either way, that guy cost me the chance to go out with the girl again. She said my taste in friends was disgusting and kept on pestering me to explain why I gave that loser money. “You give them money, next time they would come to you again,” she retorted angrily. “And I am supposed to feel secure with guys like that running out of nowhere asking you for money?”
I guessed I could explain and soothe her if I wanted – I could be really a sweet talker sometimes. But then again, to quote myself back: Only those who don’t understand you would keep asking you for explanation – and they don’t even believe what you said anyway – so why bother to explain yourself so much?
So now you know – I don’t only sucks at friendship, I also sucks when it comes to dating.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Blogspot is the Spot for Serious Blogger
junkyard –{noun} a yard for the collection, storage, and resale of junk
- Random House Unabridged Dictionary
I am in the process of transitioning my mental junkyard from the MSN Spaces to its new home here. It’s not that I don’t like MSN Spaces; it is quite user-friendly, but not so reader-friendly – readers have to register with MSN to leave a comment. And I don’t like to impose this kind of restrictions on my fellow readers; it’s like tying up the hands that feeds you – you get no food for thought at all.
Readers – in my opinion – should be allowed to enjoy the unbridled joy of leaving comment as much as I enjoy writing – provided that the comments are sensible and constructive or even sarcastic or ironic; and not the product of those irresponsible morons who never flushed the toilet – they only leave you shit.
I am not writing much tonight – it’s getting late plus my mind is getting muddy – so I would post more interesting stuffs in the coming days. As much as I aspire to be a good writer, I would have to concede the occasional blunder of coming up with unconventional and maybe even gross stuffs – just so that you don’t expect that this stage is filled with glossy surface all the time.
Much of the stuffs you would be reading here would be entirely fictional – so please do me the favour of not trying to associate whatever similarities you may find here to people or place that you may encounter in real life. If you are easily offended by my blunt way of dishing up my tales, you can always read Harry Potter instead. If however you like thought provoking stuffs and you find the tales and articles here amusing and in anyway, please drop by whenever you please and feed me with some of your feedback.
- Random House Unabridged Dictionary
I am in the process of transitioning my mental junkyard from the MSN Spaces to its new home here. It’s not that I don’t like MSN Spaces; it is quite user-friendly, but not so reader-friendly – readers have to register with MSN to leave a comment. And I don’t like to impose this kind of restrictions on my fellow readers; it’s like tying up the hands that feeds you – you get no food for thought at all.
Readers – in my opinion – should be allowed to enjoy the unbridled joy of leaving comment as much as I enjoy writing – provided that the comments are sensible and constructive or even sarcastic or ironic; and not the product of those irresponsible morons who never flushed the toilet – they only leave you shit.
I am not writing much tonight – it’s getting late plus my mind is getting muddy – so I would post more interesting stuffs in the coming days. As much as I aspire to be a good writer, I would have to concede the occasional blunder of coming up with unconventional and maybe even gross stuffs – just so that you don’t expect that this stage is filled with glossy surface all the time.
Much of the stuffs you would be reading here would be entirely fictional – so please do me the favour of not trying to associate whatever similarities you may find here to people or place that you may encounter in real life. If you are easily offended by my blunt way of dishing up my tales, you can always read Harry Potter instead. If however you like thought provoking stuffs and you find the tales and articles here amusing and in anyway, please drop by whenever you please and feed me with some of your feedback.
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