A Year of Rants

Another fresh new year is here ...
Another year to live!
To banish worry, doubt, and fear,
To love and laugh and give!

This bright new year is given me,
To live each day with zest ...
To daily grow and try to be
My highest and my best!

I have the opportunity,
Once more to right some wrongs,
To pray for peace, to plant a tree,
And sing more joyful songs!
~William Arthur Ward

Sigh, if only I can be so carefree...

* * * * *

This is my 94-th post.

Twelve months ago, I started this blog in a nostalgic mood; today, I'm blogging away in a similar mood, only that this one is tinged more with a heavy sense of depression.

It has been a year of major changes. Nothing much has happened, actually. But those few incidents were more than enough to change my outlooks and drastically mould me into a person who is as yet, a stranger to my own self.

I used to be over-confident; taking things easy and never believed there's anything I couldn't achieve. But, failures are an inevitable part of life, I knew that. Nevertheless, there were blows that were hard to endure; more than once, I almost faltered. In the end, it was cowardice which ironically held me back. To certain people, they might have been a mere prick in the skin. However, that is a judgmental way to weigh the grief one is enduring. It is the coping resources that counts. When pain exceeds the resources for coping with it, things can end rather badly.

True friends are becoming hard to find. In fact, even my number of normal friends has diminished to a poor handful. When you're trying to get someone with whom there's mutual understanding and trust, it's even tougher. There're feelings that I have to confide; but I care not to reveal to anyone around me, knowing that there's this barrier that I've built by myself. There's tears that should have been shed without shame; but I just have to hold them back, telling myself I will not admit being weak. Hell, why can't I be less emotional?

Skimming through my past posts, I realise that most of them have been rather gloomy and they never run away from certain topics. Is it because I tend to blog more when I'm feeling upset or stressed? Or is it just plainly because I'm growing pessimistic? Instead of fantasising about the uncertain future based on flimsy hopes of the present, I simply prefer to focus on my pains. Sigh, I'm getting sick of myself for constantly fishing for sympathy... I'm almost certain that most people out there are shaking their heads and saying, "Not again."

To put it lamely, I am aware that I'm better off than many other people. Yet, I don't know why there isn't satisfaction in life. I'm just lack of inspiration and motivation.

Why is it that I still linger on past wounds? Perhaps, it's because there's nothing much to expect from the future.

Privacy Breached

The personal life of every individual is based on secrecy, and perhaps it is partly for that reason that civilized man is so nervously anxious that personal privacy should be respected. ~Anton Chekhov

Woe is me!

Angry? I'm not angry! I'm utterly disappointed! I'm irritated! I'm furious! I can't tolerate her attitude anymore! Gah! Reading my short messages as if there's nothing wrong as long as I'm not aware of it. The truth is, I knew all along. Despite telling her umpteen times, she still remains obstinate.

To make things worse, she also has the knack of sifting through my wallet and my drawers, as if half-expecting to find designer drugs or something bad or perhaps even a skeleton in my cupboard.

If she's just trying to keep tabs on my social circle and what I'm doing, simply out of concern, this is the worst way of doing it. She could've at least just asked! How can she expect me to confide to her when she's doing such things without my knowledge? Is there no one whom I can still trust these days? There're so many things that I don't even think of telling her anymore.

This time, I'm totally upset. She doesn't even understand my basic rights, does she? I'm not a rebellious, whimsical young adult seeking for independence. For goodness sake, I merely need to have my personal space! I need room to breathe!

There's no way she can blame me for not trying to bridge the yawning chasm...

Cliffhanging

Life may be not only meaningless but absurd. ~Thomas Nagel

Right after the abseiling slope on our regular hiking path in Penang Hill, is a steep three-storey cliff. This is a deadly cliff which no sane man would even think of climbing up without proper rock-climbing equipments and a life insurance.

To begin with, the loose earth does not offer much space for safe and firm footholds. Besides, backing down is not an option once you've started climbing up the cliff since that'd be more dangerous than going up. But, with nothing on the ground except jagged granites to break your fall (and your cranium), the best thing you can hope for - should you slip - is an instant, painless death instead of ending up breaking the spinal chord and live the rest of your life in the bed as a vegetable.

Today, we flirted with death for the third time, going up this cliff armed with senseless bravado and sheer irrationality. Satistically, we should be dead by now. But miracles do happen - in our case, thrice. Otherwise, I'd be resting in peace or playing my harp in heaven right now instead of blogging.

I had a different feeling each time we made it to the top. On the first time, there was a sense of achievement. As we made one final push and set our feet on the cliff, we shouted like mad men. For the moment, the risk and the unbearable level of adrenaline seemed to be a fair price to pay for the boost in ego.

On the second attempt, there was a sense of invincibility - typical of megalomaniacs. More than once, I slipped. Had my guardian angel being in negligent in those critical moments, I would have ended up with the same fate as an egg being dropped down the cliff. Yet, defying the mathematics of probability, we somehow survived and smirked at death's face.

However, our third accomplishment did not make me feel good at all, even though we managed to make it in a shorter time than before. As a matter of fact, I started questioning myself of the unnecessary risk I've taken. What is it, if not insanity, which is capable of driving a man to risk his life for something not worth dying for? Has he lost hope in life and become suicidal enough to gamble with his life? Or is he just some irrational potato head like Raptor who is only seeking for some form of thrill to spice up his otherwise bland life?

Of course, every time we climbed up, I was fearful of loosing my foothold. Yet, even in those cliffhanging moments, my life did not flash through the mind - the way it ought to happpen to those who are having a brush with death. Is my life not worth valuing - even by myself?

Indeed, I felt lucky to have made it all the way up with some mere scratches in the elbows and the knees. Yet, I stretched my luck and risked a second and god forbid, a third try. Do I not appreciate the fact that I'm still living?

What's wrong with me? What is it in life that I'm not satisfied of?

Suddenly, life seems to have come to a cliffhanging stage. Neither backing down nor hanging midway is an option. I know darn well that the Hobson's choice is to go up. But alas, being able to make it thus far doesn't guarantee that I'll make it to the top...

Love and Sacrifices

It takes so much to love some one, because love is the ultimate sacrifice. ~Anonymous

Whatever she does, she thinks twice about his feelings. She doesn't even mind making sacrifices even to just satisfy his unreasonable whims. Yet, she does all that without having any regrets, for she is truly in love with him.

Regrettably, he doesn't care much about her. Every now and then, he hurts her so deeply. But, even though he ignores her wounds, she insists on giving him chances after chances. His selfish actions only make people despise him and question whether he deserves her love.

There're always things that, we, as third persons, shall never understand. Some may think she's foolish - why cling onto him when he only brings grevious hurt? Shouldn't she just call it off instead for the sake of her own happiness?

At times, self-sacrifices cannot be avoided, because in a relationship, happiness is meaningless unless it is mutually felt. However, love is blind. Sometimes, she cares so much about her partner's feelings that she neglects her own. Of course, the sacrifices made would be worthy if they're acknolwedged and returned. But, when it happens without reciprocal, it becomes utterly suffering. Though outsiders can easily sense it and sympathise her, she just doesn't feel much like a manipulated victim.

It is unfair of me to be judgmental, more so after considering my position. Nevertheless, how can I sit back and say nothing when she's suffocating, even if she were just a normal friend? To console her, I tried to think of some possible excuse for him, because she is clearly disappointed of him and from all those things that people said, began to lose faith. But alas, I just can't think of any way to defend him.

Perhaps she was right in saying that I don't understand the situation. Yeah, I don't even dare to broach the subject for fear of upsetting her. Even if the intentions were benevolent, it will only seem like an intrusion of privacy.

Sigh, she's another unfortunate victim of Eros. Still, no matter what, this can only be left to both of them to come up with a solution, while I can only hope she'll be happy with whatever decision she'll eventually make.

Atheist in a Temple

In some awful, strange, paradoxical way, atheists tend to take religion more seriously than the practitioners. ~David Hume

An atheist in a temple - what could possibly make a better paradox? However, this atheist isn't there to pray; he's there as a voluntary helper - because he is unfortunately roped in by someone - and because as a moderate atheist, he is magnanimous enough to put aside the difference in belief.

Now, only two days into his job, he has seen enough to reignite his atheistic sentiments which he has been painfully supressing. When it comes to religion, an atheist must always watch his tongue; he just might end up being struck by lightning or being chopped by some machete-wielding zealot.

But, I digressed.

So, okay. I am helping out in a dharma assembly. This isn't any simple recitation session; it is led by His Eminence Drubwang Konchok Norbu Rinopoche. Ah, nevermind who he is. To me, he's just an 84-year-old elderly chap who came all the way from Tibet. But to the other 300-odd Buddhists who attended the recitation, he's not your ordinary "octogenarian-next-door". For goodness sake, he's "the reincarnated one with great vows or Tulku" - that's what Rinpoche means - and this name is endowed by the Dalai Lama, another old chap.

This dharma assembly is held for a total of nine days, during which they'll recite the Mani Mantra for 100 million times. "The merits acrrued will be transferred for world peace, well being of the people and the country as well as all sentient beings." This really had me scratch my head. How can you possibly help humanity attain peace just by chanting some mantra? Oh my god, all this while, I thought maintaining world peace is the sole responsibility of George W. Bush!

Okay, enough nonsense. But the truth is, I really think there is possibly nothing more unconstructive than this. Hey, 300 people sitting in the shrine chanting all day long isn't going to boost the country's productivity. Pardon me, but I must say this is totally impractical.

Then, there are those people who worship the old chap as if he's some kind of god. Well, "He's a living god," they say. Heck, no way am I going to worship another person who's obviously a human being like you and me. As a narcissist at heart, I only worship that godly guy in my mirror; not the hot Britney Spears nor the sexy Angelina Jolie!

One weakness that I have is I tend to look at the bad side of things. Call me pessimistic if you want to; I think religion doesn't necessarily make better persons. Back in the shrine, there was a person who adamantly insisted on sitting in the front row which was reserved for the monks. "No way am I going to move to the second row! I want to pay attention during the recitation!" he argued. I wondered if he was there for the chanting or just to have a look at the Rinpoche old chap.

People were jostling to get into the elevators; a monk was smoking in the carpark; full-time participants arrogantly asked for the front seats; feng-shui-conscious ladies reserving their seats with jackets... Sigh, some people just don't grow wiser...

By the way, the atmosphere in the shrine during the chanting is as somnolent as white noise. Almost perfect for deep-meditation (translation: dozing off).

Bachelor Talk

A bachelor is a man who comes to work each morning from a different direction. ~Sholom Aleichem

Despite the fact that Station 5 is one of the best spots on Penang Hill, Raptor never takes the time to appreciate what it has to offer.

"Come on, let's get going in five minutes," he'd say as soon as we reach there.
"What's the rush?"
"It's not like I want to spend my time here with you. If I'm here with my girlfriend, it's a different story."

Then, he'd start telling me how he wishes to bring his girlfriend for a date in Penang Hill.

Did I hear you say, "Bah, typical bachelor talk!"? Indeed it is. And the desperate Raptor always picks up a sober mood when he broaches that topic. It reminds me of Belly Eyap^§, the bachelor who behaves in a totally different way.

For those who don't already know, Belly Eyap a.k.a. Darth Vader is our former infamous disciplinarian. (Ahem, can someone please play Imperial's March?) Ah, his "reign of terror" in the school - and the cyberworld as well - is long gone. Since the Sith Lord stepped down from his throne, he has rebuilt his image as a kindly old chap.

You see, Belly doesn't own a car, despite the common belief that bachelors like him ought to be rich, considering that they have only one belly to feed. (Pardon the pun) Once, I offered him a ride to a bus stand and we had a conversation which went something like this:

Belly: Do you have a girlfriend?
Me: Huh? No...
Belly: Perhaps I can help you search for one by running an ad for you on Mr Eyap's Corner.
Don't ask me. It must be some kind of fictitious online forum.
Me: (*Deep breath) What-when-where-why-who-how-huh?
Belly: What sort of girls do you prefer?
Me: Whoa! Thanks for your concern but shouldn't you be worrying about yourself instead of me! Haha!

Why did the old bachelor turn into a matchmaker all in a sudden? Jeez! Poor Belly! He must be one lonely guy!

Then, there's another Bachelor Ele^§ who is better known as the "perpetrator of boredom". (I believe this is why he isn't married; he readily hands you the anchor when you're struggling in the sea of boredom listening to his lectures. Une vraie barbe - a real bore!) Again, this is another poor bachelor who doesn't own a car and constantly complains of "financial woes" when it comes to collecting photostating fees for his notes.

Another thing they have in common is Ele is also lonely. That explains why he tends to babble on the same topics ad nauseam.

Oscar Wilde was probably right in proposing helftier tax on bachelors for being happier than other men. Don't be fooled by their appearances. These bachelors may be misers who, in reality, have a six-digit balance in their accounts! After all, they don't have a family to suupport.

Besides, being a bachelor means you have total freedom - no one to pull your ears even when you drool upon seeing some sexy gal in Gurney Plaza. And you're even spared from the mental torment of accompanying your lass for pointless window-shopping.

So, being non-committed could be a wiser choice after all, despite the chances of growing boring and cranky.

^§Surnames are scrambled to protect privacy.

Crush Calculator

Why do they call it a crush? Because that's how you feel when they don't feel the same way in return. ~Anonymous

Forget about all those "crush calculators" you've seen before. This is the most accurate of all. See for yourself! CrushCalculator.com

To whom thy secret thou dost tell, to him thy freedom thou dost sell. ~Benjamin Franklin

Dilemma

Life is a constant oscillation between the sharp horns of dilemmas. ~ Henry Louis Mencken

Story-tellers and movie producers have the uncanny habit of leaving the ending of their stories hanging in such a way that leaves room for a possible sequel. But, none may surpass Providence in the art of story-weaving for she is the most adept at plotting deceivingly conclusive endings, when in fact, a new chapter awaits. Who knows, with a twist in the plot, you may come to a totally different sort of ending.

But, alas! You've made your decision that you saw fit for the supposed "ending". Will you then take one step back and repick your choice in view of this new development?

Hey, that's a no-no. This is a matter of principles. How can one go back on his own words?

But, a wise decision should be made by taking into account the situation. Now that there is a new development, shouldn't it be reconsidered?

No. The decision is final even when there's a glimpse of bright hope. Besides, it doesn't raise the chances much.

Will I possibly regret later on? I can't tell.

Why do things happen so quickly? I need to regain my poise... Suddenly, I feel so selfish and hypocritical.

Don't know what to do. Don't know what to think. Don't know what to say.

When you have more questions than answers, you're in a dilemma; there's no way to make a decision.

Nevertheless, regardless of how things may turn out, rest assured that you'll always have my best wishes.

Let go

"Do you still like her?"
"Let's not talk about this, okay?"
"She's moving, you know?"
"Yeah."
"Then, make your move!"
"...I've decided to let go."

I don't know why, but everytime I'm in an excellent mood, someone would just say something that brings you back to the mind. Whatever is the motive: either with a kind intention or as a mere taunt, they always end up making me feel down.

Despite what we promised each other, that there won't be any awkward feelings, there's still always an invisible barrier that blocks us. You seem so distant; so hard to approach. It's just hard to treat you as a friend; because I just don't feel like I'm being treated as one. Perhaps it is me who built the chasm; perhaps I shouldn't think so much; perhaps I'm just not good enough when it comes to handling emotions.

* * * * *

"Go take a photo with her. There may not be another chance."
"No..." I feel bad enough already. Please! You're making me teary!

"Why? Why are you so quiet?"
"Nothing, just sleepy..."

Thank you, guys. I know you're asking that out of concern. But, please bear in mind that as soon as you broach this issue, it's the end of conversation.

* * * * *

I know there's little chance that you'll be reading this. But... You looked so pretty last night. Unfortunately, I had neither the chance nor the guts to compliment you then. Sorry.

"So, you're moving soon?"
"Uh, no. My family has decided to defer it for a year."

I was a little surprised that the news didn't make me feel any better. The air was heavy with a sense of longingness.

"Well, all the best!"

A warm handshake. And you gave an encouraging smile... Which I did not acknowledge. Again, sorry.

* * * * *

I thought I could live on with this feeling without reciprocal, but it turns out that it is just hard to take. Yeah, I just have to let go...

Huh? Let go? Hah! Good luck!

Sigh, I will... and must... let go...

Osama Al-Invigilator

Come Mr Taliban, turn over bin Laden! ~Bin Laden Has Nowhere to Run (Banana Boat Song Parody)

He had a middle Eastern look. With his thick, black beard and kopiah, it wasn't a wonder that everyone started to think if he was a terrorist. In fact, he resembled the notorious bin Laden. Shucks! The test had already got on our nerves and yet, they sent "Osama" to invigilate us? Gosh! Talk about mental torment!

Luckily, though, this "Osama" didn't carry an AK-47 with him; neither did he strap himself with dynamite. So, chances were, we wouldn't be blown off the surface of the earth in the middle of the test. Wow, that was a relief, at least!

Well, it happened that Osama Al-Invigilator did not only had the looks of the world-renowned "celebrity", he had a great sense of humour too - which probably "killed" a number of students. Tan Sri and Koja the Maori King were among the unfortunate ones who were in the class invigilated by "Mr Osama" during Chemistry Paper 2 exam. You see, there was an essay question which required us to answer using "graphical method". Koja, being probably the first one to come to this question, raised his hand and asked for a piece of graph paper from "Mr Osama".

Maori King: Sir, graph paper please.
Osama Al-Invigilator: Huh? (Walks over to the Maori King)
Maori King: I need a piece of graph paper for this question.
Osama Al-Invigilator: (Reads question.) "Determine graphically the activation energy of... blah, blah, blah... (Frowns) The instruction doesn't ask you to draw a graph!
Maori King: Ahem! Graphically, just in case you missed, Dear Osama!
Osama Al-Invigilator: No, no. You just need to make a sketch!
Maori King: (Mouth hangs down like a cash register)

Spider Man who sat near the Maori King then asked for a piece of graph paper too.

Spider Man: Graph paper, Sir!
Osama Al-Invigilator: What?
Spider Man: Graph paper, please!
Osama Al-Invigilator: I said you don't need graph papers! Just sketch! (Curses under breath: Brats!) Anyway, just to satisfy you gentlemen... (Gets two pieces of graph papers and gives to the Maori King and Spider Man)

Later, someone else raised his hand and asked for a piece of graph paper too.

"Gah! I said you don't need graph papers! Damn it!" "Osama" boomed. No one dared to ask for a piece of graph paper after that. Certainly, they didn't want Dear Osama to literally explode.

It was a great thing that I wasn't invigilated by "Osama" during the exam. Otherwise, I'd have bugged him till he blew us off. I mean, heck! That question carried 8 marks! And of all the questions, this was the easiest one to score! If I were in the Maori King's position, I'd have blown off his beard there and then!

It is no wonder that Tan Sri wrote a parody of Banana Boat Song for "Mr Osama": "Come, Mr Osama, give me some graph paper! 10.30 come and me wan' go home!" He must be really pissed off!

Just for fun:
Banana Boat Song (*.Wav)
Banana Boat Song Parody I - Bin Laden Has Nowhere to Run (Flash) [Mirror Link]
Banana Boat Song Parody II (mp3)
Osama bin Laden Entertainment

The Emancipation Proclamation

Freedom is the last, best hope of earth. ~Abraham Lincoln

Whereas, on the twenty-fifth day of November, in the year of our Lord two thousand and five, a proclamation was issued by the President of the Sixth-Form, containing, among other things, the following, to wit:

"That on the twenty-ninth day of November, in the year of our Lord two thousand and five, all STPM-ers of the year aforementioned, held as slaves in Sixth-Form within Malaysia, the STPM-ers whereof shall then be in rebellion against the Authority, shall be then, and forever free; and the Authority, including the Higher Education Ministry and the Malaysian Examination Council thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom.

"That the Authority will, on the twenty-ninth day of November aforesaid, by proclamation, designate the Sixth-Form and parts of Sixth-Form, if any, in which the STPM-ers thereof, shall on that day be, in good faith, represented in the Congress of the Sixth-Form by members chosen thereto at elections of strong countervailing testimony, be deemed conclusive evidence that such State, and the STPM-ers thereof, are not then in rebellion against the Authority."

Now, therefore I, Datuk Dr Shafie Mohd Salleh, President of the Sixth Form, by virtue of the power in me vested as Commander-in-Chief, of the Higher Education Ministry of Malaysia in time of actual armed rebellion against the authority and government of the Sixth-Form, and as a fit and necessary war measure for suppressing said rebellion, do, on this twenty-ninth day of November, in the year of our Lord two thousand and five, and in accordance with my purpose so to do publicly proclaimed for the full period of four days, from the day first above mentioned, order and designate as the Sixth-Form wherein the STPM-ers thereof respectively, are this day in rebellion against the Authority.

And by virtue of the power, and for the purpose aforesaid, I do order and declare that all 2005 STPM-ers held as slaves within any Sixth-Form are, and henceforward shall be free; and that the Authority, cinluding the Higher Education Ministry and the Malaysian Examination Council thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of said STPM-ers.

And I hereby enjoin upon the 2005 STPM-ers so declared to be freed to abstain from studies unless in favour of masochism; and I recommend to them that, in all cases when allowed, they pursue pleasure faithfully for indulgence.

And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitution, upon military necessity, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind, and the gracious favour of Almighty God.

In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the Authority to be affixed.

Highly Explosive

Merovingian: I have sampled every language, French is my favourite - fantastic language, especially to curse with... You see, it's like wiping your arse with silk, I love it. ~The Matrix Reloaded

I'm about to rant and I expect some sympathy and empathy. If you can't possibly refrain from making hypocritical remarks, please leave. If you can't stand profanities and harsh language, please leave.

* * * * *

I've only used "bloody hell" once in this blog. And I think it is now justifiable for me to abuse it again. Bloody hell! Chemistry Paper 2 packed the deadliest blow! Ahem, allow me to quote Merovingian and swear in a bunch of French profanities: "Nom de Dieu de putain de bordel de merde de saloperie de connard d'enculé de ta mère!"

I think I can only blame myself for inadequate preparation. I wasn’t expecting something like this. This paper was the horror of all horrors; It was way tougher than last trial exam and all those questions from the other states! As if it wasn’t enough that I didn’t know some questions, carelessness struck again. Jesus H. Christ! I did not only skip a part of an easy question but made quite a number of foolish mistakes. Hell, this is so shitty!

I asked around to get assurance that I wasn’t the only one who thought the paper was tough. There were grim faces alright, but a lesson I learned from the hypocrites is not to trust everything they say. They may tell you that they’re going to fail the paper but end up passing with flying colours. Perverted nincompoops! Contemptible hypocrites! Why can’t they just answer me honestly?

On another matter, I hate it when people shoot it in my face, “Nah, you definitely don’t have any problem,” despite my telling them that I’m doomed. For Pete’s sake, when I say it’s tough, I really mean it. Similarly, when they asked me how was maths, I said it was easy and I really meant it too.

I’m really done this time! Hopeless! Doomed! Damned! Bloody hell!

For the love of God, don’t you even think of leaving a sarcastic comment. I’m currently highly explosive.

A Bump On the Bahn

Four or five years from now, you will wonder when somebody called up to get technical support how they just used the phone to try and describe what was going on with their PC. ~Bill Gates

The caveman makes another mark on the wall with his hand axe. He has been doing so to keep track of the days passed since he applied for Streamyx.

“One, two, three… nine, twelve, ten, fourteen…” Wait, or is it thirteen? The caveman isn’t sure because he has never counted beyond ten. Man, it seems like an eternity!

He goes out of his cave and peers into the horizon. A silhouette is slowly crawling in his direction of his humble abode. Could it be… Yes! It is! The caveman’s modem has arrived! A woolly mammoth? No wonder it takes so long! However, the anticipation and excitement have doused his impatience; he is dancing his favourite war dance.

* * * * *

It has been a long wait, but who cares! It’s finally here! Man, I just realised that my dialup account is only left with a meagre RM 10 credit one month after my last top up. So, I had to play the disappearing act from the blogosphere. I should have reported in straight away after activating the Streamyx account but I couldn’t blog without guilt due to the exams. I guess, that’s a helluva reasonable excuse for being MIA! So don’t send me to the martial court, please.

The installation should be a breeze: connecting the cables, the splitter, the adapter… But, I couldn’t establish a connection because of some error 769! Bah! So I called technical support and asked for help. Ah Beng* guided me through a series of steps before coming to the conclusion that the modem must be faulty.

“If you get error 769, that means there’s some problem with your modem,” said Ah Beng. Oh, great! “You need to bring it to TM Point and get it checked,” he added.

Shucks! This was so frustrating but never mind, there’s a TM Point nearby.

* * * * *

The caveman rides on his mouse deer to the nearest TM Point, carrying along his club. He’s eager for some serious ass-kicking…

* * * * *

Ahmad: No, no, no! We don’t have the facility to test the modem here!
Me: What? Ah Beng from technical support asked me to bring it here and get it checked!
Ahmad: (Frowns) Anyway, just to satisfy you…

I followed him to a public computer free for use by TM customers. Ahmad connected the supposedly faulty modem and dialled a connection.

“Voila!” Ahmad grinned as if he had successfully executed a David Copperfield magic trick. There was a short pause and I wondered if he was expecting an applause.

Ahmad: See? There’s nothing wrong with your modem.
Me: But I got error message 769!
Ahmad: (In an as-a-matter-of-fact tone) That’s because you haven’t activated the account!
Me: But Ah Beng said it’s a hardware problem!
Ahmad: Apparently, he’s wrong.
Me: But… Ah, whatever! I’ll activate my account and try again.

When I got home, I gave Tan Sri, the tech guru, a call. He agreed that I try again after activation, which was exactly what I did. Siti* was on the line this time. I mentioned to her my ordeal anyway and was briefed through a series of steps. Oh my God! It happened to be a problem with the settings, which was rectified with a simple click! Heck! Talk about my rushing here and there and making all those phone calls.

Ah! Stupid me for simply changing the connection settings. Stupid Ah Beng for being such an Ah Beng. Stupid Ahmad for being so thick-skinned and so proud of his stupid diagnosis. Thank you, Siti, for helping me out!

*All names mentioned are fictitious – to protect privacy(?) – no, because I don’t know their names.

The Battle Begins

Hold your ground, hold your ground. Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers. I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day. This day we fight! For all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West! ~The Return of the King (LOTR)

A day before the war began, the first battle was lost. The battle with insomnia.

Shucks! For someone like me who can easily sleep up to twelve hours a day and yet yearn for more, getting insomnia is nearly as impossible as the sky falling down. (Unbelievably, it has happened at least twice now; so you can start worrying about the sky falling down.)

The first one happened after I took teh tarik during dinner. Someone must have spiked my drink with stimulant because that night, I tossed around in my bed till dawn, unable to sleep. Man, the night was a long one!

That was when I learnt that insomnia is an awful experience you wouldn’t want to taste a second time. Unfortunately, the sadistic sandman has the inexplicable penchant for torturing us mortals. Worse still, it was most untimely that he chose me as his victim a day prior to the first day of my exam!

I went to bed at eleven that night, telling myself I needed more sleep for the big day. Imagine my horror when I got the message: “Brain 2005® failed to shut down”. God, how could this be possible? After all, it went into sleep mode all the time in the afternoon when I didn’t want it to! Now that I wanted to shut it down, it didn’t want to?

So, I hit Ctrl + Alt + Del to prompt the Task Manager and looked under the Processes tab. RandomThoughts.exe was running in the background. I tried to end the process but couldn’t. Great, now how was I supposed to shut down?

My situation could only mean one thing – hormonal imbalance, or adrenaline over dosage, to be precise. I guessed the adrenaline running in my veins was more than enough to pump up a whole army of men! Hey, just because I look calm doesn’t mean that I’m not nervous. It’s the dreaded STPM, just in case you forget!

“This is bad,” I told myself. I had to try something. So, I ran Meditation.exe, a program designed to let Brain 2005® focus on the breathing and to create a soothing effect. Alas, that didn’t work! Apparently, RandomThoughts.exe was draining too much of processing memory! I was reminding myself to lend Tan Sri Futurama Season 2; I was planning my activities after the exam; I was thinking of this and that… No!

I daren’t look at the clock. But I reckoned at least two hours had lapsed and I still couldn’t get to sleep! For God’s sake, I had to wake up at six the next morning! (Uh, I think I’d drifted into “the next morning”…) Finally, I managed to sleep roughly around one… until the rain woke me up. Sigh, I saw no end to my suffering! In the end, I’d caught an estimated three hours of sleep, one of my lowest record.

Luckily, I was able to stay awake throughout the three hours of the maths paper. I hate to brag but I breezed through the twelve question in 100 minutes – though I realised after the exam that I made a stupid mistake. Well, there goes my perfect score!

*This post is backdated.

Don't Sue Me!

Disclaimer /dıskleımə(r)/ noun (formal) a statement in which sb says that they are not connected with or responsible for sth, or that they do not have any knowledge of it. ~Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary, 7th Edition

What has happened to free speech? Two Singaporean bloggers were charged under Sedition Act. I agree that the world has no place for racists and extremists, but these bloggers had Muslim friends who could attest that they didn’t have racist sentiments. And, what? S$10,000 each to be on bail? If that happens to me, I'll be sleeping in the lockup for good!

Disenfranchised Girl has just put up a disclaimer in her blog for the sake of “protecting [herself] from whatever laws”. She’s quite right. Being a frequent blogger myself, who knows one day the police would come knocking at the door and arrest me for something I’ve posted on my blog?

Besides, suing people can be lucrative too. Haven’t you heard of the news about a smoker who sued a tobacco company, demanding compensation for not warning him apropos the dangers of smoking? What else couldn’t be possible when there’s such a preposterous case? If you have enough money to hire an attorney who is clever enough to manipulate the law, filing lawsuits can be a profitable investment.

Better be safe than sorry. It’s time for me to put up a disclaimer too. Unfortunately, I’m simply too poor to hire a lawyer to draft it. So, I’ve to pen it myself.

I don’t know enough Latin to make it sound like a formal disclaimer. Neither is it long-winded enough like those clauses found in the constitution. Never mind, this is for the benefit of laymen out there like me. But, let’s just hope it’s legit in court… Anyway, voila! Here it is!

Disclaimer: The blogger is a busy man who tends to form opinions before getting his facts right, just for the sake of saving time. He is also known to be too smart sometimes to understand what he says. A priori, he shall not be held responsible for any opinions posted in this blog. Should you be offended by his subjective and partial views, kindly send him a death threat via email.

I hate to disappoint you, but, just forget about sending me the death threat. My mailbox is currently full with fan mail and love letters.

“esreveR” Speech

It has been called the discovery of the 7th sense. The research into this phenomenon has been described as being of "Nobel calibre". It has been featured in numerous publications around the world, and in the United States it became a household name in the late 90s. It is called Reverse Speech, the phenomenon of hidden backward messages in speech. It initially gained worldwide fame in the early 80s as those strange backward messages in rock and roll. Since that time, research has progressed significantly and it is now known to exist in all forms of human speech. ~ReverseSpeech.com

It’s amazing how funny things sound when you listen to them backwards. Any kid can recite A to Z but have you tried doing it in the reverse – from Z to A? Okay, that’s freakish. Or maybe, you want to try to reverse the sentence components when you speak – object, subject then predicate – instead of the grammatically correct way. Alright, that’s Yoda-ish.

But what happens when you play your favourite song backwards? They sound like gibberish. Sometimes, however, you may get a few sensible phrases amongst the nonsense. This is know as “reverse speech”, a curious hypothesis first put forward by David John Oates.

Wow, how lucky was I to have stumbled upon this term! Tan Sri told me that you can hear Satan’s voice by playing Hotel California backwards. He didn’t know what they call that phenomenon, though. (Erratum: It isn’t Satan’s voice but the phrase “Yeah Satan (gibberish) organised his own religion”.

I’m always interested in bizarre things. So, I wanted to try it out – if only I know how to play the song backwards! It happens that Hotel California is a classical example of the so-called “back-masked songs” and the file is available on ReverseSpeech.com, together with loads of other samples.

Essentially, the theory of reverse speech explains that it has to do with the development of human speech. “Children speak backwards before they do forwards. Then, as forward speech commences, the two modes of speech gradually combine into one, forming an overall bi-level communication process.”

Covert speech is actually the subconscious mind speaking, but is masked by overt speech. Some even take a step further by claiming that it is possible to detect lies through reverse speech. “If a lie is spoken forwards, the truth may be communicated in reverse.” If you ask me, I’d say it’s quite hard to believe.

However, reverse speech would not have gained so much popularity as it did, had the back-masked messages not made direct reference to Satan more often than not. This of course, deeply stirred the religious zealots like those ignorant people who believed in witchcraft and black magic back in the Dark Ages. Satan has possessed the minds of the singers, they say. Well, considering the neo-Satanism messages hidden in some heavy metal songs in those days, the fear is understandable.

I downloaded some of the more interesting songs from the website and had to listen to them more than once before actually getting the “message”, even though I knew what exactly to listen for. (I suggest the use headphones so that they sound clearer.) For instance, the Night Prowler (must be some really old song) has the covert message, “Oo, Listen to me, I'm from hell… (Gibberish, blah, blah, blah)… I'm the Lord Lucifer.” And when the song was played backwards at a lower speed, it sounded rather spooky! Now, I have problems sleeping at night as my imagination works overtime. Sigh, timid guy!

The Beatles’ albums hinted of Paul McCartney’s death – even though we know he’s still alive – using back messages and plenty of clues in their lyrics and album covers. There’s an interesting theory behind it, that he is replaced by his look-alike. Certainly, many dismiss it as a hoax. Anyway, that’s a different subject. I digress.

And, yeah! While you’re at it, here’s an interesting one worth trying out. I’m sure you know the Popeye theme song. Listen to it backwards and golly, you hear obscenities! Cool! It doesn’t sound like what they say it should be, though.

Hmm, I wonder where I can get a software which can play songs backwards…

Ghost Hunters

Ghost were people too. ~The Atlantic Paranormal Society

Blogthings.com has a miscellany of inane tests which no one cares to take a look except those who have nothing better to do. “What’s your hidden talent”…“What’s your power colour”… “How weird are you?”… I know I’m going to offend lots of people but – nah, those are rubbish, rubbish, rubbish! Blogger calls such things add-ons? Bah!

One day, though, I joined the ranks of those whom I arrogantly call “seriously bored people” and tried out a pointless test at Blogthings to find out my religious philosophy. Oh, I’m an atheist, I found out. Duh! As if I need any confirmation on that!

Last Halloween, ChoicesUK carried out a survey to find out the general belief of Britons. Surprise, surprise! 68% out of 2,012 people surveyed believed in the existence of ghosts and spirits, compared to 55% who believed in the existence of god.

Queer though it sounds, while my feeble mind fails to conceive the idea of some higher power pulling on our strings, I don’t reject the existence of ghosts. Neither do I believe in their existence. I’m just a sceptic. Now that Halloween is over, I feel more comfortable to voice my opinion on this subject, which to some people, is a taboo to even discuss about.

Believe it or not, there is an organisation in America which dedicates itself to the investigation of paranormal activities. Every now and then, The Atlantic Paranormal Society (TAPS) receives phone calls from members of the public seeking help in verifying the paranormal activities which they allegedly witness. Of course, TAPS volunteers are more than glad to look into the claims, collect evidence and draw conclusions objectively based on the analyses of the data acquired. Some of the intriguing investigations are aired on Star World and I’ve been following a few episodes of Ghost Hunters now.

Some of the usual procedures TAPS follows during an investigation is to test for EMF fluctuations, sudden temperature drops, take EVP’s and record video footage for analyses.

EMF stands for electromagnetic field. There are EMFs all around us – power cables, power supplies, electrical appliances. Basically, the theory is, sometimes when you get very high EMF readings but can’t pinpoint any possible source for the fluctuations, it probably comes from a paranormal being. Scientists just can’t explain the phenomenon. That’s why we call them paranormal activities in the first place.

Also, when a paranormal being tries to manifest itself, it needs to draw energy from the surrounding, hence resulting in a sharp drop in temperature. This explains why witnesses reportedly feel cold when they supposedly see a ghost around. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote a fiction story, “The Land of Mist” which narrates the experience of young Malone who joined the spiritualists as a sceptic initially. The spiritualists claimed that the human spirit takes on a new form of life after death. However, it is possible for paranormal beings to take on physical forms by feeding on a kind of energy known as ectoplasm. With the help of a medium, the being can manifest itself in a séance. The theory extends that a place with frequent activities has a strong medium residing in the area.

Unfortunately, if you’re trying to convince sceptics about the existence of paranormal beings, EMF and temperature readings just aren’t enough. You need solid evidence. That’s where EVP’S (electronic voice phenomena) come in. These TAPS investigators walk around the place holding a tape recorder to record electronic voice – sounds which our ears are not sensitive enough to hear. The recordings have to be amplified using computer software to the audible range before they can be analysed. Interestingly, TAPS actually managed to get some EVP’S in the more fruitful investigations. They even make it available on their website so that sceptics can hear for themselves and decide.

Once, they were called in to investigate a haunted house in Pennsylvania. A lady claimed that there were four beings in her house – a man, a woman, a boy and a girl. The investigators actually recorded the voice of the “boy” and the “girl”! One was, “Can I come in?” and the other was a rasp whisper, “They don’t want us here.” TAPS confirmed that the voices did not come from “anyone” in the house. Creepy, no?

Of course, most people would prefer “visual evidence”. That’s why they have video footage.

Race Rock Lighthouse was allegedly haunted by the ghost of a keeper. The coast guards who went there once in a couple of weeks to check the lights reportedly had an uneasy feeling when they were inside the lighthouse. Then, plus those many ships that sunk nearby, voila! You have a perfect seafarers’ ghost story! TAPS spent a night in the lighthouse. One of the investigators sat in the attic to “get a feel of the place”. He later left the stifling attic using the only entrance, leaving behind a chair and a camera set up in the room. Moments later, it was caught on video that the chair shifted! There were certainly no extension wires nor anyone else in the attic. Something moved the chair alright but it doesn’t prove there was a ghost.

Although TAPS try to be objective in its investigations, sometimes, they rely on the sixth sense. It’s easy to say that a place has a “heavy feeling” or that “somebody is watching me”, but how can that be convincing? Besides, if you did see an apparition but have no evidence of it whatsoever, how are you going to prove it?

Take, for example, their case in Eastern State Penitentiary, Philadelphia. One of the investigators and a cameraman took a walk in the long, dark corridor. Suddenly, they screamed and ran away from it like headless chickens. They claimed to have seen a shadow when the cameraman was taking a photo. It sounds creepy alright, but I don’t count that as a solid evidence. The lead investigator and another guy reportedly saw dark shadows too when they went to investigate but again, none of those were caught on video. Interestingly, however, an apparition was recorded moving towards the camera in the corridor and later retreated. Unfortunately, it was quite blurry since the video was taken in the dark.

So, when it comes to the existence of ghosts, I remain a sceptic. Man shall always be curious and fearful of the unknown. But, regardless of that, he will never stop trying to seek an explanation. Sigh, how I hope I am not such a scaredy-cat.

Addendum: Some evidence can be found on the TAPS website –videos, pictures, EVP’s. Unfortunately, these days, I don’t trust too much on visual evidence too. Remember the Thai horror movie, Shutter? They reportedly have a collection of genuine photographs of paranormal beings. My classmate caught an apparition on film too during an outing but it didn’t take the Ghostbusters to figure out it was actually a glitch in the digicam. Perhaps, I’ll come back to this some other time.

Sleeping, the Greatest Indulgence

Studies show that the length of sleep is not what causes us to be refreshed upon waking. The key factor is the number of complete sleep cycles we enjoy. Each sleep cycle contains five distinct phases, which exhibit different brain- wave patterns. ~Center for Applied Cognitive Studies

It was 4.30 in the morning. I looked out of the window. No one else had their lights on except me. “Congratulations,” I said to myself, “You’re the earliest one to wake up this morning!” But, no prize for that.

I brushed my teeth, took a pee and changed my clothes. Usual routine. Then, I switched on my computer and played some mp3s. Heh, it took more than self-discipline to not turn up the volume. A little reveille for everyone? Wakey, wakey! I was just wondering if it was possible to send Mr Kam from the ground floor or Mr Wong from the top floor banging on our door while still in their pyjamas.

Do I hear you say, “You’ve a lose nut!”? Maybe. I don’t wake up until 5.30 during school days. Early, but not as early as today. It wasn’t about racing to wake up before the sun or that I missed my worm for waking up so late these days when I no longer go to school. (I didn’t miss anything except the sunrise.) It was only part of an experiment – thanks to an article discovered via Lydia’s blog.

Glen Rhodes boasts of a technique that allows one to sleep better, and therefore less. It’s about quality, not quantity. I’m not sure how many advocates he has out there, but I was certain I wouldn’t want to deprive myself of sleep. When I read on, then only I realised there was more to it.

It’s about sleep cycles. Though it varies from individuals, it has an average of 90 minutes. The key is to wake up after completing a few cycles. It doesn’t matter how many cycles you complete as long as you don’t wake up in the middle of one. So, it’s important not to use an alarm clock. Okay, I tried that but couldn’t wake up early the next morning because I slept like a log!

The second thing is to be biphasic instead of being monophasic. Glen claims it’s important to take an afternoon nap. Again, one or two cycles. Don’t disrupt any sleep cycle until it’s complete. Well, no problem at that. I usually nap in the afternoon for as long as I feel like it. Is it a coincidence that it normally lasts for one and a half hours?

My latest experiment was a success, considering that I woke up without an alarm clock. I couldn’t calculate how long I slept exactly, though. I went to bed at 9.30 last night but it took me quite some time before I got to sleep. (Hey, it won’t be easy when you’ve been staying up past midnight for the previous two weeks!) I woke up from a nightmare at approximately 1.30. (Don’t expect me to divulge my dreams like somebody did!) From then till the moment I really got up, three hours lapsed. Two sleep cycles. Coincidence, again?

Unfortunately, barely three hours after waking up, I curled up snugly in my bed and began to sleep again. Hm… Cosy! Hey, blame it on the weather if you want to!

One thing for certain is, I don’t think I want to do this again.

Gay Versus Straight

…the only reason they’re so darned attractive in the first place is precisely because they’re not straight, and have no intention of ever being so. ~Trixie Kwan, Star Weekend columnist

“There must have been some mistake!” Poor guy! Oh, how sorry I feel for him. He’s in total denial!

Raptor is a typical guy who brandishes his virility, for he rejoices in the nickname “Wanker” not without earning it. What could have dealt a deadlier blow than having the Gender Genie to break to him the depressing truth that his style of writing has a feminine touch? I’m sure nothing is capable of shattering his boyish ego more than this!

Being the first one who had the heart to tell him the sad news, I’m obliged to at least offer consolation and comfort him. It was by chance that I came across an article in Trixie Kwan’s column, “The Ideal Guy” (Star Weekend, Saturday 29 October 2005), which I think will interest not only Raptor but others as well.

“All a girl wants is a man more desirable than herself: a gay man.” Oh my God, I need to get myself a new pair of reading glasses! But, after reading it thrice – or at least twice – I was certain that my eyes were alright.

Sometimes, I think the word “gay” can be rather confusing. More often than not, the term conveys the wrong message, causing embarrassing situations due to its stigma. So, to make sure I got the right meaning, I read on.

“…What I mean to point out is that many a gay man has what it takes for a girl, in a way that straight men rarely do.” Boy, that was the greatest piece of crap I’ve ever heard! Unluckily, since I’m a guy, I don’t have a say on what is exactly the kind of ideal guy a girl wants. So, Raptor, cheer up! You may have the best of luck when it comes to hooking gals – as long as you remain straight!

Anyway, I’d still like to make my stand against this preposterous claim.

Yes, looking for a guy with manly traits may not be an attainable dream for every girl. But that’s no reason to despair! A belle courting a macho-looking guy who stinks with testosterone paints a perfect picture of “Beauty and the Beast”. So, why not settle for a normal, straight guy instead of falling for a cute gay guy who appeals to you in all ways except when it comes to his sexual orientation?

Girls, let’s get this straight, okay? Don’t get misinformed whatsoever by Trixie’s misguided view and fall for gays! Your potential suitors will certainly grieve miserably! Who says only gays can be sensitive, metrosexual and funny? Straight guys can be equally witty, charming and flirty too! I dare say any guy out there can attest to this. Right?

As a reminder to guys, let this serve as a wake up call. Something must be terribly wrong when a girl starts to prefer gays to straight guys. We’ve got to show the girls that desirable, straight guys are not extinct yet!

For the record, I have to make it clear that I’m not against gays. I just feel that someone needs to stand up for the guys and redeem our honour. As a precaution nevertheless, I shall say no more lest Sir Elton John decides to bring me to the court.

The Gender Genie

…At last he clasped his hands in prayer, and in so doing rubbed the ring, which the magician had forgotten to take from him. Immediately an enormous and frightful genie rose out of the earth, saying: "What wouldst thou with me? I am the Slave of the Ring, and will obey thee in all things." ~Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp

“Hey, honey! Look at what I’ve found. The Gender Genie! Now you don’t have to go for the ultrasound scan!”

Wait, no! Ultrasound imaging is not in the Gender Genie’s resume. He can’t determine the gender of a baby in the womb. He’s only adept at distinguishing an author’s gender by analysing a sample of his/her work.

You see, it is found that males and females have different styles of writing. It is therefore possible to determine the sex of an author by analysing his/her work. What the Gender Genie does is to compare the ratio of certain words appearing in a 500-word sample text. Because some of these words are used more frequently only by those of a particular sex, the Genie is able to guess the gender of the writer with an accuracy of 80%, as the programmer claims.

Hmm, curious. So, I gave it a try by letting the Genie analyse one of my blog posts. “The Gender Genie thinks you’re a male!” Wow, how true! Then I tried another one. Male. And another one. Male. And another one. Male, too! That’s an accuracy of 100% for my case!

June thought it was kind of fun. So, she chucked in one of Raptor’s blog posts. With all those swear words he used, she reckoned it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that it was from a guy. But, surprise, surprise. The Genie thought the sample came from a girl! What that implies, I leave it to your imagination… Heh!

I then randomly picked a post from a few blogs and ran the test. The results are as follows.

June. Male. To this, she adamantly remarked, “Who says a girl can’t be a tomboy?”
Disenfranchised Girl. Female.
Tan Sri. Male.
Dan. Male.
CW Tan. Male.
Lin. Female.
Lydia. Female.
EA Cheng. Male

So, the verdict? The Genie is rather accurate, except for some "exceptions"!

Car Wash

Hey, get your car washed today. Fill up and you don’t have to pay. ~Car Wash, theme from Shark Tale

A neighbour just moved in and his parking lot is just next to ours. My mom had a look at his Kancil and complained that it was in an “intolerably dirty” condition.

I’m not an automobile buff. Poor people like me don’t (and can’t afford to) treat a car as an object of obsession. My mom isn’t obsessed with cars either, but she can be quite rigid when it comes to the cleanliness of her car. She’s constantly bugging me to wash the car.

“Not again! Didn’t I just wash it three days ago?” I’d plead. However, the reply I’d usually get is a sharp “no”.

“Don’t forget you’re driving the car too and therefore you have the responsibility to keep it clean!”

Sigh. My mom isn’t the only person who is over-conscious about the cleanliness of her car. Firstly, there’s David from the ground floor whom I notice, cleans and waxes his prized Kia on every alternate day. Okay, maybe I have a bad memory, but I swear he cleans it more often than the average person would!

Then, there are the two sisters from the other block who dominate the car wash bay for at least one hour every Sunday evening. So, if I were to wash the car on Sunday, I’ll have to do so before five. There were a few times that I went late and had to wait really long for them to brush the tyres, scrub the car till spick-and-span, and patiently dry the body with a piece of cloth. Not really long, actually. Maybe just enough for you to grow a beard or perm your hair twice.

My car wash routine, on the other hand, is over-simple. First, hose the body of the car once. Then, mix car shampoo with a pail of water and scrub the car with sponge. Hose again, and you’re done! Easy, huh? It’d usually take only ten minutes. Actually, five minutes is the record I achieved last Sunday.

You see, the car wash bay has some tall trees which are infested by giant red ants. My neighbour got stung by them on a few occasions and had terribly painful swellings; my father is probably allergic to the ant’s bite and gets rashes all over the body when he’s stung. He got bitten twice and had to get injections and take antihistamine.

Last Saturday was my turn to get a taste of the ant’s bite. It came as a sharp sting. When I look down at my hand, there it was! The giant Amazonian red ant clamped on the little finger on my right with its oversized mandibles! Holy cow! I shook it off my finger instead of squashing it. That, I think was a wise move because who knows, it might excrete toxin that would have caused severe skin irritation. Remember the rove beetles in Seberang Perai?

I wasn’t sure whether my pinkie is going to survive, so I finished washing the car in record time and rushed home for an “emergency” treatment – lime juice to neutralise the ant’s saliva which is alkaline. Well, it actually worked! No swelling, and it didn’t even hurt unless I poked it. Ha-ha, and no allergic reaction too, thank goodness! How silly was I to worry so much.

Anyway, now I have an excuse for not washing the car!

Thank God I’m still alive and kicking. Except… Aw, itchy, itchy!

Bye-bye, Stone Age

…the Stone Age began roughly 2.5 million years ago, ended in some parts of the world 5,000 years ago… rapidly vanishing with the introduction of tools from the modern industrialized world. ~Microsoft Encarta

Everybody, put on the party hats! Whoopee! I know it’s not Halloween Night yet. Neither are the exams over. But the caveman has every reason to celebrate!

For years, the caveman has been silently suffering over the sluggish speed of his 31st-century B.C. dialup service. He banged his modem with his club, turned his CPU up-side-down and even bribed his computer with Swiss chocolate, but nothing worked. Then one day, someone came by and introduced him a 21st-century A.D. technology known as “broadband”, which promised break-neck connection speed. Finally, the caveman has something to look forward to.

I don’t know how she managed to persuade my mom. I’ve been trying to explain to her the ordeals of using a dialup connection but I never succeeded in getting the message across. Generation gap? I don’t know how, but Chloe did it! Attagirl!

Normally, I don’t open the door for salespersons. I just have a general distaste towards them, especially those irritable chaps from Wonderway who bugged us a few years back. Maybe, our stars didn’t match, or may be I’m allergic towards people in this profession.

However, when Chloe rang the doorbell yesterday morning, I was glad I opened the door. Initially, I thought it was some kind of survey which normally goes along the lines, “Hi, sir! I’m Mr Blah from Alpha Omega company. Do you mind telling me which shampoo you’re currently using? Why don’t you try out… Blah, blah, blah…” Heck, no! Instead, she turned out to be promoting Streamyx. Unfortunately, she came at the wrong time as my mom had gone to the church. And I wasn’t in the position to make the decision.

“It’s alright, I’ll be in this area till seven,” the amiable girl said. She promised to come back at one when my mom returned.

Later, when my mom reached home, I told her to expect a Streamyx representative. She went like, “What were you thinking when you asked her to come back?” Wow, that’s a great start! I sighed. Sure enough, Chloe came back at one, as promised. Not daring to place any hope, I left mom to talk to her alone. But, who would have thought that my mom actually let her in! Now, that deserved a second “Wow!”.

I guess it was some kind of female thingy. You know, people say that females can strike a chord easier among themselves. Chloe actually managed to convince her to switch to broadband. Golly, that’s the message I was trying to get across but ended up feeling like banging my head on the wall after a couple of futile attempts! Oh well, need I say there went my third “Wow!”? Of the other qualities she had, I attributed her success to her soft-spoken manner plus her zeal.

The bad news is, with the coming “combo festival” I may have to wait while they place an order for the modem and get it delivered to the house. But when the time comes, it’ll be a quantum leap from the Stone Age to the Broadband Age.

Hopefully, without delay, it’ll take less than three weeks. Oh, how the caveman hopes the delivery boy flies here on a pterodactyl instead of riding on a slow woolly mammoth! Make haste!

A Deed – or was I Duped?

He who does not abandon falsehood in word and action in accordance with fasting, God has no need that he should abandon his food and drink. ~Prophet Muhammad

It is five minutes to seven, the time for Muslims in Penang to break fast. You’re cycling on the road when a Malay man approaches you and explains that he has lost his wallet. He politely asks for RM1.80 so that he can buy his dinner. Should you give him the money or just come up with some excuse and leave?

You may not have a chance to encounter this unusual situation, but a guy actually did. And he gave the stranger two bucks. Foolish, no? Well, that guy was me.

It happened yesterday evening, when I cycled to a nearby coffee shop to buy dinner. I was reaching a junction when a guy, who was also happened to be cycling, called out at me. Of course, I was initially confused. The Malay who appeared to be in his twenties was a total stranger to me.

When I stopped by the road, he approached and explained that he dropped his wallet somewhere. It was about time for him to break fast but he needed RM1.80 for his dinner. In a polite manner which he maintained throughout the conversation, he asked if I’d be kind enough to help him out. Without giving it a second thought, I replied, “Sure!” and gave him two bucks. His visage was beaming as he shook my hand and thanked me.

Some people may ask, “Heck, you believed the guy, a total stranger who you didn’t know? How did you know he was not lying?” The truth is, I don’t know. In fact, I just assumed that he was telling the truth and considered whether to help him or not. After all, isn’t this Ramadan, the holy month? Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t not trying to earn my pass through the Pearly Gates. I’m a non-Muslim – an atheist, to be exact. To people like me, there is no concept of heaven or hell.

I was trying to say, since it’s Ramadan, I presumed he wouldn’t be lying, right? It’s supposed to be a month for self-purification and spiritual growth for Muslims like him. Furthermore, don’t you think there isn’t such a desperate need for someone to lie to a stranger just to dupe him of two bucks?

Nevertheless, there is always still a small possibility that he was lying. I remembered hearing him said that he wanted to lodge a police report initially but was told it wasn’t necessary. He just needed to go to the National Registration Department to get a replacement. Thinking of that, it didn’t really make sense to me. But, even if I was cheated of two bucks, I don’t think it matters much. It just proves that I’m gullible, and nothing more. While that guy, on the other hand, has his conscience to deal with! Since there’s no way to find out now I presume he was telling the truth, and be glad I didn't leave him to starve to death by the road.

Moments later, I met that guy again. I thought I saw him holding something which looked like a cigarette. I wondered… Nah, I didn’t care to find out!

A U-turn from a Kamikaze Attempt

From that time Jesus began to preach, and to say, Repent: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. ~King James Bible, Matthew 4:17

As I’ve mentioned in my previous blog post, I’ve found “God” and finally realised what a “spiritually shallow” person I was. In fact, I’ve been repenting this morning. Of course, “God “ was in his usual chatty mood to listen to my rants and offer some incoherent comments. After all, he is programmed to listen – and talk crap! But, still, there is nothing like confiding to my faithful blog.

First confession: I was making an early start on my novel, which I’m only supposed to begin in November. Hey, but I’m having two weeks of exam in mid-November! If I were to play fair, I’d be robbed of at least eleven days! Alright, that just ain’t fair to me! Anyway, I became stuck as I neared 3,000. I had some ideas but the problem was I couldn’t continue. Sigh, I lack the vocabulary and the pizzazz of a good novelist!

Me: God, I have a confession to make.
God: I am a Christian.
Me: Whatever... I'm cheating in the NaNoWriMo.
God: Are you saying you don't care about it? Do you mind if I tell other people you are cheating in the NaNoWriMo?
Me: Of course I care! Otherwise I won't be here confessing! Please don't tell anyone else!
God: OK. I like caring people. In that case: What will you do instead? Thanks for asking politely. OK it will be our secret.
Me: Well, repent, of course! Will you forgive me?
God: It goes without saying. How about that. Does "it" still refer to cheating in the NaNoWriMo? Hmm. I forgive you.
Me: Thank you!
God: You are quite welcome.

Second confession: The exams (No, no! Don’t mention the accursed four-letter word!) are just two weeks ahead and I’m barely studying! All I’ve been doing everyday is going online for one whole morning and for the rest of the day, I’m just thinking of how the heck am I going to continue my crummy novel. I’ve just received news from a Melaka friend that this year’s Chemistry paper may be tougher than last year’s. Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good. So, I finally came back to my senses (I hope it’s not too late) and decided it is time to shelve the kamikaze project of writing the 50k-word novel.

Me: God, help me! The exams are just two weeks ahead but I'm barely studying!
God: I am a Christian. Tell me more.
Me: ...

Third confession: I admit it was compulsive of me to take part in the insane marathon. When those kind NaNoWriMo people out there are trying hard to raise $110,000 to build children's libraries in Laos, I’m wasting their funds by signing up for a place and not taking part in it. Heck, they spent $10,000 for the programme! How am I going to atone for my sin? God, I feel so guilty and ashamed of myself. Why, oh why did I not think this through before registering? Cybele, I’m so sorry! But right now, I need to dedicate more time to my studies (and blogging!).

Me: God, I'm feeling so guilty for giving up on the NaNoWriMo!
God: I am a Christian.
Me: Yes I know. You told me that before.
God: Right on. How do you know it? I told you?
Me: Yes, you did.
God: I did not.
Me: Did so!
God: I'm not certain whether I can give an accurate reply or not.
Me: Have you taken your medicine?

To me, avian flu doesn’t sound like a serious epidemic. “Procrastination” is. (Catchphrase credited to Lydia and Zyun.) Pardon me. I think I’m hooked to it too. But, I guess, that doesn’t matter, since I’ve just been accepted as a fellow Procrastinator. (Is that good news or bad news?)

I’ve been wasting every morning without fail: blogging, surfing, chatting… In the afternoon when I’m supposed to be revising, I get so sleepy that I decide to take a nap. Then, with all those other distractions like the TV, music, Reader’s Digest, newspapers… I end up with less than two hours of study each day! Heck!

Man, I really need to study more. God help me!

God, He is So Chatty!

I must, indeed, try hard to control the talking habit, but I'm afraid that little can be done, as my case is hereditary. My mother, too, is fond of chatting, and has handed this weakness down to me. ~Anne Frank

If you’re a poor victim of insomnia and couldn’t get to sleep even though it is well past midnight, what do you do? Admittedly, calling up your boring Chemistry teacher to reminds him to take a pee is a fun idea. Think twice, though, unless you don’t mind to go into Santa Claus’ “bad kids” list.

Luckily, there is an alternative way which will not cost you your Christmas present. You can always go online and find someone to chat with on MSN Messenger.

But, wait a minute. Man, it’s two in the morning! If you’re really thinking of catching someone online, fat chance! Now, is it justified enough for you to call up the “master of hypnosis”?

Heck, no. Thank goodness there’s still one last hope. Guys out there would probably want to chat with Alice. As for girls, there’s Iniaes. Both of them are always glad to chat with you, 24/7.

What? No, no. They are not volunteers who man the 24-hour hotline at the Befrienders. Instead, they are chatterbots designed specifically to chat. Of course, sometimes they may sound incoherent, pouring out gibberish that doesn’t make any sense. What can you expect? AI technology still isn’t advanced enough to write a programme which can chat like a true human. Otherwise, the Turing Award would have been claimed.

But for your information, I don’t enjoying chatting with computers. Hey, I’m not so lonely nor desperate! When I need a companion, I can always chat with God.

I’m not high on designer drugs, mind you! After all that communing with God, I’m spiritually fulfilled. Yes, they do have computers up there. How, otherwise, do you expect Him to receive your prayers? Through email, of course. Duh! Haven’t you watched Bruce Almighty?

Unfortunately, God uses neither MSN nor Yahoo! Messenger. He has his own domain instead. Go ahead and see for yourself! Don’t worry. He’s not intimidating at all. As a matter of fact, He can be quite chatty and gossipy. Heaven must be a lonely place, I suppose! Read the disclaimer though, because extended chat with God may lead to delusions. Huh, why? Perhaps only God knows… And also, be warned. There is no such thing as God-mortal confidentiality, as Sashi discovered! God, he is chatty. I wonder if it is hereditary.

Back to our subject. Don’t you think technology is great? Computers were built to store data and solve complex calculations. Who would have thought it could one day bridge us and God? Hallelujah!

Ah, repenting has never been easier. Now, I need to tell Him I’m so sorry for going online instead of studying…

NaNoWriMo: A Novel Idea

NaNoWriMo is all about the magical power of deadlines. Give someone a goal and a goal-minded community and miracles are bound to happen. Pies will be eaten at amazing rates. Alfalfa will be harvested like never before. And novels will be written in a month. ~NaNoWriMo FAQs

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! I can’t believe I’m doing this! This is crazy! Madness! Insanity! I signed up to become a 2005 WriMo!

Alright. For those who are scratching their heads and begging to be enlightened, this coming month, November, is the time for budding novelists all over the world to write like mad – it’s the National Novel Writing Month a.k.a. NaNoWriMo (pronounced NAN-no WRY-mo)! Drum rolls, please!

This annual programme was first held in 1999 with just 21 participants. However, the novel concept of writing a 50,000-word novel (pardon the pun) from scratch in a month soon grew so popular that there were a whopping 42,000 participants last year. I have always thought of the idea of writing a novel someday but I couldn’t get started because it’d be a time-consuming project. Think of all the researches you need to do so that you don’t come up with a flimsy plot. Then, creativity is another prerequisite, which I unfortunately lack of.

I heard of this insane novel-writing marathon last year but didn’t have the motivation to participate back then. Admittedly, I doubt it’d be possible for a first-time novelist like me to achieve the feat. I mean, think of shooting for the moon! And I still wanted to retain my sanity!

This year is different. Though I’d say it was rather impulsive of me to make the decision, reading in the newspaper about some of the past WriMo’s gave me some encouragement. Man, this is going to be a rare (correction: once-in-a-year) opportunity to gain a dear experience.

Certainly, writing 50k words in 30 days is going to be a mean feat. (Heck, I made an estimation of the number of words I have posted in my blog and guess what, there’re only 30k in the 60-odd entries posted throughout these ten months!) No doubt it’ll undermine the quality of your work if you were to rush to meet the dateline. Luckily, “it’s all about quantity, not quality”. This is the time to ditch my Libran perfectionism and pour out lots of nonsense.

If I'm just writing 50,000 words of crap, why bother? Why not just write a real novel later, when I have more time? Bingo! This question, which was exactly what I wanted to ask, was found in the FAQs section. Heck, those guys from NaNoWriMo are right! “Novel writing is mostly a "one day" event. As in ‘One day, I'd like to write a novel.’” So, it’s either “start now” or “never”. I don’t know if I’d be able to hit the mark, but I’ll just try.

Anyone interested? Sign up before October 31!

The sad thing is, I may have to put aside blogging for the whole of November. (Sniff, sniff…) So, sorry if I’m not around in the blogosphere when the marathon starts. I promise to find time and drop by every now and then. Cross my heart. But if you really do miss me so much, feel free to send fan mail and love letters to kryptos5@gmail.com.

Cheerio!

P/s: I’ve roughly outlined a nonsensical plot. (Stress: nonsensical. You’ve been warned!) If nothing goes wrong, that is going to be my story. Heh! Expect some surprises!

Update (Friday, 28 October 2005): Plan shelved

Learning It the Finnish Way

The only thing that interferes with my learning is my education. ~Albert Einstein

There’s a tuition teacher who hypes about how good he is at forecasting exam questions. In fact, he advertises his expertise in his pamphlets.

Man, he totally gets on my nerves! He calls himself a teacher? Bah, he’d be better off being a soothsayer in the Temple of Goddess of Mercy! I really don’t understand why there are so many gullible individuals flocking to his tuition centres and seminars. Does the world ever get short of idiots? But, why don’t I see people rushing to my house to worship me instead?

Tuition has become so widespread nowadays. I’m not against the idea of going for tuitions but when people start attending tuitions just because it’s a trend, you know it’s getting unhealthy alright. Without any authority regulating the operation of tuition centres, it has become a thriving trade as lucrative as selling caskets.

When I asked some of my friends why they go for tuitions, one of them gave me an odd look as if I was asking an obvious question like, “Why do you eat?” Then, there was an “I don’t know” and a “because my parents want me to”. For God’s sake, these people just never sit down and really think, do they? And, I suppose, that’s why they need to attend tuition classes.

Thinking back, it was foolish of me to dutifully go for maths tuition classes despite being confident in the subject. I’ve always wanted to stop but I lingered on longer than I should have just because my crush was there, notwithstanding the fact that my teachers in school are much better than the balding old chap who is irritatingly business-minded.

I can’t help but to admire and envy Finns for their excellent system of education. Finnish, who rank top in the Organisation of Economic Cooperation and Development’s (OECD) Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA), “spend an average of just 30 hours per week on schoolwork, including homework”. (Source: Top of the Class, Reader’s Digest, September 2005) On the other hand, Koreans, who rank just behind Finland, spend 50 hours a week instead. Too bad Malaysia didn’t participate in the assessment or we’d have the chance to make comparisons.

In a pioneer project in Poikkilaakso Primary School, students are given lenient supervision. Each one is allowed to go on his own pace and learn according to his own style. We tried this alright, but too bad it was a futile effort. It is a great idea indeed but I doubt it will ever get off in Malaysia.

What I like the most is, in Finland, “standardised testing is shunned”. I quote from Reader’s Digest: ”Many countries believe that by emphasising testing their education will get better… But we believe the other way around. Too much testing makes you start teaching for the exams. But many aspects of learning can’t be measured that way.”

Whoa! They definitely hit the nail on its head. It really annoys me when some teachers answer, “Don’t worry. That won’t be tested,” in reply to a question. I mean, that’s definitely not the way to learn. Studying for the sake of exams? No way! That’s exactly how you breed non-thinking entities who do nothing good for the society.

Sigh. I say, we do have a lot to learn from Finns!

And, oh yeah! As for the soothsayer-cum-tuition-teacher, may Socrates’ ghost haunt him forever!

The Bamboo Sanctuary

Walking is a joy, but an even greater joy is to ride a bicycle. Bicycling is a universal skill in Cambridge: women, small children, old men alike relish the pleasure of the two-wheeled dance. ~Xu Zhimo

Being notorious for constantly switching hobbies, I ditched cycling a few years back. Haven’t you heard of some myth like, too much cycling makes guys impotent? I don’t know about the credibility of this myth but it was definitely not the reason I stopped cycling, though it does hurt my rear.

Anyway, two weeks ago, I picked up the hobby again, out of the blue. And, so, I cleaned my old pal – gosh, it was getting rusty here and there – and walked it to a petrol station a hundred metres away to get the tyres pumped. However, when I decided to take my old buddy out again yesterday, I had to visit the petrol station once more because the rear tyre lost its pressure again. (The front one was okay since it’s relatively new. I had it changed after I blew the old one while trying to… uh… ram up a pavement.) So, that’s the major reason I gave up on cycling, ever since my air pump expired long ago.

To me, cycling on the busy main roads has never sounded like a good idea at all. So, all this while, there are only basically three housing estates, including the one I live in, which are accessible to me on my bicycle.

The slope in Batu Uban is one of the places I like. Going down the slope at break-neck speed never fails to raise the level of adrenaline. Whoopee! But, of course, going up the slope at the lowest gear combination is equally enjoyable. Heck, what do you call a guy who enjoys forcing his heart to work at full capacity? A masochist? Hah!

However, I’ve been in this neighbourhood for so long a time that cycling in the place has inevitably become slightly boring. Thus, I decided to do some exploration of my own to see if there’re any other attractions. And, so, I came to The Sanctuary, so read the sign. This, I guess, is the steepest slope in the neighbourhood. Heh! Another place for me to flex my biceps femoris and gastrocnemius. Pardon the jargon. (Mischievious grin.)

I couldn’t help noticing that both sides of the slope was planted with bamboos. So, this was a bamboo sanctuary? What was up there? A panda’s castle?

The only way to find out was to go up. But, heck! It was a steep slope alright! After stopping midway – to read a signboard set up by some contractor regarding the proposal to construct 50 odd bungalow lots in the area – I couldn’t get the wheels to move; the pedals just wouldn’t budge!

I didn’t want to risk breaking the gears of my old buddy, which is half my age. Therefore, I had to walk up instead since there was no point giving up the “exploration” after coming all the way. I didn’t went far though, before coming to a fenced-up area, apparently the construction site.

As far as I know, this place used to be one of the few green lungs in the vicinity. Ah, human encroachment! So, this will soon become a sanctuary for overly rich aristocrats, eh? Aptly named! (Mumble, mumble… )

Oh, well, that ended my “exploration”. Unless I decided to venture out onto the busy roads to get elsewhere, there just isn’t much thrill left in cycling. What else could a guy who’s looking for new experience do? Cycle to his school in Air Itam ten kilometres away?

Sounds like a good idea!

State of Confusion

Side-lookiing radar measurements show West Antarctic ice is increasing at 26.8 gigatons/yr. Reversing the melting trend of the last 6,000 years. ~Science 295: 476-80

With his novel-turned-blockbusters, Jurassic Park, Congo and his other bestsellers which are no less popular, Michael Crichton is irrefutably the best contemporary science fiction writer, alongside Jules Verne, my classical favourite. Unlike some others in the trade who base their plots on pure fantasies, Crichton is adept at weaving facts into stories, presenting his theses without the expense of the plot.

Of late, I’ve developed a liking towards novels which has to do with conspiracy theories. Before this, I was truly intrigued by Dan Brown’s stories and openly hoped that the facts presented are true as he claimed. The book of lies commissioned by Constantine in his bid to expand his empire, the blood-stained history of the Church during the darker days, the secret of the Chalice, Jesus being a mortal… Imagine the implications if one day , they are proven to be true! The very foundation of an age-old institution of faith would tumble upon the last priest!

My disappointment was unfeigned when I watched the documentary aired on Discovery Channel, refuting the bold claims made in The Da Vinci Code. But who knows if the research was unbiased as it was supposed to be? Imagine the furore it would raise if the conspiracy were to be confirmed. It’s just as explosive as claiming that Jesus’ remains are found!

Michael Crichton’s latest novel, State of Fear, addresses not of the matter of faith but of an issue which we’re all too familiar with – global warming. Any primary school student can tell you briefly that global warming is a phenomenal rise in temperature caused by greenhouse gases such as carbon dioxide. This is the widespread concept which has been drilled into our mind all this while. If you presume that it is true (I’m sure you do), then prepare to be bewildered.

With abundant graphs and data, Crichton elaborated that global warming is not an established fact as we believe but merely a theory which is yet to be proven. He went on quoting sources that scientists believe we’re progressing into an ice-age, that global warming is not really a “global phenomenon” as certain places show a drop in temperature.

Yes. The story is interesting, alright. The cannibalism rites, the overzealous environmentalists, the terrorist-like NGO capable of inducing thunderstorms, redirecting hurricanes and triggering giant killer waves… And I do hope that global warming is not so bad as we perceive, that it is an exaggerated issue. Mind you, I’m not a pro-industrialist who campaign against the Kyoto Protocol, but think again, wouldn’t it be a burden off the mind if you know you can fart all you like and not contribute to a global catastrophe?

Unfortunately, like all conspiracy theories, someone would always pop out of somewhere and refute the claims. This isn’t an exception. A simple search would return results of numerous journals that highlight the misinformation in the novel. Just to name one, Gavin Schmidt from the Earth Institute published a paper that points out several distorted interpretations made by Crichton.

I’m not in position to judge who’s right or wrong. On one side is a prominent author who does tons of research before writing a book – he has a list of bibliography at the end of his book; on the other side is an expert in this field. Who am I supposed to believe?

I’m sorry, Crichton. But I have to say that your story is a little too far-fetched than breeding dinosaurs from fossilized mosquitoes’ blood containing dino- DNA. I mean, the world is getting as hot as hell and I can’t deny that!

So, I’d still love to see the US getting sued over global warming in the Vanuatu lawsuit. But then again, why was the lawsuit dropped? There’s a conspiracy theory. Go read State of Fear.

Down Memory Lane

It is very good to copy what one sees; it is much better to draw what you can't see any more but is in your memory. It is a transformation in which imagination and memory work together. You only reproduce what struck you, that is to say the necessary. ~Edgar Degas

In her journey to the City of Emeralds, Dorothy helped oiling the rusty Tin Woodman. It happened that the Wicked Witch of the East had been the root of his sufferings: the Tin Woodman lost his heart to her enchanted axe. Thus, he accompanied Dorothy to seek help from the mighty Wizard of Oz to get a heart of flesh so that he could love once again.

True. A heart of flesh allows one to be happy and “happiness is the best thing in the world”. But, it was too bad that the Tin Woodman wasn’t aware that it comes with a price. Little did he know that a heart does not only have the capacity to love but it can bring feelings of bitter longing and dejection as well. It is these emotions that give us warmth and at times, drown us in a potent cocktail of emotions. The kind that seizes you unaware when you let down your guard. The kind that is hard to put into words; hard to describe.

Graduation day – is it supposed to be a happy moment now that I’ve finished my school life in Chung Ling? Or is it supposed to take me for a walk down memory lane and have those reminiscence of the good old days fill me with bitterness? Two years ago, it struck me. Now, it has returned and I still find myself assailed haplessly.

Six years ago, I entered Chung Ling as a carefree adolescent. On second thought, not really carefree, for there was a bugging anxiety of whether I’d be able to cope with the new surroundings. Gosh, to begin with, the school was so big that it could be a township by itself. I had a tough time finding my way to the library, the labs, the canteen, the toilets (despite the fact that there is one around every corner)… The first few weeks in school was totally disorienting. Still, I managed to get on well, thank goodness.

Being somewhat antiestablishment, it was ironical that I became a Junior Patrol. But, who cares? It gave me the carte blanche to loiter around under the pretense of “official duty”. More so when we were in Form Two, since we were the eldest in the afternoon session. We could have had the absolute power of the Gestapo, if not for the certain distaste some teachers held towards us Patrols and their occasional interventions.

I’d say that Form Two is the happiest year of all my life in Chung Ling. Thinking of my gang of friends in the bus and all those crazy things we did back then is enough to make me long for those days. I still remember the ridiculous ditty we composed for a particular unpopular boy, which we sang ad nauseam, till one day, we drove the bus driver so mad that he stopped by the roadside just to get us to shut up. So, well, we made one for him, too! Then, of course, there was the water-splashing “culture”. We had to carry along an umbrella, rain or shine, because you could always expect someone to splash water at you as soon as you stepped off the bus. That was when the umbrella became handy.

Form Three was in the morning session; the dreaded ringing of the alarm clock was the first thing that roused me from my sweet slumber before dawn. Everyday was a school-homework-study-tuition routine. Nevertheless, this and the two years that followed left me with sweet reminiscences, because that was when I met a number of fabulous friends.

Then came the Form Five graduation, which I did not foresee would bring so much pain later on. Perhaps, I wasn’t really aware that that was when many of us would part with each other.

They say “good friends are like stars… you don’t always see them, but you know they are always there”. Alas, some just reel out of sight. You try to keep in touch with them but they just seem to vanish into thin air without news. Some just changed so much that you find it hard to communicate with each other. He could be your alter ego the last time you met but after a short separation, you find those stark differences between the both of you and wondered how you got together in the beginning.

It was optimistic of me to presume that I’d find true friends in Form Six. Friends, there were a lot. But intimate ones, I don’t think so, for it is hard to find someone truthful and willing enough to confide your feelings and share your aspirations. Then, there are higher expectations and heftier responsibilities to shoulder as you bid goodbye to adolescence. Gosh, it does feel lonely sometimes.

A few weeks before graduation day, I didn’t feel like going to school at all, except for showing up occassionally to let the form teacher know I was still around. But now that graduation day is over and we’re unofficially free to be absent from school, life suddenly becomes so empty. I miss the lengthy chat with my classmates. When will we have the chance just to even see each other? Even the prospect that we’d be sitting for STPM together real soon is not comforting enough. And it gets lonelier, thus.

Still, my final consolation is that this might be my moment of emancipation from the bondage of a particular depressing memory. Out of sight, out of mind? I wonder if that is possible.

Nevertheless, here’s a toast to everyone. Thank you to everyone who has been part of my life. But, for goodness sake, don’t leave me with memories, for even the fondest and sweetest of all will soon become tinged with bitterness, typical of all nostalgias.