My Pathetically Cantakerous PC

To err is human, but to really foul things up requires a computer. ~Philip Howard

The torment is finally over! Can I really complain when I hardly prepared for this one? That’s the problem with a megalomaniac who is arrogantly confident of himself, until reality catches up and proves him as another mere mortal.

Alright, here’s my confession: I have been playing computer games since the second week of the exam, and quite without feeling guilty about it. Perhaps that’s the sin that I have to atone for, when, three days ago, the recalcitrant PC finally decided that enough was enough and refused me my indulgence. Every time I was half-way through the opening credits, the screen would go blank and the next thing I knew, PC restarted. Argh!

I summoned every bit of my patience, waiting for PC to restart. It doesn’t take too long, normally – only just enough for you to grow a beard.

Here was the second try. I crossed my fingers and loaded the game once more. Heck, it just happened again, the same way as before!

Maybe I should just try again after the exam, I told myself. After all, I should be studying at this time. I thus left it until the exam is finally over, which is now!

Okay, maybe dear PC now judges that I’ve been a good boy abstaining from computer games for the past few days (as if I had a choice!) and decides to co-operate. But, who could have guess that he remains as the obstinate ass!

I’ve tried practically everything, from reinstalling the game and the media player which was found to be corrupted, to restoring the system to an earlier checkpoint… Yet, nothing worked! PC is totally incorrigible! It is as if someone (though I can’t think of who) has executed some build-in command hidden inside complexity of PC’s silicon brain – something like Order 66 that turned the Clones into psychotic maniacs.

Oh God! The suffering is supposed to be over and yet, I’m being deprived of the highest form of entertainment! It’s a nightmare!

But wait, why don’t I try another game?

That, I soon find out is equally hopeless. Whenever I insert the disc into the drive, all processes that PC is running would be suspended in action; rigor mortis sets in. It looks like my five-year-old CD has already been grown with mould, rendering it impossible to read any information off the disk.

Alright, PC, I have lost my patience with you and I concede defeat! Playing the soundtrack from the Phantom of the Opera doesn’t help to sooth my nerves. The out-of-tune Transylvanian theme only eerily reminds me of Count Dracula’s leitmotif.

If I can’t play games, then so be it! I can always count on a good novel. And, look at the bright side! I can still blog and surf! Oops, did I just make a suggestion to PC?

The Angels Weep

The Bible tells of the Great Flood,
That cleansed the world from all evils;
Yet the inexorable decay of humanity,
Advances through the passage of time.

War cries and clubs will not shake the foes,
WMD’s will bring “peace” and “harmony”;
No longer is imperialism the order of the day,
Capitalism lends a hand to domination.

Like an Eagle that swoops upon its Prey,
So swift and without a tinge of remorse;
The strong takes from the weak,
But the strife of the weak goes unheard.

Bigot fanatics that terrorise the world,
Preach of none but their narrow views;
And when the rest share not their beliefs,
They are resented as infidels and heretics.

The atavistic lust for wealth and power,
Has transformed many a leader into tyrants;
Autocracy thinly veils the democratic system,
It is the puppeteer who is pulling the strings.

As materialism progresses unchecked,
The dignity of humanity loses its shine;
The world marches towards damnation,
For this foreseen fate, the angels weep.

Is there no means to see eye to eye?
Any dispute can be reconciled with tolerance.
Why are we set apart by creed and breed?
We are after all, brethren of the same kind.

Post-mortem

Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving. ~Albert Einstein

Don’t get misled. I may have suffered from blows in this recent exam but, no, I’m still far from being dead. After all, I’m not the guy whose MSN Messenger’s display name reads “requiescat in pace”, or translated as “rest in peace”.

Forgive me for breaking my promise but the subject still subtly embeds in the psyche. It’s just that sometimes, no matter how much one tells himself not to wallow in the past and to move on with life, he still can’t help revisiting the memories. It’s like watching the replay an old film for the umpteenth time despite the fact that it fills one’s heart with sorrow and makes him sob. That’s all because it means a lot.

But, still, the most important part is that it provides me the opportunity to look for the missing piece, which, despite my frantic search, has not surfaced. Worse, I don’t have a clear picture of happened and is happening. How am I supposed to know which piece is missing when I haven’t even come close to completing the puzzle?

Some may very well think that bygones should at best be left forgotten since the outcome can no longer be altered. However, it helps me to pick up the confidence to end the previous chapter and continue narrating my life in the new one; it forms a link between the present and the future. Perhaps, it is this missing link that I have been searching for.

Now, I understand that I have taken the wrong way round since the very first step. Instead of wooing you and winning your heart before taking the bold step, I did exactly the other way round – spilled out my heart’s contents, watched the drama unfold in a fashion which couldn’t have be more predictable, and tried to mediate the outcome as best as I could. The development is totally unnatural. It gives the uncomfortable, surreal experience of reading a story which starts with the climax, while progressing to the resolution and ends with the development of the plot right after the epilogue. Everything just doesn’t seem to be in place.

It is no wonder that the whole episode doesn’t seem to anyone. No, not even me. The crude jeers of the others have done me no harm. But still, I need to ask you not to bring up the subject.

On another matter, call me clichéd but I can’t think of a better way of wording what I feel about life. We fall from time to time as we progress through life’s journey. From where I have fallen, I have two choices. One is to stand up, let the wound heal in time and move on with life. Another one is to sit there, whine in pain and refuse to continue the journey lest I should fall again. I choose the first option. Learning from the past strengthens the spirit so as to prepare it for tougher challenges to come – that matters the most.

Anyway, thanks for leading me to another small step in the quest of self-discovery and for helping me to learn a new lesson on life. However will the story end, you have been in one of the chapters and this has made a difference.

Insanity Streak

Insanity...is an intellectual pattern. It may have biological causes but it has no physical or biological reality. No scientific instrument can be produced in court to show who is insane and who is sane. ~Robert M. Pirsig

Finally, I have come to the conclusion that it’s a mad world after all.

You see, recently, many lunatics have surfaced, making their presence felt. In fact, their number (and not to say their lunacy) is so overwhelming that they deserve a classification of their own – a new branch of species in the prestigious genus of Homo. Sapiens, rejoice! We have a new member in our big family, the lunaticus.

First, let me introduce to you one of those lunaticus who managed to strike big – Jacobs. At the age of 35, Jacobs had an ambitious plan in mind, that is, to become the smartest person on earth.

Well, how exactly did he think he could earn the title? "Intelligence”, as he defines it, is “the amount of information you have”. So, what he intended to do was to finish a whole collection of encyclopaedia, of course! And so, Jacob became Mr Know-It-All by spending his next one year and 55 days reading 32 volumes of Britannica – and, mind you, he actually finished all those 33,000 pages! Talk about obsession!

Mr Know-It-All was on his way to becoming a millionaire lunaticus, if only he could answer the $32,000 question on erythrocyte. (*Stifled laughter) Okay, okay, quit making fun of a fellow Mensan.

During his quest to becoming the Mr Know-It-All, Jacobs made an aquaintance with Alcott as he started off with A. Mr Alcott deserves mentioning because (guess what!) he is another famous lunatic who came up with a “particularly unusual discipline system: teachers received punishment from the offending pupils.” Such a preposterous idea is “supposed to instill shame in the kids’ mind”. Just don’t ask me how! By the way, this absurd piece of information is acquired from Britannica, but I can’t verify using Encarta.

Speaking of the system of education, sometimes I wonder if students are being burdened with too much stress. For starters, there is a self-professed mad girl who goes around proclaiming her insanity to virtually everyone on the Net. Oh, come to think of those ditties she wrote about herself, you’ll have no excuse not to believe her.

The Net didn’t get its title “the gateway of information” without a reason. News spread quite fast over in the cyber world. Soon, another lunatic who goes by the nickname “Crazy Monk” joined the lunacy, spamming Mad Girl’s blog with Buddhist scriptures (blasphemy!) chosen at random from the library back in his monastery.

If you think this insanity could go no further, think again! A few days back, Crazy Monk professed his love towards Mad Girl in his blog! Again, blasphemy! His common sense must have been knocked out by a falling tome while dusting the collection of scriptures in the library.

Apart from those highlighted here, the world is not short of fine specimens of homo lunaticus. Of them, I will not speak further for I have already lambasted a tad too much. The next thing I know, they may be coming at me with clubs! Besides, it is more than incredulous for a mind of the first degree to condescend to so lunatic a subject.

So long, folks! And prosper, lunaticus! Uh… Oh dear, I need to take my meds!

Chemical David on the Loose

Arm! Arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar! ~Lord Byron

Where are the UN weapons inspectors? I have a case to report – my neighbour is found to possess weapons of mass destruction and is capable of unleashing a chemical warfare which can kill countless innocent – uh – insects…

You see, the place where I live in is notoriously infested by insects. Especially during nights, exoduses of beetles, moths, ants and every kind of creepy crawlies imaginable can be observed swarming the homes of those who negligently left open the windows.

Much akin to the evils that crept out of the Pandora’s Box, these six-legged creatures are inexplicably drawn away from their nests by the fluorescent lamps, plaguing the very nerves of the unlucky inhabitants of this accursed land.

A few days back, Uncle David was seen downstairs, wielding a cylinder of potent chemical, which is capable of instigating a genocide on the colonies of all six-legged creatures alike.

Having saying that virtually no one has a soft spot for creepy crawlies, it is not unexpected that Chemical David (formerly known as Uncle David), with a heart of steel, went on a killing frenzy, spraying insecticide all over the place. A few seconds were all it took before the wriggling ants eventually dropped dead. (Oh Father, how should this sinful act of cruelty be atoned?)

Soon, a nerve-soothing scent wafted in the air as if to mask the putridity of malice. It happened that Chemical David had been using the new generation of insecticide developed from the latest formula. What he had in the cylinder is a cocktail of a one-litre water-based insecticide plus some sweet-smelling ester. Now, that brings up another question, did David mistake the insecticide as air freshener?

But, the lunacy did not just stop there. Chemical David went on spraying on the grass in the lawn! (?)

I seriously doubt that the UN Security Council would see to this problem, but the least that I can do is to call in some green politicians. It doesn’t take an avid science fiction geek to tell you that insecticide can possibly cause mutation among the organisms that might have survived the massacre. This, plus Mr Puffer’s gene-altering nicotine (refer to previous post, All Fagged Up) and you’ll get a new generation of mutant man-eating plants.

For the time being, all –

“What is it, mom? A rat-size cockroach in the kitchen? Coming!”

Excuse me, please. I’ll be right back…

Down the Vortex of Love

Welcome to Café de Amour. What would you like to order for your dinner? A set of Solitaire Amour for a garçon seul ou juene or a set of Réciproque Amour for a couple of affectuex de paire?

Ah, Paris is the capital of romance while French is the language of love. Too bad I don’t have the chance to learn the (most-of-the-time) flirtatious tongue.

But let me jump straight to my point: of late, I am seeing many friends spiralling down the Cupid’s little game of love.

First of all, there is *him, a close friend of mine who manages to initiate a relationship while studying abroad. For some reason, he has been keeping it a secret from almost everyone – only giving misdirecting, vague hints at times when the subject is brought up. Nonetheless, recent rumours verified my surmises. Suffice to say that the other cast– the she – is a friend of my friend’s friend. Hmm… It may be a third-hand information but that does not undermine its credibility.

Let’s move on to the second him, a grieving garçon seul (pun not intended; notice that this is not a proper noun) who ordered the first set of dinner back in Café de Amour. The truth is, all this while, he has been cleverly masking his sorrows from those around him that none of us managed to detect anything. It was only during our mischievious endeavaour to uncover, yet, another secret of his that we inadvertently stumbled upon this well-kept and less-known secret. (I wonder why people seem to be all hush-hush these days.) Needless to say, Cupid strikes again!

Whoa! The “curious-o-meter” popped to a head-splitting level! As usual, the radar crackled to life and I could not resist the urge to investigate. It happened that there seemed to be some connection between the account from aforementioned him and that of a her even though both of them seemed to have divulged nothing to anyone. Most importantly, the timeline of events seemed to fit. Another secret busted! (Spare me the drum rolls and applause, please. They make me blush.)

Then, there is another him, who is (sigh) another poor lad in a state of dilemma. Too bad I only managed to uncover bits of the information. “Everything is fine” was the only information he disclosed. But I must mention that a story without a tail leaves ample room for my imagination to extend its creativity to colouring the blank picutres. There is no telling what crazy ideas it can come up with once it starts working overtime! Oops, the cogs and wheels are already working. So, watch out!

These few cases aside, there are still more examples abound. but I reckon it redundant to give an account to each. Hey, I’m not a gossip-monger and I don’t like poking my nose in the middle of the people’s private affairs! (Heck, don’t give me the sacarstic eye-roll.)

Anyway, I would like to extend my wishes to those lonely hearts out there who are being sucked down the vortex of love willy-nilly. May your stories have a touch of a fairy-tale ending. And, yeah, enjoy your Réciproque Amour with your chéri.

Meanwhile, I remain as a young bachelor who is gladly not tied down by commitments – single and available. (*Flirtatious wink)

Note: Should the propositions above bear similarities with any real live instances encountered, they are not mere coincidences but rather the accounts of actual stories, albeit vague ones.

*Pronouns are used to replace actual names to protect privacy.

Sniff… Sigh… Sniff… Sneeze…

Down with flu,
I’m feeling blue.
After a sniff or two,
Comes an “achoo”.

Moan… I’m… (sniff…) down with flu today… (sniff…) Achoo! Excuse me!

(For clarity purposes, all “sighs”, “sniffs” and “sneezes” are omitted from this point onwards.)

Actually, I caught a flu a few days back. But I was trying to fight back with positive thinking. No, no. I’m not nuts. I just don’t like to take medicines. Not only do they make me drowsy, they make me feel like a sloppy potato. Furthermore, I’m sure you know that you can’t really get rid of viral flu with medicine.

And thus, I went to bed every night assuring myself everything will be fine when I wake up the next day. Sadly, it just did not work. So, here I am, with two bulgy, watery eyes, looking as if I’ve been crying for the whole of the previous night. To tell the truth, I’m no better than a flaccid beansprout.

This morning alone, I’ve used up half a roll of toilet paper. At this rate, the supermarkets are going to run out of toilet paper in no time. Not to say, Indah Water, the sewage management, is going to charge me extra for clearing up all the toilet paper that I flushed down.

I later found out that not only the mucous membranes are working overtime but my imagination as well. My mind wandered off to the recent bird flu cases reported.

Nasal congestion? Checked. Nasal discharge? Checked. Fever? Nope. Cough? Nope. Muscle aches? Nope. Sore throat? Nope.

I guess having only two checks dimissses the diagnosis, right? Phew!

Say, I don’t even think I’m down with a flu. It’s most probably just a runny nose, or at the worst, a cold, don’t you think?

Anyway, I’ve taken the medicine and am feeling a lot more better now. Well, I’d rather become a sloppy potato than a flaccid beansprout! As a matter of fact, it’s a “non-drowsy formula”. Part of the warning in the insert reads something like this: Side-effects may include restlessness and insomnia. Uh oh!

Meanwhile, the battle with flu (or is it common cold? Whatever!) rages on. And we know who’s going to win! (Wink!)

P/s: I wonder if you noticed that the title of this post is a tongue twister which I discovered inadvertently.

Deafening Silence

Sometimes I look at you and wonder,
What are those thoughts you have, I can’t divine;
Sometimes I listen to you and wonder,
What are those untold words, I can't hear.

Those frames that you left blank,
I fill them with pictures of hope;
Those words that you kept from me,
I replace them with question marks.

Inferences drawn from the unknown,
May leave us groping in the dark;
Conjectures formed from the untold,
May blind us from the truth.

Is this what you desired?
A yawning chasm between you and me?
Is this what you anticipated?
Endless speculations between you and me?

Deafening silence of thoughts projects the strongest:
Betrayal and a tinge of guilt.
Deafening silence of words speaks the loudest:
Distrust and an air of untruthfulness

Don’t you feel the sense of guilt,
Invoked by the betrayal of principles?
Don’t you long the truthfulness,
Built upon the foundations of trust?

Why do you keep those thoughts to yourself?
Is it the implications that hold you back?
Why do you keep those words to yourself?
Is it conscience that weighs you down?

Set free those jarred thoughts,
Let there be no more misunderstandings;
Whisper those untold words,
Let there be no more wild guesses.


Translated version in Chinese (Special thanks to June):

无言
看着你嘴角的牵动，我细细思量：
我该如何推测，你在想什么？
听着你的轻声细语，我细心琢磨：
那些铉外之音，又会是什么？

你所留给我的寂寞，
我在希望里度过；
你抿着嘴不说的话，
让问号吊在半空中，摇摇晃晃。

一无所知地推论，
在黑暗中摸索；
我的猜测你的无言，
我看不清真相，像被蒙着双眼。

这是你要的结果吗？
让我们间的裂痕越来越深，
这就是你所期盼的吗？
对彼此无边无尽猜测质疑。

刺耳缄默清楚投射：
出卖的罪恶，内疚的脆弱；
无言的话无情扬声：
怀疑的态度，虚假的谎言。

难道你不曾有过一丝悔恨？
在背叛了原则以后；
难道你不希望对彼此坦诚？
用忠诚来建设，以信任为基石。

为什么总爱匿藏自己？
是惯性的矜持在牵绊你吧；
为什么总是欲言又止？
是沉重的公理在束缚你吧。

不如，
把悲伤的想法都放生吧！
让争执与误会随风而去；
轻声诉说那未说的言语，
为纷乱猜测划上休止符。

Ahoy, Mate! We're Stranded!

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.
~John Masefield

All this while, the humming of the engine had created the ambience for me to get to sleep. Thus, I was mildly aroused when the bus came to a stop. Normally, I’d get irritable when I’m intermittently disturbed during my sleep. But, I was just too tired now to complain about it.

The driver had probably stopped by the highway for a while to ease himself, I thought. So, we should be on our way again in no time. It was later that I found out that we had a punctured tire. Okay, we were in a sticky situation here and no one was happy about it, including me. But as the platitude goes, when things turn bad, “look on the bright side”.

Alright. The “bright side” was, we were ahead of our schedule, with a few hours to spare, so there was no harm spending them here on the bus with the air-conditioner at full blast. Luckily, I had enough food supply to last through breakfast. Furthermore, things could have got worse when you travelling in a one-tonne bus with a punctured tire and travelling at a break-neck speed of 100km/h… We could have spun and crashed down a ravine. Oops, my imagination runs wild under stress!

Meanwhile, it wasn’t too bright out there since it was only four in the morning.

When some of us went outside for a breath of fresh air, we finally had an inkling of our present location: exactly on the other side of the road, there was a huge sign board which read: “FELDA Development Project – South Trolak”. Good news indeed, though the name of the place did not ring a bell at all. At least we were not in the edge of some African forest.

I wonder if you have heard of how some animals such as wolves mark their territories with urine. It happened that one of the wise guys is an avid fan of Animal Planet documentaries and did know about that. Reckoning it as a valuable survival tip, he marked our territory at the bushes by the road in the desperate bid to keep man-eating tigers in the jungle away from us. It did not took us long to follow suit, not for the same reason, mind you, but merely to ease ourselves.

Throughout our four-hour ordeal, cars came and went. Some flashed or honked at us to acknowledge our presence or perhaps to jeer at us. None stopped to give us a hitch. “The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” is coming to the silver screen and I wonder if offers any guide to “hitch hiking on the highway”…

Soon, the sun rose albeit hidden behind some clouds. It was then bright enough for me to assess our situation.

There was some sort of a tertiary jungle on the east; the development site mentioned earlier was on the west. I stared down south and up north but could only see the never-ending road that strecthed towards the edges of the world… and a couple of vultures not far away, flying low in circles… A harbinger of doom… Or were they just a bunch of crows?

More than four hours had passed. As we were about to abandon all hopes for survival, a bus could be seen approaching us from the horizon. Our spirits were high when it slows to a stop, and offered ten of us a hike. The mind loves to play tricks on the desperate soul but thank God it was not a mirage! So, ten of us alert (and selfish) ones grabbed our bags and made our move before you can say “hallelujah”. Those least-fortunate ones were still looking bewildered when we rushed on board the other bus, leaving them behind, agape, in the foundered vessel, fate unknown.

And so continued our journey to heart of Kuala Lumpur, which took us a whopping nine hours in toto. Compare this with the typical time logged: five hours!

Here, I end my account of our swashbuckling adventures with the following excerpt from the captain’s log.

8th May.
8th hour since our departure from homeland, Penang.
Cloudy. Some 53.4 nautical miles (99 km) north from our destination. Strong wind is blowing in favour of our course. Smooth sailing.
Current speed: 59.5 knots (110 km/h). Expect to harbour in another hour.
Spirits of the crews are high. Let’s just pray we don’t bump into any pirates.

All Fagged Up

Tobacco drieth the brain, dimmeth the sight, vitiateth the smell, hurteth the stomach, destroyeth the concoction, disturbeth the humors and spirits, corrupteth the breath, induceth a trembling of the limbs, exsiccateth the windpipe, lungs, and liver, annoyeth the milt, scorcheth the heart, and causeth the blood to be adjusted. ~Tobias Venner

“Huff and puff! Come out now or I’ll blow down your house!” threatens the wolf. He may huff and he may puff but he couldn’t even shake the little pig’s sturdy brick house. “Huff and puff! I’ll smoke you out with tobacco smoke!” threatens the wolf again. He then lights a fat stub of fag and sends it down the chimney…

Hey, wait a minute… That’s not what mom told me when I was a kid!

Okay, that was just another version of the story in which, unfortunately, I am the pitiful little pig who will eventually end up in Mr Big Bad Wolf’s tummy or suffocating in nicotine, carbon monoxide, tar and a cocktail of other potent carcinogens. And that wolf is none other than my friendly neighbour, one of the greatest contributors to air pollution on earth.

Mr Puffer is an old man living on the groundfloor of the apartment. Having said that he is a heavy smoker, one may half-expect his house to stink with tobacco smell. But, no, it isn’t. Every time there is the need to satisfy his crave for filthy nicotine, Mr Puffer would leave the house to get a puff or two. My guess is, Mrs Puffer (a non-puffer) is the culprit who sends the chain smoker out of the house for his regular dosage of nicotine.

I shouldn’t have qualms about that. Air is free and Mr Puffer has his very right to burn tobacco with his share of air…

But, hey, wait a minute… That means I have my very right to fight for clean air, don’t I?

So begins the war between the puffer and the non-puffer…

You see, I live in the first floor, with my room directly above Mr Puffer‘s favourite spot. Every afternoon, when I am in the midst of completing my homework half-asleep, I will be aroused by the creaking sound of Mr Puff’s opening grille door. (Nope, he never oils it.) I’ve observed that his cravings for nicotine always comes at the exact time, never a minute too early or late. I suppose, after being a puffer for a couple of decades, his biological clock has somehow tuned itself so precisely to the daily routine.

Now, Mr Puffer comes out his abode. The shuffling sounds of his sandals and the irritating sound of him clearing his throat never fail to signal that. This is when I will immediately rush to shut the windows of my room forceful enough for Mr Puffer down there to notice.

Phew! Just in time!

Mr Puffer lights up a fag and gleefully puffs away, while I am held hostage in my sealed-up room upstairs. Luckily, a mere three minutes is all it takes for the fag to burn up and relieve Mr Puffer of his addiction. He would then return to his abode, leaving behind a new stub of fag in the clogged-up drain, and not to say, (eew!) some fresh phlegm. Digusting!

More often than not, drowsiness sets in during the afternoon. Struggling against it while doing homework nonetheless leaves me with the IQ level of that of a potato. But before taking a nap, I’ll have to shut the windows. Hey, sleeping amid the prospect of inhaling gene-altering carcinogens and sticky tar is not a pleasant feeling at all.

There have been instances where fag puffers file lawsuits against tobacco companies in the hope of getting a considerable sum of retirement fund; a fortiori, I can also demand Mr Puffer for a million-dollar compensation for robbing me of fresh air. But, I doubt that he can pay up after burning away his penchant together with a packet of fags a day. Then again, lying on the hospital bed with a million dollar in the bank account and a cancerous growth in the lungs isn’t such a good idea at all. One of these days, I’ve got to give Mr Puffer a piece of my mind.

In the meantime, I need to have the chimney sealed up.

And, Mr Puffer, expect a letter from my lawyer soon.

Caves and Caverns in the School

When I was a kid my favorite relative was Uncle Caveman. After school we'd all go play in his cave, and every once in a while he would eat one of us. It wasn't until later that I found out that Uncle Caveman was a bear. ~Jack Handy

… Not too far inside, water seeps through and drips from the ceiling above. It is this process which has taken thousands of years that form the breath-taking, beautiful columns of stalactites and stalagmites of odd shapes. Ahh, once he starts working with his chisel, Time the sculptor never cease to amaze us!

… As you venture further into the cavern, you may have the opportunity to gather some (man-made) guano as a gift to your lovely bougainvillea…

Now, the above is not an excerpt from a travel brouchure, but rather, a discovery I made recently. Once again, I present you the bizarre discoveries from the prestigious Chung Ling High School – its lavatories, to be precise.

Please don’t get me wrong. I’m by no chance a maniac who uncannily loves to observe – (God forbid!) of all places – the loos. It has attracted masses of pilgrims as well. There are those who go there for official business and also those regular visitor who are merely escaping from somnolent lessons. These are among the pious ones who visit the loos five times a day without fail.

The “caverns” which I mentioned just now are none other than the gents on the groundfloor of the Sixth-Form Block. Normally, I would visit the one on the first floor (the one which is more famous among the pilgrims) but there was an occasion when it was so full that I immediately diverted my course to the one on the groundfloor, lest I might get entrapped in a stampede.

So that was when I made the swashbuckling discovery. However, I am a hopeless narrator who tends to describe things out of the actual scale. Okay, there were stalactites and stalagmites alright… Only, they are in the infantile stage… very far unlike those gigantic ones you find in the Niah Caves in Sarawak or in the Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico.

The point is, the loo is leaking and if you are so unobservant as to walk under the leakage, there is a fat chance of getting some of those you-know-what landing on you… I have no idea how long this will last but I think the school is trying not to spoil the natural wonder so that one day, the loo (cavern?) can get into the UNESCO list of natural heritage.

Speaking of caves, I can’t help mentioning the Paleolithic mural painting (but I prefer to call it a cave drawing) which could be found in the other lavatory. No, not the one in the Sixth-Form Block this time, but the one near the school canteen. There was one drawing which showed that our Mr Flintstone was highly civilised – in short, it meant: use the toilet if you need to ease yourself.

So, it was a great loss to archeological scholars when the school janitor white-washed the age-old cave drawing. To this blasphemy, dear Flintstone responded with his fresh signature at the exit of the loo, with the words “I’m back” beneath it. Ooo, spooky…

Now, for those of you folks who wish to arrange for a guided tour around the caves and caverns in the school, kindly place your reservation with my secretary. Registrations are based on first-come-first-served basis. Have a “yabba dabba doo” holidays!

The End is Nigh?

How seldom does prediction fail, when evil!
How oft, foretelling good!
~ Pedro Calderón de la Barca

Ominous clouds curtain the machine city like dark drapes – a fitting backdrop for the imminent doom awaiting the last of men as troops of sentinels scour Zion. Somewhere near the middle of the gloomy city, a ship hovers in search of the Core. With his hand in Trinity’s, they brave their hearts. The people believe in him and for this, he has made his choice…

This is the third time I’m watching the Matrix Revolutions, yet I never get enough of it. Full of philosophical lines that keeps the mind stimulated and packed with actions that keeps adrenaline pumping, it is the best trilogy, rivalled neither by The Lord of the Rings nor Star Wars. (I especially like the witty lines by Agent Smith, the Oracle, the Architect and Merovingian.)

Of course, the story ends with Zion being eventually saved. But, back in reality, an impending doom hangs over me like a sword of Damocles: the exam is no more that two weeks away! Gasp! And I haven’t quite started my revision! Blame it on the television, addictive blogging, the luxury of sleeping…

“Exams? So what’s the big deal? Start revising now!” you say. But the problem is, I can always find time for other things but when it comes to homework and revision, the mind gets exceptionally supine.

I think this personal gripe of mine is not of much interest to you, for the same reason that it is not of much interest to me to write about. But, I’m sure the subject of apocalypse would arouse the attention of almost everyone.

You see, once upon a time, back in the 12th century, there lived an Irish bishop, Saint Malachy. He purportedly prophesied the identities of 267 popes after Innocent II. This soothsaying business ran so squeaky-clean that until now, dear Malachy has a track record of 100% accuracy (or at least 99.99%). So, it is arguable that Malachy is as good as fellow seer-cum-poet, Nostradamus. In fact, some people claim that the “prophecy of the popes” was actually created by Nostradamus himself.

So, what does this business have to do with the end of the world?

Assuming that the prophecy isn’t forgery; assuming that Gloria Olivae points to Benedict XVI; assuming that the last final, longest motto is part of the original prophecy (some doubt so); assuming that Saint M is not a sadist who enjoys scaring the guts out of his pitiful believers; then, the upcoming 267th pope, Petrus Romanus will be the last pope before Armageddon.

“In persecutione extrema S.R.E. sedebit Petrus Romanus, qui pascet oues in multis tribulationibus: quibus transactis ciuitas septicollis diruetur, & Iudex tremêdus iudicabit populum suum. Finis."

Translation: During the final persecution, the seat of the Holy Roman Church will be occupied by Peter the Roman, who will feed the sheep in many tribulations, after which the seven-hilled city will be destroyed, and the terrible Judge will judge his people. The End.

Hmm… But that’s a lot of assumptions… So in the meantime, you can just set the matter aside. Remember to help mom to bring out the garbage every night… Pray to God after brushing your teeth… And go to bed early…