Spiraling Melody Of Light

Not much time really passes when you're lying awake at night, the ceiling fan's blades, slightly rusted at the edges, rotate seemingly in slow motion. You can't really help but think "whoong, whoong, whoong" as the blades turn, and turn, and turn.

Laying there thinking, about the troubles you're facing, thing you worry about, someone you care for, what the future holds, who you are, are you just another speck in this vast world? It makes no sense sometimes. They told us life was supposed to be great, but yet here we are doing things that mean nothing, things that mean nothing that people have placed too much emphasis and too much faith into; and yet here we are, not even sure of what we're fighting for.

I wonder sometimes, maybe we cling on to our devices, phones, mp3 players, iPods and the sorts, because we want to know we're not alone. Maybe it's a subconscious reaffirmation, just talking to or texting that somebody over the phone, forgetting everything in drowning rock music or listening to that melancholy invoking instrumental; we are not alone.

We all wish for more to this life we're having, who really wants to spend the rest of their life labouring and worrying away. The wishful thinking is sometimes dealt with, suppressed, and yet again it will rise inevitably to the surface of our minds like cork in water. The future, what does it hold, will I be alone, what will I be doing, where will everyone else I know be in the future, who will remain my friends through storm and calm; is it all fated? I don't know, but someone once told me that life is not worth worrying away.

People like security, but that's just a nice way of saying people are boring. Badminton club, basketball club, football club; what happened to archery, fencing, dodgeball and whatnot? Language clubs, nature society, noble endeavours indeed, but really, if you're going to be like everyone else, why live? Such are the thoughts that leave one a little depressed, but it can't be helped....

Right?

Go to sleep, hug your pillow and make it warm; dream of a possible future, another reality. See the spiraling light that enters your mind and shelters your soul; hear the silver melody that rings clearly yet softly, and pray that it is eternal.

Live.

Creation

It is in 17th century Germany on a nameless street, just another day begins as the rising sun paints the entire street like a sepia photograph. Inside one of the houses with identical facades, a man in his late 20's performs his craft. Holed up in his workshop upstairs labouring away at his creation, the golden sun rays shine through the windows of his workshop; there is little sign on the man's face to indicate that he had been up all night at his work. On his immaculate countenance an elegant smile is etched, a mirror of the enjoyment, fulfillment and pride he takes in his work. Perhaps he does not call it work at all.

The dollmaker pours over his intricate equipment, and yet he seems perfectly poised and at home with his surroundings, his nimble fingers efficient and never hesitating. It is hard not to be inspired by wonder watching a craftsman at work, even more so for the nameless dollmaker; it is clear that money is not his motive. What makes him tinker over all that material and turn scraps into something beautiful?

Perhaps there is a love of his who inspires him, perhaps a child; perhaps something lost to him, perhaps a longing? There he stays in his little bubble of timelessness immersed in the passion for his work. So noble and passionate his work that time itself could not bear to take him away in her tide. And all that is of him is stowed away in a tiny fragment of reality, floating around in the space of existence. Forever immortalized.

The dolls born of his hands that lay scattered around his workshop seem almost lifelike. With eyes glowing with emotion and faces lit with compassion that it takes conscious thought to remind oneself that they are just dolls; and yet it just seems that they would just suddenly get up and smile at you. Such love put into his handicraft, like a great desire for a child he never could have.

And as the creator walks past a doll of a girl child, it reaches out to him haphazardly, and whispers:

'Fa...ther...'

The scene fades and diminishes into the fog of thought, as if just a dream.

Inspired by Mitsumune Shinkichi's "Creation", Rozen Maiden: Träumend. 

Sleep

What is it like to sleep? They say sleep is when the body rests itself, when the mind processes the day's thoughts and sights. They say dreaming is believing, nightmares shadows of darker things. What is sleep really?

Now and then I find one Sleepless, I am there where there is no sleep. Why do they not embrace the gift of sleep they are endowed with? They know not what it is like to be unable to rest in peace, to awaken the next day and see the dawn. Me? I can only rest once dead. I see not the dawn for I too see not the night.

They say they sleep not for they are troubled; in their hearts I see the worry and sorrow, and yet I do not understand. I return to my realm of cold under eternal twilight to ponder, and no light be shed upon me.

Do you know what it is like to be unable to remember? My memory is ever obscured by the barrier that separates sleep and wake. Such a thin barrier, which yet cannot be overcome. The memory of my son was cast to the abyss of sleep, and he speaks none to me.

Then I remember, once in a while, that I am always sleeping. How oft the memory returns I know not, for to me time is not.

My love I have never seen her, nor I ever will. She comes and goes, she has duties to perform; when one's time is up she wakes, and one's soul she takes. And when dawn arrives once again, she comes to sleep in our timeless twilight, with me in her cold embrace.

I am darkness,
I am night;
I am not.
Forever, good night.

-Probably partially inspired by Neil Gaiman.

Moonlit Nights

On that moonless night we celebrated the Mid-autumn Festival. In darkness we gathered with candles held in hand, as if to mourn the passing of summer. The square of the school was crowded with alumni from over the years of the school’s legacy; and yet I felt as if I walked the school grounds alone.

How ironic it was to hear the sonorous cry of celebration of the Mooncake Festival on a night with no moon. My old friends and I sat on the long corridor of the side entrance to the school where many memories lay. In semi-silence we gathered, with only occasional speak of current events and musings of the past.

Though always receptive to my surroundings at the time, I was at the same time immersed in thought. Perhaps there is no moon tonight, but in my heart always lives a moon of my own. Is she only a memory of what she used to be? When I felt her light dimmed, why did my inspiration too ebb away?

That night, I saw the warmth that thoughts of love bring; I saw the sorrow that love invokes; I saw the void that love can create. The legend of Chung E came to mind then, and in my mind the mist weaved a story for each pair of lovers under the moonless sky. There would be endings to them all, but with the endings would come memories, which I have not.

In my head to this day plays a soundtrack in the background; always there but not always audible even to myself. The song always changes, in tune, melody and words; but the feelings stay the same. I don’t think I can believe any longer, so I shall pretend.

Perhaps you are still the one I remember from spring; perhaps you are just a memory, but still I ask of you nothing but your heart.

“Fly me to the moon,
And let me play among the stars.
Won’t you let me see what spring is like on Jupiter & Mars?
In other words, hold my hand.
In other words: darling, kiss me.

Fill my heart with song,
And let me sing forever more.
For you are all I long for,
All I worship and adore.
In other words, please be true.
In other words: I love you.”

Do you know?

Do you know what it's like to be unappreciated by your own parents? Whatever skills you have they dismiss; whatever weaknesses they berate. To be forcefully moulded to their sick idea of a success plan; to be reprimanded for anything about you different to their useless ideals. To be hit and called useless for being something other than they want; to feel unloved and unwanted by the very people who brought you to this world.

That's my father. I do not love him.
Because he cannot accept me.

If that's how I've got to live my life,

Maybe I don't want to wake up.

Home

Let me stay home.

Tonight I fly the starry sky,

Tomorrow I cry and cry.

Look at my eyes,

These tears they shine with memories,

The summer days; The summer nights.

Let me be home.

At 2120 hours that plane I catch,

Look out your window,

Stare at that sky bereft of stars.

And maybe you'll see my airplane,

And we'll pretend it's our shooting star.

Let me go home.

These cards and letters I read,

Those memoirs I keep;

Arrayed faces and places,

Secrets and revelations,

Indeed the last dance is complete.

Let me remember home.

The sighing breeze;

The singing trees.

The breaking dawn and the melancholy twilight.

Things once unkown,

Carved now on stone.

To never fade even in the darkest day.

Someday, I'll know.

I'm already home.

I'm home.

For SeaYunn; for those who shared days and memories with her.

每一次

今天我想，为什么我家人只会让我生气？家人不应该是给我开心，温暖的吗？

I've never gotten a surprise for my birthday before, so thank you my dear P gang. Though this is our only year knowing each other in Seafield, it has been quite a time...It has been quite a time.

有没有想过：如果能暂时飞去另一个世界，无时间的限制，没烦恼。我最近想你太多了，不知为何你一直给我你那让我催眠的眼神；你不是还爱着他吗？

今天发现我还收着你那根褐色的头发；对呀，我为何把它收起来？它不过是一根头发而已；因为要提醒自己这一次，是不会轻易放手的；因为幸福是要自己去追求的，而不是傻傻在那儿等着幸福的来到。也许，我无法去坦白跟你说， 因为我害怕你会像以前的人一样离开。


Who is to say what will happen tomorrow. Maybe I'll give up on a few things, settle for less; maybe even let go. After all, who am I to keep you. I am just an artist, a scholar tinkering with his thoughts both great and insignificant. I create; it is up to you to interpret, to consider; and perhaps admire, and even appreciate.


我昨天一直沉迷着王力宏的Kiss Goodbye歌曲。一直想起那两句我最喜欢的歌词：
“每一次想开口但不如保持安静；
给我一分钟专心，好好欣赏你的美”


这首歌，献给你。

Eternal

The bones and memories of others lie scattered on the wastelands of broken dreams. Dreams, they spawn from the mind of sleep; and sleep, she lay next to death.

Trudging through the dustiness, there is nothing to be seen in all directions but the carcasses of things once grand, the shattered diamonds of hopes and aspirations; they all lay forgotten in this abysmal plain. Where are their dreamers and creators? All lost to time, nothing but the shadow of memories.

In the vast, bare, landscape, there is nothingness; for everything comes eventually to rest in this dismal place. The sun and moon in this ethereal plane shine perpetually, and yet their light does not illuminate. There are no longer the bright shiners, for they have been cast into the void of all of men's failures.

Who rules over these lands?

The king of memories; he who remembers and forgets; he who memories revolve and orbit upon like celestial spheres; he who is and is not.

And he sits upon the ancient throne of sleep and dreams. Perhaps he is death himself, but who are we to glance upon his countenance? We who defile, they who condemn, they who know not the meaning of sin, they who are self-righteous.

All to be forgotten by the king of memories; all to forever remain in the wasteland, forgotten, forsaken, worse than dead, worse than being in the eternal fires of hell.
In heaven you are remembered for deeds; in hell you are recalled for sins.
In the wasteland you are not even junk, you are not even nothing.
In the wasteland you do not exist.

原因

为什么会爱她，喜欢她？

因为她会使我笑，令我开心。

实现梦想

最近有许多梦想；到底能实现吗？想到明年要考钢琴的第八级了；我考得到上吗？我现在的准备因该是不足，令我十分操心。年尾有有SPM, 烦死了！

看到一些人的幸福，我会觉得一点羡慕；我怎么没呢？
别人烦恼是因为会失去珍贵的东西，我却因为没能失去的东西而难过。

付出·幸福的理由

昨晚又想起你了。 还记得那天在你的书上找到了你的一根头发。在从窗透进来的阳光下看着那特别的一根发，不知道为何微笑。

他应该是个好人吧，这我很清楚。因为如果事实不如此，难道你会喜欢上他吗？我不假装了解你对他的感情，但总会忧心万一你被他伤害。这样会不会太过分？

我的人很普通。也和你只是一般的人，没什么特别特出的方面。 我缺乏能力买下你所欲望的东西，也没什么珍贵的东西给你。我只有我的心与我的艺术，对一些人来说是一无所有。

我无能， 也不答应天长地久，我所答应的是我的心与你的幸福。
因为你可能就是我所有幸福的理由。

Life: An interlude

如果有一天你突然在我身上找到了欣赏，那有多好。但我想，这暂时是个不可能的事。你心中已有了别人，我怎么改变你的心？我根本就不想。这就是事实。

I don't belive in promises of forever, "fun" relationships or monetary and public displays of affection. I may have nothing much to give, I hope it's enough. Why does fame and money trump other merits? Are people that blind?

或许我不配。也许我是个笨小孩；傻傻地，没原因地去爱一个人。
不。是我幼稚，一失去了爱就想找另一个来代替她。只要能爱一个人就够了。
我曾经想过：这可说是值得的吗?
 
Perhaps it is because I move on fast. Life goes on no matter how hurt you are. And so we must endure; all the hurt and pain, the sorrow and solitude. We hide it away behind a mask of contented happiness.
We want more to be happy for.

Reality At Last

To awaken from a dream is to face reality again. Waking from a nightmare doesn't seem to give the sense of appreciation and safety because we are not endangered perpetually. But waking from a beautiful dream, especially when your life sucks; you just want to get back in bed and dream again.

Imagine a world where we fight daily for our existence. Perhaps creatures of darkness and nightmares and the ones that we can't even have nightmare about lurking the earth, where everyone is in danger. Or even just living in the forest, everyday bringing something unknown. People would value people more.

Maybe it's fanatical to think of this, living with Death himself behind your shoulder. But maybe you don't know what it's like to feel pure solitude, that you're the only one of your kind in the whole world.

The real question isn't what would you do if you were going to die tomorrow.
It's if you die right now, would it matter?

Living with nothing

There are only too many quotations which speak of everything and nothing, how they lay almost intertwined, how fine is the line that separates them. Maybe you'll never know what it's like to live like I did, or maybe you do, in which case you would not see me to be blind to the sufferings of others.

Living with a flawed childhood damages you. Whether the wounds can be mended is entirely up to ourselves and our environment. It seems as if everything before things changed was a dream, or maybe this is the dream now. It doesn't matter. Either you make it, or you don't. There is nothing to be felt for those drowning under. It is indescribably sad but it's reality.

You know what's worse than living in suffering?
Living in suffering while having a facade of happiness you didn't put there. Everyone thinks you're fine, until you break, and everyone calls you dramatic, crazy, emo; because they know not.

I Never Really Left

Someday, you'll know that I never really left; I will always be your guarding angel, but maybe I don't deserve to be called an angel. Forever just a star to light the darkest days and the murky twilight; only to fade into my own world when your sun shines again.

That is what I was, and what I don't want to be.

You often tell me I'm not wanted. I always wondered if you meant it; or perhaps you meant the opposite? Perhaps it's your idea of a joke. I'm ok with that. And yet, when I say it's fine that way, you'll not let go, and drown me even more.

Unconsciously I wonder about the future; what life would be like with you. Everything I see is beautiful, except that they are merely thoughts, idealisms, immaterial fantasies. When reality strikes me, you would shed tears should you see my pathetic sorrow.

I'll be gone soon. Then maybe you'll move on with your life like we never met; or maybe you'll seek the things only we had, and perhaps crave my company. Maybe you'd cry for me someday, and I would cry with you. Maybe you won't, but I'd still cry too.

Someday.
Just maybe you'll miss me like you said you will.
Maybe you won't, just like you said as well.
I'll be around.
I'll be waiting.

Someday.
Maybe I'll move on.
Maybe I'll see my rising sun.
I'll still be around.
Won't keep you waiting.

Someday.
You'll know.
And perhaps,
We will be forever more.

A written flower

Each morning I stare at the skies, always displaying a different image; the clouds never the same. One day a school of fish; another, trails of the wind. And the moon, her light began to wane. I fear that perhaps this love shall wane with her, and know that I am very much being paranoid.

When was it that we first met? Winter
When was it that we first spoke? Spring
And summer brought the blooming flowers.

I trust myself no longer.
I care not for what the others think.
All there is; is me, and you.
Shall we not dance to the summer melody?
Shall we not remember the summer nights?

Do you remember?

Remember the yellow sky on that day. The day we were strangers.
Remember the cool breeze on that evening. The sunset's blessing.

It was that day perhaps, the string of fate was cut.
It was that day, destiny had no dominion.

Remember that promise we made under the shining sky.
The unspoken promise, to never forget.
A mark on our hearts we carry to the end of the end.
Memories.
To be remembered; to be forgotten.

I return to the memory.
The setting sun still shone;
The calm winds still blew.

But I saw no one.

Taking chances

There is a room. A room where moonlight shines through the window; And the light shines upon an upright piano. The curtains flutter in the whispering wind. There is silence.

At least near total silence: the piano tinkles a soft melody reminiscent of a music box. If one were to look closely, one might see the shadow of a man at the keys, fingers dancing elegantly and softly over the high register of the piano. Perhaps it is a man; perhaps it is the memory of a man.

And yet perhaps the man was, but is no longer. Perhaps the sweet music is but a figment of the imagination of a sentimental writer.

The memories are real.

Imagine the scene of the piano room fading before your eyes. The scene changes to that of a mundane suburb. A dim lit street, and a solitary girl walking upon it. She is safe, but she does not know what lay outside.

She wonders what it's like, to be free and yet protected. She longs to know that there is something more out there than just the tiny world she grew up to believe in. She wants to feel the love of another, for once, even if for the first and last time.

Brought up to not question. Still she questions if there is more to all that, though in silence. Life cannot be just about college, job and family. Why spend a life working for another? Why not forge a path of her own?

An uncertain amount of time passes. But who cares for the thing man calls time, for it is but an illusion, a lie to comfort man that he is in control.

In the distance she sees the silhouette of a boy. The boy is familiar, perhaps from a memory, or a dream, or a memory of a dream. She does not know.

She smiles and races after his outline. A step into the unknown.

Reprise

Practice. Practice. Practice.

Thank you Sea Yunn, Wong Ling, Mei Yan, Chee Kin, Joe Kim, Wen Jing, Wen Li and Ivy for doing the dance.

It was fun watching members turn into ghosts from makeup.
Chee Kin's epic eyeliner.
Many ineffable things happened.

Up on stage, screams of names happened. The most memorable being the shouts of "MR MAH".
We laughed.

It is kinda nice in a strange way to be someone behind the scenes. Although I don't quite like the fact that I was not even mentioned in the program book. I'm not even mad funnily enough. Good or bad?

No pictures from the concert itself though. Shame.
And I'm running out of things to say.
Ramble ramble ramble.

Bite me.

How to grow up / Why some people will never learn until they are dying

Maturity is not a state of being. Maturity is becoming more mature. You can never be too mature, just like you can never know everything. We are flawed beings, we are imperfect. And so we learn from those imperfections,

Or we don't.

Perhaps an example will help:

Instance X:
I am right, you are wrong.

Instance X (a) You are mature.
Instance X (b) You are immature.

Instance X (a):
I am right, you are wrong.
I tell you that you are wrong and why.
You accept my view, and either admit the mistake or say why you don't agree with my view. I listen to your view.
We then engage in constructive debate and eventually come to some understanding even if we still think the other person is wrong.

Instance X (b)
I am right, you are wrong.
I tell you that you are wrong and why.
You refuse to listen, don't admit the mistake and say one of / something like the following phrases:

Fuck you.
Don't dare you talk to me in that tone of voice.
What the hell do you know?
Think you're very smart is it?
Say enough a d or not?
Shut up.
Shut the fuck up.
Go die.
Go to hell.
Who do you think you are?
What are you trying to prove? (this one is funny, because these people have no ears nor brains)
Etcetera etcetera etcetera.

(use common sense to edit these instances should ''I'' be wrong and "you" is right)

Maybe some will read this and fume. But believe me, you will remember this on your death bed.

傻

从小学毕业的那天已没写下什么华文写作。
想不出来为何现在要用华语写出思想。
我的华语写得对吗？
不知道。

突然想念我每天写华文的日子？
不可能。

我这几天想太多了。又开始做出傻事，想傻事了。
以为难过已难过够了，以为已受够了苦；
但还是笨笨向梦走。

那只是一个可能，一个傻子的希望！
为什么我会一时失去逻辑，乱想东西？

我就是那么傻。。。

And so ends the future

So. Dreams.

Cure cancer, build flying cars, make spy insects, earn your first million, dominate the business world, build the first inverted pyramid building, realise 1Malaysia, become a law student and save the world.

Sure, find the cure for cancer. No one dies of cancer; instead we all die of toxic food and water and radiation poisoning.
Sure, soon no one can fly around in cars, stalk nobody, spend no one's first million, dominate the wasteland, get buried next to the inverted pyramid building, be proud about 0Malaysia and become skeletons to litter the world.

That's what we get.

Sure, let's chop ALL this forest down and make BILLIONS!
Not long after...

*cough hack cough*
*ack no oxygen*
*ack nothing left to buy with my money*
*ack my food is poisonous*
*ack where are all the vacation spots*
*ack cannot grow crops*
*ack the world starving*
*ack so sad, people dying*
*ack why does my bungalow look like it rained sulphuric acid*
*ack why am I fucking dead*

Brood for thought

To the tiger: Hey, stop smoking tobacco.
Tiger: Ok. *doesn't quit*

Tiger drunk/not drunk: If I died one day would you care?
Chicken: *silence*

Honestly, I don't know what to think.

***

Funny how being self conceited works as long as you don't think you don't need to improve. People who just sit around rejecting work and proposals really need to start contributing. All you do is whine about how this idea doesn't suit that or your expectations. Everything, must get approval, approval, approval, in the end, no work gets done; no time, no resources, no fervor, all the blame goes down the corporate ladder. Not even talking about the corporate world.

Someone came to me talking about making things easier for other people. Should I be sorry? I'm not considered "smart". I'm bleeding "marginally above average" or something relative to the world. Should it be my problem that everyone else CHOOSES to be lesser and lesser? Should I take responsibility because some people CHOSE to succumb to extermination of critical thought and creativity? Should I be blamed for the shallow intellect of those who CHOSE pure memorisation to accumulate knowledge? What happened to the abundant brains humans supposedly have?

WHY BLAME ME FOR THE METAPHORICAL LOBOTOMY YOU GAVE YOURSELF??!!

I rant. I hate being right about this. That's why I love the people who are the rare exceptions to this rule.

Cor!

Online for a while my miao miao. I don't get much access my miao miao. Please forgive me my miao miao.

Science papers sucked. Some questions because I wasn't specific enough, others because of the "wrong technique" of answering even though my answers were correct. Moral lost me about 20 marks due to wrong technique as well. Funny thing is if this is how the real papers are marked, there wouldn't be very many As would there?

Today was bloody random with the boys at the back. Wish I had pictures or something to share but circumstances were unpermitting. Cracked madly into laughter when Daniel Stan told us that he used to put his hamster in its toy ball and "play football" with it; and that when the ball cracked into its two component halves he saw the hamster lying on its back lying like a corpse. Was epically funny at the time!

So someone is coming back on US' independence day. Not sure if I would say I can't wait but...

And I have no idea what to blog about. I'm looking forward to some changes, whatever they are....

Relapse

Ok creativity bloody dead recently.

Issues are not helping with the mind lapse and people reminding me about SPM. I have piano exams as well in November. Come show me your straight A SPM certs, then show me your happiness 10 years later. I highly doubt it.

Last Thursday CGs did some despicable stuff. It is quite certain that some will point out that "they are just kids". WRONG.

Some guy who is now 19 but was like an 11 year old when he was 17 reported me for playing games on the research computer when I was clearly looking up articles on geology. There was a device we like to call a monitor just hanging around waiting for him to look at it. Bloody immature asshole. Fucking kids at Chempaka Assembly of God calling me a drug addict gangster to the point everyone believed it. Teachers ended up trying to solve a problem that didn't exist. You don't just grab someone's book and flip through it and tell everyone he is a hot tempered arrogant bastard when he snatches it back. You are supposed to be Christians and you are worse than godless people.

Why am I bringing up old issues? Because I want people to know how horrible people can be. And this is just the tip of the iceberg.

What has this got to do with the CGs?

Even "adults" act like kids.

Cor what fun hating me right? Everyone has flaws. But some people really have no merits at all.

Buttons

People are like control panels.
All you need to do to get a desired response is to press the right buttons.

See, a good head doesn't trust a bad BOD-ee.
Nice guys and girls finish last.
But the rest never get to stop running.

You press my buttons; I press yours.
Only difference is you hurt more.
And you'll miss me.

It's not okay

Why won't you take off the mask of deflection? Is it fear? Is it uncertainty?
Tomorrow I will no longer be able to bear it.
I don't think I can pass it off anymore.

Speaking to thin air and shadows tires me.
Conjuring immaterial solace and warmth saps my sanity.
Darkness tugs at my waist,
Still I resist.

Perhaps I should break away from you.
Then at least I will be free.
Alone, yes.
But at least
Free.

C'est Fous Reverie

The boy stares at the photo of his grandparents. A photo 53 years old; as old as Malaysia itself.
He smiles at the message inscribed at the back of the photo.

"To my dearest......"

The low light of dawn described his feeling perfectly; the overhead clouds drifted past in long, wispy streaks; the inconspicuous green tinges on both the western and eastern sky and the coolness of the morning breeze delivering the nostalgic scent of dew.

He sits up against the wall on his bed. The boy holds the fragments of a picture. He knows not the identity of the picture's portrayal; memory or destiny.

And he gazes out at the gradually rising sun. A swallow flies past the trees, and the clouds, and the sun, almost as if into another world.

Stoicism

Am rather fazed these days. Maybe a little melancholic.

Ok, VERY.

Might be getting a DSLR, dunno when. Mother keeps changing her mind, with good reason.

Maybe I don't have much to blog about. I lead a rather dull life.

Finally working on 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea after finishing Neverwhere. But heck who else reads Neil Gaiman these days, you all want your mainstream books. Which isn't bad but is boring.
Jules Verne goes deep. I like.

Competition in the beginning of July. Mid terms in between now and then. Waste, waste, waste.

Hold Your Cake

It's a funny thing.

When you watch from a distance silently, people call you "cold, distant and uncaring";
When you actually show your concern, people push you away.

So really, why do I give a shit?

Dear Angel

Dear Angel,

I know you probably will never read this.

It's also probably why I have the nerve to write all of this now.

Everyday I am uncertain, foolish, gobsmacked. I know not what a gob is and why mine is smacked, but I know the feeling. Supposedly this is the middle of spring, but here all we have is rain and shine, and that's fine. Wishful thinking won't change anything but earn me an award " Delusional".

Truly I am stumped by your responses.
Truly I am caught not knowing what to do.
Maybe I am an ego-maniac, I am writing too much about myself after all.
Maybe I will find my glimmering sky once more?

Angels merit more than just the ramblings of a fool.
So I send forth everything else in more than words.

Yours truly and unexpectedly,
The September Soul

Blank Things

I have no pictures to share because I have no camera because I live by my name which according to Lik Wei means 'prudence'. Ok, 节省.

Things went from normal to complicated in a matter of days. Which is quite surprising considering how these things usually build up. Yes I am intentionally referring to the things as things in order to be discreet and invoke jealous curiosity. Those who know, you are privileged. SHUSH.

Have not been seeing Sea online lately. Shame. I like mentioning little things of little or no significance, for some strange reason. Maybe the things I mention aren't as superfluous as I think they are.

There's this metaphorical scenery in my head for what things are now:

A long road before me; an incandescent sunrise in the distance illuminating the ground with a deep red. To the left, darkness; to the right, light; and above are all the stars telling a story yet to unfold before me.

Only the horizon separates. Divides me and The Things.

Cry

Sitting in silence,
Indirect appraisal.
See the strings of words in the sea of tears,
A thousand emotions unheard.

The little boy trails after the sunset,
Unsure of the purpose he pursues.
Knowing only that it feels right;
His love for all things beautiful.

Delusions;
The boy feels pathetic.
Yearns to be lonely no more,
Cries to the void of the night.

A story of night

The hunter silently surveys her target's garden of dense foliage. Razor was named for her penetrating dark eyes and the single white flame of fur running down her spine. The Assassin's Guild of the forest had acquired information on a con-hare and had sent Razor to eliminate him as her initiation test; she would not allow herself to fail.

From the high rock where she had chosen she saw the solitary sentry patrolling the garden stoically, showing no sign of weariness. Avoiding the guard was not possible to both enter and exit the garden. The titanic bear would have to be removed, permanently.

Taking out the greater beat would not be easy without obtaining an advantage. She watched, made some quick estimations and pounced, howling a battle cry as her feral claws drew blood. The bear roared with fury from the pain and swiped at his attacker, missing by a hair's breadth.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins as Razor circled her adversary, eye unblinking. Her body was tensed yet ever ready to retaliate at the notice of a simple electrical impulse. The bear was berserk with fury. its mouth frothing with pure rage fueled by pain. The bear struck with sheer power at Razor, massive twin forearms slashing the air where Razor was only moments before.

Razor, true to her name, somersaulted into the air and, with surprising grace, sank her mighty claws into the bear's back, sinking her fatal fangs into the bear's neck, vehemently holding on until the bear had ceased its flailing; until it had fallen.

Nursing the deep gash she received during the last moments of close combat, she sensed an approaching presence, steadily venturing closer, as if testing a hot spring's temperature, inching closer, prowling ever just beyond her perception.

The rabbit. He must not escape. Razor dashed to the rabbit hole and struck out at Luckyfoot's resolve, a haunting, blood-curdling howl into the darkness of the hole; a deafening shatter of Luckyfoot's spirit. She heard the faint patter of padded feet.

Ah, the feet of luck held no power over its bearer's fate this night. Razor sealed the only portal to the outside from the home of Luckyfoot, sealed the fate of the unfortunate rabbit. Murderer impending murder; nay, execution. The remnants of Razor's cry echoed in the labyrinth of limbo, further despairing Mr. Luckyfoot with his imminent, inescapable, inevitable doom.

Judgment calls.

***

Mr. Luckyfoot had just collected his take from his store selling the feet of his murdered relatives. It did not matter how many had died: rabbits spawn fast, there was no consequence of great magnitude nor proportion from his occasional massacre. The villagers of his precinct were simpletons and largely superstitious. Luckyfoot saw that, and took advantage, making himself a fortune; nay,fortunes. All thanks to the blood and flesh of his family, so vast it was insignificant.

He had traversed the labyrinth that was his home, grown familiar over the years to find only terror and death awaiting him in his inner sanctum where he hid his cursed wealth. Darkness welcomed Luckyfoot into its embrace, ever silent and unfeeling. The Reaper's scythe descended once more in the home off the unfortunate murderer, a taste of his wrath.

***
Deep inside the humble rabbit hole, a looming shape of shadow lingered, its crimson eyes piercing the darkness like a corona. The darkness seemed to stretch itself, it bared its teeth from the heightened awareness of the hunt, darting through the intricate tunnels at godspeed, with only the power of its nose to lead the way above ground. In the cavern the bloodlustrous darkness had left, there lay the cadaver of the thing once known as Luckfoot, still as stone; dead as a new moon, void of any expression or the light of life it once possessed.

I remember being conned

I remember going to Beijing as a kid. I remember walking down a disturbingly loud street with my mother. Not really knowing what we were going to buy.

We went to this clothing shop run by two girls. They were always arguing about pricing with my mother.

One day they planted a flimsy flask behind my back when i was squatting from exhaustion. I got up and tipped the flask over, getting boiling water on me and fragments of the reflective material inside.

We were forced to pay 50 RMB for that lousy thing. The girl claimed it was family shared.

You wouldn't bring something your family used to work bitch.

You know what you know

You get fried a nice red, maybe brown.
You may look like chocolate, or a lobster.

Share some funny experiences and pranks.
Fool around with just about anything.

People sometimes annoy you,
Yet you don't call them fuckers like you do elsewhere.

People sometimes make you angry,
No grudges though.

The rest of the world doesn't know how hard it is,
You do, but you don't think you're great.

That's life with the fighting musicians.
Some things ARE that simple.

Confessions

I know I have personality fluctuations.
I know I am sometimes if not all the time, fatally honest.
But I look back on the things I say about people and the demeaning comments and the way I make people look inferior.

I feel sad every time I do so.
Because though I was never wrong,
It meant that humanity had no hope left.

Thanks for pretending to be my friends, but I don't need that.
Thanks very much for violating my trust.
Thanks very much for being a gossip whore.
Thanks very much for the labels.
Thanks very much for the isolation.

It made me more than you, and less than you.
It made me nothing.

Everything must die in the end.
I am nothing.
Nothing cannot die.

Tempted to be tempted

Another nondescript week. The usual drill. Except next week school hands us little clips of paper every hour or so for four consecutive days. Poor trees.


I won't admit it, but I do. I want to admit it but the circumstances say no. I am afraid of the repercussions of few words. Simple, but of great significance and magnitude. The ripples morph into tidal waves which turn all into falling dominoes, entropy refuses to listen, refuses to nullify the rising action.

The story's prologue begins with the dying tradition of drenching birthday children. The unorthodox act of soaking boys to the toes and turning girls into transparencies of minute obscenities. Likened to profane speech from an angry absent-minded scholar. It continues with pretentious people, popular pretentious people and the obnoxiously hilarious. Not to mention the material ones. Absolutely horrific, ghastly indeed.

There are many hormones in this story. Some of them being testosterone, estrogen and serotonin. It's a story with many sub-stories about hormonal pathetic schoolgirls with Hopeless Crushes and Feeble Dreams. There are also the Irrational Idolisations, but that is rather abstractly relevant. There is the Common Speech among the boys; games, balls, dissonant chords and sexual desires. A girlfriend too many times unappreciated. A girlfriend all too possessive. And the boys all too tentative and promiscuous. Minus the actual act of intercourse.

The curtains are drawn apart, everything in place but The Budget. The main character's story is yet to be written. The whole panorama of monotony,mediocrity is saturated with utter boredom; inclines one to inquire as to the motives and thoughts of the writer. Who does he think he (or she for that matter) is?

Applause is given, undeserved, unmerited. But no matter, the show must go on. Maverick in the shadows, the master of all, and master of none.

The show must go on.

Unimagine

Had the Kuans and Ngiaos over this evening. Looked like a retard on the er hu and piano. As if reunions weren't awkward enough. Met uncle Hock Beng, aunty Grace and Eujin + girlfriend at Pelita where we met this really obnoxious and belligerent waiter, nearly made us pay twice if not for the invention of receipts.

Morning walk/jog at Taman Tun was exhilarating in its strange ways. Though running with others is a lot more fun. There was this really kiasu 小姐 who absolutely would not let me pass her after she passed me. I confirmed that by walking faster, nearly re-overtook and she sped up like snap.

Have these artistic whims these days. Sometimes its writing, other times its poetry, painting, photography. Desire a decent camera. Pray I strike lottery someday. I WISH.

Must go Pratchett hunting, can never get enough of his work. My grandmother has Alzheimer's but I feel more for Pratchett than her. According to relations, granny was never a great thinker, if she ever thought anything worthwhile. Envy or pity I say?

Relations

Look around the relative's house you're in. Chances are you aren't close to half of them. Maybe nearly every last one. Sucks to only be relatives by blood and name.

Don't really like posting like this. There's no story, no deeper meaning, no purpose, no impact. It sucks to only talk about ME ME ME ME ME. You're not that interesting. Neither am I, but I don't care, you do. Sucks to be you.

Chinese New Year has merely augmented, amplified, intensified the dull pain. This is not a happy post. Listening to my sister on the piano is distressing. Listening to my playing is depressing. =)

I have a niece. I'm old.

Paths taken, paths not

The faint glow of a light, smothered by a sizable chunk of Himalayan salt, an enigmatic sheen of fiery red, its seemingly random shape and craggy, imperfect countenance strangely reminiscent of the sun. Beautiful. Immaculate.

The ceiling fan whirls almost soundlessly above me as I lay still in my warm cavern, a little corner of shelter from the rush of the world. I face the stars that are not, I see the futures that may be in them; or perhaps the futures I want to be. Try as I may I cannot shake the dense illusions which uncertainty brings, a black hole of many things found wanting, many without a name in any language spoken. Turning to my side, I face the blue walls of my shrine of thought, shadowy and ever as pristine. For a fleeting moment I am free of the immaterial shadows the futures cast, until the stars return, dancing before the mirrors of my soul. On the edge of sleep, parallel futures reveal themselves to me, or want to, for they are distant and muffled like listening to someone from across a chasm.

A light filters through the semi-translucent curtains, almost fluid in the half-light, rising and falling with the ever so slight fluctuations of wind flow, like the waves on the beach from a dream of long ago. There was the sighing of the wind, soft and melancholy, the gentle lapping of the waves on my feet as I stare into a shining river in the sky. Far in the distance the birds seek accommodation from an island of choice, discerned without conscious thought, like a dream. The atmosphere itself glimmers, as if saturated with gods and magic.

Dream takes me away. I see fragments of the story (of which little do I remember) of the boy who is me but is not me unfold before my dream eyes. The boy has a snow white cat in his room, which I do not. I ponder the array of possible meanings, the symbolisms. Such a diverse and muddled myriad of possibilities. Everything is in its place and need not be moved. The faraway voice echos, resounds. It calls once more: Time for waking. The convoluted duality of my feelings at the time confused me, maimed my thinking. Too bad; too good.

Waking into reality, the repercussions of dreaming still grasp me in their lazy, yet firm hold. Mesmerising me, dulling my senses. The sun rose; my mind followed dreamily behind, a gray shell. The blinding flare of reality, sans illusions, sans delusions, sans solace, strikes the eye of my consciousness. Realisation, I may yet have to walk the darkest road, the path which descends into fog, untravelled. Uncertainty grips me, an icy hook on my soul.

Prayer. Let all be revealed in time. If so be my destiny to travel the darkest road, or any other, may it be that I do not walk any road alone.

In discord your song sounds true.
Who else can it be but you?
Hear, my reply pure, and true:
A promise. Yes I do.

Written 10th February 2010. Dreaming, again.

Oh Morpheus

Shining through the darkness of my resting place, the gift of sleep descends upon my weary head, blessing me with temporary pause from the rush of the world. Dreams don't come so easily anymore.

A song in A major is a nice one, kinda uplifting, especially if the melody is yours.

I like dreaming. Morpheus is nice to me.

Nocturne at dusk

So I walked out of my sanctuary, out to the open world, with skies now fogged with invisible clouds of industry and machines. Greenery not as alive when the world was only a century younger. The earth barren in all too many places. Nostalgia for the times I never knew strike me, a lightning from a cloud of thought, essence of my mind, the core.

The first road taken. Mortar.
Nondescript scenes pass before my eyes, surreal, a dream almost. I walk on, I feel the wind behind me. I eventually come to the three steep steps to the void between USJ3 and USJ4. The vicinity is serene for some 10 blissful seconds, no screaming vehicles, no people, no sounds but the grace of silence. I think a prayer of thanks for the short but deep serenity. The masses of cars arrived soon after.

The second road taken. Stone.
The gravel beneath my preferred slippers. Thin-rubber soles grant me feel of the ground I stand on. The fine sand born of stone cling to my feet. They massage my weary feet, I carry on.

The third road taken. Grass.
There are two rows of trees on either side. They stand tall and majestic, magnificent in all their unharnessed splendor, bathing in the incandescent sun, reminiscent of the students of life, drinking the sweet nectar knowledge from the bosom of the All Mother. The foliage reflects the sunlight. The leaves they shimmer and in the caressing wind they sway to the song orchestrated by the skies. I long to listen, but I must press on.

The fourth road taken. Reverie.
I think. So many thoughts, only so often weaved into words. I think of the dreams where I see much. I think of the more recent dreams where I see nothing. Perhaps it was you who sealed the gate to my ethereal haven, for you warp my reality into a dream. I think of going someplace far away with you; France, England, New Zealand, wherever time takes us. The road's beauties are never ending, as long as I open my eyes and my heart. Much like your never-waning smile, like an ever full moon, opalescent luminescence, tracing the night sky, hanging in the heavens - a vigilant sentinel, guarding me, my flesh, my mind, my heart, my soul.

I walk on. The song is endowed upon me.
I feel the wind beneath me. I feel the wind all around me.
I am the wind; the wind my soul.
A nocturne at dusk.
My song for you.

Absolved Absence

Band today.
Attendance was horrible. Again.
We practiced sexism super well. Again.
Some of us practiced badly. Again.
People overrode our domination over the hall. Again.

Only one junior other than Shou Heng and Han Jin came today. Red shirted trumpeter.
Also the only junior whose name I feel deserves your attention.

Had my piano class with interesting finger exercises. Talked to Sea Yunn about French, songs and people, French songs but not French people. Talked about assholes. You know who you are.

I don't care much if people are rich.
But you know what I really abhor?
People who don't really have that much money but act like they do.
Changing phones frequently.
Constantly upgrading and acquiring gadgets.
Constantly showing it off then whining when it gets stolen or broken.
Seriously, you're sadder than a depressed robot.
And that's saying something.

Repaired like 5 clarinets for band. Going to repair another soon enough. Cleaned up a 300 series trombone Mr. Mah said was ancient (nearly two decades old) and worthy only of the dumpster. Zhao is now using it. Maybe I should create a saying " Do want, do waste".

Screw all this homework.

Shake the banana

School is tiring as always. Not to mention boring most of the time. *rolls eyes*
PMD was ok for the first day, sucked the second. Speaker has got a firm grasp of the obvious. No offense =)
Pn. Wong got hyper with the snide remarks and chiding. No surprise. Right?

Stayed back on yesterday for the Chess club I don't really care about. I am 3 years out of practice due to lack of opponents. So we (Me, Lee Yuin and Ken Ric) just did something called "entertainment". Definition of "entertainment" here being "insulting Nicholas Tan". We ended up calling him "useless failed senior rugby player". Ok it's an inside joke, don't mind my little musings.

Lent Salmon Fishing In The Yemen to Jo, mother scolded me in the morning for lending it even before she and my sister have finished with it. Opps? Crapped about the book being paper because Andrew Wong asked what's that. We can be so cruel at times. Lame as well.

Funny how the Form 5's now (especially you hormonal boys) have started to eye Form 3 girls. Eh, you can look but don't oogle. I dunno, some of you even have GIRLFRIENDS already. I'm no genius but I think she won't be very happy even if she doesn't mind?

Oh yea btw Sivik homework sucks. So does Moral. And I just abhor Add Math. Physics & Sejarah I comprehend only out of school.
I wanna talk to you so much, whoever you think you are.

My wings clipped; My heart a void; My sight bleak; My memory destroyed

Anticipation overflowed from me from the previous night as I awoke.
Drinking the Rooibos tea I had made, I calmed myself for the run.

Arrived at school and talked a little.
Warm ups and stretching were dully done.
My category was to start late.
I had to leave at 11.

I wanted to run.

It was nearly 10 and P1 had just set off.
Mother came to pick me, hunted for Han Jin who was keeping my phone and wallet.
Said farewell.

I wanted to run.
Anticipation overflowed me.
I couldn't run.
I will never run again.

The bliss of the wind flowing with you.
The sound of the trees whispering.
The beat of your feet against gravity.
Time and space enveloping you.
Nothing on your mind except the hunt.
The hunt for sanctuary.
Losing all troubles and worries, just for a while.
Denied.
Never to run like that again.

They all came back, but only after lightning struck their wings.

Fuming

Fumes of sulphur dioxide filled the noses of over-enthusiastic 5B students.

Had a long day. Only Pn Shanta's class was truly enjoyable. (as usual)
Sleepy whole day and I don't really feel up to cross-country tomorrow.

Gotta leave school at 11 tomorrow. Mum has got work, ugh. Stay till 1.10? Sure, as long as you pay for my piano class and employ my mother with gross income of at least 5k not including allowances.

Class received Valentine's Day order forms from St. John and Interact today. Fuck you Valentine's Day. Lonely Valentine's Day again? Sure thing, just don't shove your bloody short-lived hormonal love under my nose. Yes I hate people who can't appreciate the relationship they have, or are stupid enough to take hormones seriously.

Han Jin has got epic crapping skills. Hey sexy.
Had a suspicion yesterday which I confirmed with Wei Loong today after school. Funny how obvious things looked to me even with indirect questions from me and not so indirect gestures made by him, so obvious it was almost funny. You people who know what I'm talking about(the whore), SHHHHHH...

These three roses crossed over my heart. One for the past, one for you to remember always, one for me to forget. I send wings to watch over you.

Gone Again

Went for band yesterday. Mother insisted on walking. Got there and saw the group doing warm ups. Scuttled over to join in. Vincent told us to run 10 rounds, no cutting line. Big wave of protests.

Ran 10 rounds or so. Went and cleared the residue of the dead cat with Han Jin, Lik Wei, Shuang Yi, Shou Heng, Nelson and Guo Qian the Form 1 guy who both called me "斯文" and accused me of being a Form 3. We have to work together to make things happen. Yes, band members require so many hands and heads just to do a cleaning job.

Played Isabella. Fairly simple though I played a succession of semiquavers a little slow. Saxes kept screwing something so I played the same bars over and over. Got scolded for playing "wrong rhythm". Se Ying introduced to us me, Wei Liang and Zek Zhao something called band language. All you say is Ta,Ka,Tang,Un,U. Our greatest swear word is:

"NELSON TANG"

Went straight to piano class stinking from practice again this week. Teacher reprimanded me for not practicing the piece he gave me. Got a Czerney and Petite Mari, Petite Femme-duet. Did sight-reading which I kept backtracking to correct mistakes and got forced to go on again and again.

Borrowed clarinet from Aik Hooi. Thanks la. I will take care of your baby.

Went for morning jog at Bukit Kiara today with mother and sister. Met Aunty Lee Chen while walking. Chatted for a while then ditched mother behind to jog with her. Covered 2 rounds before going for breakfast. Did not get tired.

Returned and prepared to prepare lunch. Not looking forward to school. Not unless you've got something fun for me. Ok maybe I'll go see my crappers. Maybe I'll start doing Moral and Sejarah. Maybe I'll even attend tuition classes I don't believe in.

Looking for more inspiration for my writing. But people are so dull these days.

小姐

That's what Mr. Mah called me when I played Colours of the wind. ==

Little Form 1 Pengawas Percubaan and new band member called my face "斯文" today. Didn't know how to react.

Dealt with a dead cat yesterday, got sick from the full blast of the miasma. Wee Ren too, nearly vomited and ran away but he stayed. Big hero. =)

Got to school late today due to sickness and all 3 alarms in the house konking over one night. Went into school with Tsui San and Zhee Laine greeting me with smiley faces and shaking heads. Prefect mercilessly copied my name down. But who cares, I'm nearly never late.

Had homework for every subject today. Thanks Pn. Shanta for making me laugh like shit.
Band tomorrow. Gonna kill maggots, weeeee.

Call me stalker huh?
You want a stalking demonstration, you'll get it.
Trust me, I will scare every last one of you.

Belle

Had 4 free periods today in the absence of Pn Sujatha.

During Chemi me and PST Leader 4 *ahem* Jzensen had a wonderful time deciphering Pn Poh's exceptionally beautiful writing. A lot of homework.

Went for EST and then opted out with PST Leader 4 *ahem hem hem* JZENSEN. Went and hung out with him and Kenny at Bilik HEM for a bit.

Saw the E class big gang coming for Leo/Interact outside while waiting for transport. High-fived Hon Vee. Tsui San said "Jingle Bells" to me again. Feigned ignorance.

Have a sudden desire to spin my web of tales again.
I heard that an English major teacher in SMK USJ12 spelled "animals" as "aminals" and "appreciate" as "appriciate".
Epic.

Comment from a Muslim on the "Allah" issue, in reply to a comment and Sea Yunn's recent post.

"Anonymous said...

To Rentap,

Your 'If you are not a muslim, you will never know..' comment is very uninteligent and in poor taste.

What the writer of this blog is ultimately addressing is why the need to burn down other religion's place of worship. It is henious, shamefull & the greatest of insults. Shame on us indeed. For a drop of an ink, the whole milk is spoiled.

I am a muslim, & i uphold much respect of other religions as is practiced & encouraged by our great prophet Muhammad S.a.w (pbuh). Take for i.e the 'Constitution/Charter of Medina'. In that constituion, the prophet Muhammad (pbuh) states that i will protect the non muslims (jews, kristians & pagans) as i would protect my fellow muslims for all of thee are my citizens. All have the freedom of practice their own religion, freedom of property, freedom of work etc. Im sure you as a fellow muslim as well are familiar with this for it was taught to us in school. NEVER is a place of worship of another religion is destroyed during the prophet Muhammad (pbuh) time even in times of war.

However, i do need to point out that the way the author start this post in the first paragraph is poorly done as well. Mind you, dear author, the word Allah is not a 'Stupid word' as you put it. It carries great weight to many people. Please do not succumb to become those of the ignorant & disrespectful, even though it is not ones intention. Please have a care.

I do commend her though for a 16 year old,(though much to learn) her stance is correct and should be encouraged. Reason & civilised discussions/debate is always key.

Cheers to all & blog author.

Ariff ;)"

Listen to the wise man Ariff, those who call yourselves Malaysians.

Happy Birthday Voon Yee.

Your daily dose of crap from the average hyper crapper

I woke up this morning with the stomach ache from the previous night lingering until lunch.
Ate a piece of peanut pancake and a packet of breast meat chicken rice.

Onlined and had a chat with Sea Yunn, Thye Way and Aik Hooi. Crapped a little, talked about stuff a little.
I wish I could be less serious but life won't let me.

Went to Klang to take sister out of the place some people call a hellhole better known as Sekolah Menengah Hin Hua. Went and had an early dinner of Bak Kut Teh. Don't really enjoy the meat, took lots of the rest. After the final round of chinese tea, we left for Tesco.

Bought lots of junk food. I looked myself in a mirror in the hypermarket and for a moment wondered who the hell is that.
Suddenly missed 林汗巾 (yes I know that's not your name) and his crap about 古古老 and 丢多.
I was driving the trolley around and many people just didn't choose to realize that I was pushing a trolley around and so I had to strive to avoid their sorry bums and ankles. You're lucky I don't take your ignorance as an invitation to ram your ass.

Another random realization that I've touched female underwear 2 times, banged my left toes 2 times in the same spot and went to Hin Hua twice today. Onlined twice, got hyper twice, blogged twice..... All in one day. Yes I am that bored.

Need to find something else to think about.
Save me please.
DSLR, Macbook, Sax, SPM, Clarinet, Flute, Euphonium, SPM, Trombone, Drums, Music Theory, SPM, Piano, Band Competition, College Course, SPM, Books, Er Hu, Harmonica, SPM, Orcarina, Fix handphone, Sleep, SPM, Friends, Boredom, Crapping, SPM, Money, Delicious food, Driving, SPM.

WHERE IS MY SUNSHINE?

Bandages for the bandie

I woke up Saturday morning and did a little Math and Add Math.
Thought about what this year will bring again.
Got a pretty good idea what I can expect, including a big scolding from Pn. Shanta.
"How come you are out of class all the time? You are the AJK la hello. I am very fussy about students missing my class."
Or similar.
Sorry.

Walked over to Petronas USJ4 to wait for Chin Yi's mum. Saw Jit Qi pass by I think. Reached school and saw Zhao waiting for his bottle from the Shers' mum outside the gates.
Randomly noticed that many members were wearing the Drill Squad t-shirt.
I still think it's ugly in a way. Stupid correction square for "square".

Did warm ups in front of some new members in the hall and did push-ups, stretching and sit-ups for the first time during band practice in a long while.
Girls having period (or not) are excused several rounds of those I'm sure.
Ran around the hall blank-mindedly, didn't care how many rounds I ran.
Among the first to finish though I really don't care.
Made me feel better, cleared my mind a little.

Transferred stuff to Taman Herba. Saw the horde of new members sitting down in front of Mr. Mah. Watched them practicing under the sun while Mr. Mah advertised his music tuner which I hope is not Made In China.
Watched them under the sun even more during song practice.
Watched both juniors and seniors after finishing my practice on the new song. Sat near the benches next to Wei Loong trying not to think.

Mr. Mah passed me "United Nations" to replace missing scores. No Havana Express or Banana Express for me please I have a life of eating and sleeping beyond writing scores out.

Waited outside for transport with Marcus, Zhee Laine, Tze Jing, Wee Ren, Zek Zhao, Chin Yi, Pui Yan, Bryan, Wei Loong and Hon Vee. I remember because I had nothing better to do at the time.
I also remember Bryan jumping around like a monkey, Sheep passing by, Pui Yan borrowing my phone, Pui Yan mistaking a car for hers, me talking alot of crap, talking about DSLRs and Mac Books with Zhao and Vee, Marcus talking about Piccolo on the way out, Chin Yi talking really loud on the phone.... Bryan complaining about not having hot girls to look at.

Teacher Anne of Anne Musikschule arrived in a red Myvi containing my sister after only Pui Yan, Hon Vee and Zek Zhao were left. Said my goodbyes and went on the long journey to DJ.
Met new piano teacher who is a Master in Piano Performance, Chee Yean. Had alot of sight reading. Did Mazurka in G minor and a Haydn piece.

Went home at about 5. Had glass noodles which made me sick until this morning. Showered since I still stank from morning practice.

Very nice day compared to the rest of 2010 really.
Very nice.

How the maniac began again

Went to market this morning. Came back home and did some cleaning out on the porch and *OMG* I found a bee's nest dangling from one of the hanging plants. Kinda big too. My garden has had spiders, millipedes, earthworms, snails, fish, wasps, bees, dragonflies, butterflies, used to have chickens visiting, 3 generations of cats coming to give birth and what next? Dogs? Cows?

ELIFANTAY? CHIHWAHWA?

New year was pretty uneventful. Stayed home and ate home cooked food, had some online goodness/badness, watched Corpse Bride (again). Hardly slept I think.
I remember when we used to stay up all night every new year watching the countdown on TV. Maybe some movies or something and little snacks. No more though.

Found out last night that the Backstreet Boys have an album called This Is Us. It's amazing really how they lasted so long. Used to be such a sucker for their music. Still like it.
Oh ya, only hormonal girls and wannabe boys like Backstreet Boys, yea yea I've heard that shit before.

Look forward to writing "05-01-09".
Then grab your liquid paper and mutter to yourself.

"05-01-10"
Yes, the fun's over already, shame.