Sunday, January 28, 2007

Luck o' the Tairish.

I strode onto the field today, the wind gusting, the birds chirping, the sun in the sky shining down and setting upon the horizon. It was a breezy, calming dusk; one of those Sundays where nothing seems to be set in stone. I don't particularly like Sundays because they remind me of the fast-approaching Monday, but I'll grant today as an exception. The only thing missing from today was a deck chair, a can of shandy and a self-serviced car wash...and maybe a barbecue.

Getting an exciting life in the suburbs of Kuala Lumpur requires a bit of work. Since I don't have many concerns regarding my fitness, I can't be bothered to trudge to 1 Utama for rock-climbing. I don't really want to go outstation for too long because I'd rather sleep in the car than drive. And when it comes down to it, the one thing that you can do which is somewhat cost-efficient, which borders on being a highlight of a weekend is going to the mall. Where everybody else just seems to be at the same time.

If I had the resources, I'd have a weekly barbecue-cum-PS2 fest which involved small quantities of alcohol, lots of blokes, loud banter, sausages, music and performances. I'd throw a weekly gig...if my house was big enough (and if I found it within myself to make more friends). The only girls that I'd invite would be the interesting ones and pretty ones, because I'd want my Sunday to be refreshing. The standards for the men wouldn't apply; blokes are blokes.

The party would start around brunch and end at sunset, whereby the camaraderie would be gone but never forgotten, only to be carried over to the next week. A fellowship of revelling would be established, and after a period of time, it'd end up being one of those classy shindigs that we always see on MTV. I'm not thinking about Spring Break, but maybe a toned-down version of Seven Days in Sunny June. Unless my home's a palatial estate...then we're going all the (Jay Kay) way.

If you like it, you do it.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Digs.

There's a line that's usually crossed when a statement of opinion enters a territory that would vaguely be considered defamatory. I suppose that a lot of things can be said, but I don't understand why an expression of opinion would be considered to be malicious and worthy of legal action to be taken against it. Nonetheless, we'd always take the context of the situation into account in order to measure the brevity of the statement made.

Keeping that in mind, I don't see why Jeff Ooi and Ahiruddin Attan should be sued. And a part of me doesn't appreciate it that certain people insist that those who need to express themselves must be responsible about what they say. It might be weak, but I believe that we say what we do simply because we do, be it online, in private, or publicly. At times, it might even spark off a healthy debate, or at least garner some cheap laughs. Or even try to capitalize on shock value. Freedom of expression is limited, which is certainly understood. I'm even quite sure that we're grateful of what we can get here. But it seems extreme to punish those who would stand to share their own views so indiscriminately; the means may be debatable, but it's so sad to see two blokes with something to say being given so much shit for it.

There's a certain amount of disbelief that needs to be taken when accessing anything via alternative means...you've got to take it with a pinch of salt. It's bad enough that the mainstream media in Malaysia already needs the vetting of the Government; now the alternative media is threatened. There might come a time when what we say and do online is policed. It'd be more than uncomfortable to learn that a situation like that would be inevitable.

I don't believe everything I read. But to paraphrase the Rolling Stones, it's good to get a fair share of the views. It's good to know that there're people who're as cynical as I am when it comes to certain things. And it's good to know that there're people who're willing to share more than what we're feeded in the mainstream. The onus is on our interpretation of what we digest, on what we believe. I think there're more than a few of us who mindlessly accept what we read from alternative sources; it's not as if we're believing it for the sake of it being alternative.

Who's more foolish? The fool, or the fool who follows him?

It's such a funny little country sometimes.

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Monday, January 22, 2007

Choked.

Okay, let me say it bluntly: life is (currently) good. Although my occasional state of mind is questionably warbly, I can safely say that everything's fine. I haven't had any niggling worries crop up over the last week, and it's come to a point where I can't even find anything worthwhile to say besides giving tips on How To Make Your Girlfriend's Mother To Like You, which I won't do, because it's quite passe.

I know that I'm the one who finds a temporary, easy-fix solution to weasel his way out of a problem. I don't see what's wrong with it, either. I also like passing the blame onto somebody else when an instance of finger-wagging is called for. My nature of never assuming responsibility has always gotten the better of me; but I've always conjured up consistent and feasible scapegoats and diversions.

It's hardly a case of being a mad genius. I like to think that I know what my role is, and I play it like a seasoned thespian. Life has a certain Shakespearean quality to it, and I'm only trying to maintain that quality, and to make people's lives just as interesting.

I am a tinkerer, simply because I like to tinker, and I have naughty hands, and naughty fingers.

I am a conjurer, simply because I like to make things disappear and reappear at my very whim.

I am a barrista, because I can make the best cheap coffee of my generation.

You need me.

I might not be your King today, but there's always the possibility of a road that leads to my Rome being built tomorrow. And unlike the Rome of yore, my Rome stays.

Fetch my crown and cape. We're going to a funktion.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Benetton.

My aunt and uncle are a pair of (somewhat) Chinese extremists. I've taken it upon myself to not have children (at least raised around them) until they've either moved out or passed on. I can't take the risk. Call me an eternal optimist, but I don't want my children raised in a country that has so much intolerance brewing underneath. The government might harp on about how we're a diverse, multicultural pot, but at the end of the day, the yellows keep with the yellows, the browns keep with the browns and the blacks get left behind. There is integration, but not to the point that would have people left in awe and gushing about how Malaysia is the racial Utopia it's set out to be.

The last two years have given rise to a simmering paranoia. The race card has been played so many times that it's not a novelty anymore. Everyone's looking after their own interests that the country's future is at stake. What about finding ways to secure the future? What about taking action to plug the brain drain? I can count the number of friends I have who're slowly, but surely, leaving. For good (even if they don't know it yet). And the truth is, I envy them. Because if things keep on going the way they do, the shithole's only going to become deeper.

Regardless of whether you're an idiot riding precariously on a motorbike, a master of feng tau, or a Raju with bellbottoms, we're the sad, fucking future of this country. I doubt we'd ever fall into a dystopian, post-apocalyptic police state, but the only evil we could be accused of now (and in the future) would be our comfort in our ignorance and our myopic mindsets.

It's amazing, how time and again, our parents tell us of better times in the past, even though we've gained so much since then. There wasn't just tolerance and respect back then; people made a fucking effort to understand each other, and appreciated the differences.

I could probably end this with a line about reaching out and touching someone, but it's an unenviable position we've backed ourselves into. Not that anyone would care, really. We're too busy looking after our own territorial shit.

Who're you going to blame?

Monday, January 15, 2007

Headfirst into the idiot box.

This is going to be a start of a very, very heavy period. 24 has come back. Heroes is returning next week. The O.C.'s about to bid us adieu. American Idol's just around the corner. Lost becomes found in a month (bad pun, I know). Boston Legal's just returned from its winter break. And I've picked up watching Entourage again. All this, and the fact that my torrents won't move as fast as they once did...or at least as they did immediately before the earthquake wrecked it all.

I hope they restore broadband connectivity to my standards: the world of trackers being instantaneously found and connections being established. Speeds weren't off the hook back then, but at least they were quick to begin and were stable. I miss the world pre-earthquake.

Thanks to that period where it's imperative, nay, essential, to have a stable broadband connection coming up, I suppose I can say that I hate Taiwan even more now. Damn you, Land of Acer! Damn you, Land of Maneater!

One can only pray for me. I know of others who've discovered restored connectivity.

I have to be next. I have to.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Fleeing doesn't always amount to failing.

I'm not a brave person. I have a fear of heights, and I'd probably try my best to escape from a physical confrontation.

Unless the other party was smaller than me (I'd at least try to hold my own if that occured).

We're often given two choices in life: to run away or to hold our own. We're given the parade if we hold it out and win, and we're despised if all we can think about is our own well-being. I suppose that it's the price you pay for what you'd done to reach that point.

Granted, situations like these are context-sensitive; the opinion generated would depend largely upon the brevity of the situation.

The bigger part of me feels tired to live up to expectations simply because I want to stop trying to live up to them. I don't want to be patronized. I don't want to be encouraged. I just want to be left alone. But obviously, the logic circuit trips in and I realize that success can't be attained without living up to, or (as is the usual case) exceeding expectations.

Troubling, isn't it? I'm rather happy with most aspects of my life. I can safely say that I've provided myself with a viable escape plan, and a means of continuing the lineage. I'm this close to financial semi-independence. And my father even likes me, for a change. Things are shaping up.

I can't stay 16 forever, let alone 23.

It's just that I can't resist the temptation of just packing it all up away and just leaving it the way it is...the way I always leave things: unfinished.

All packed up with nowhere to go to.

Typical.

Friday, January 12, 2007

Imbued.

I'm currently filled with a can of Red Bull, two cans of Pokka Iced Coffee, RM 10 worth of Jusco sushi and three days of daylight. I haven't had a good night's rest in three nights, and the bags under my eyes are gradually sinking into a nice, shit-brown hue. I've just completed my (tastelessly done) part of my Int'l Business Management assignment, and I hope upon all hopes that my group can pull together later in the morning and submit the sucker a day early. Nobody wants to visit college on a weekend.

Nobody.

Group work usually calls for a melding of minds and lots of cordial banter, with the thrill of achievement meant to spread like wildfire among all who'd cross its path, and vigorous discussions being the highlight of our days.

What utter, utter bollocks.

I don't like having to rely on people when it comes to assessment work; and granted, I don't want people to rely on me, either. I sincerely hope that my lack of initiative hasn't caught on in my group...but I have the inkling that everybody's just as demotivated as I am.

It's good to know that I'm not alone.

It's time to shit now, bye-bye.

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Old lady rescue.

There's always a wave of cynicism that washes over you each time you visit any charity home; most charity homes seem to be well-oiled machines (no matter how sorry the state that they're in), and it's natural to start doubting where your money ends up, and how deep the rabbit hole lies if certain homes are taking advantage of good-intentioned donors and volunteers.

Thankfully, the Selangor Family Aid Association looks genuine. On Tuesday, a small number of us returned here to make an overdue delivery of goods and money collected from the funds raised during the Charity Bazaar. Philanthropy feels good. It's that same sensation you get when you help a blind person cross the road, except multiplied tenfold. At the risk of sounding blindingly optimistic and incredibly naive, you know that you're making a small difference.

We came across this elderly woman at the home, who wanted a ride to Gohtong Jaya (near the base of Genting); we were headed straight back to KL. We settled towards giving her a ride to Petaling Street, where she'd find her way back home by catching a bus. Funnily enough, my initial reaction was to refuse her, but seeing how I wasn't driving, I didn't want to say anything. I suppose that offering her a ride felt like a burden to me, and a severe monkey wrench to our trip home (we had to enter KL instead of just using the highway to go straight back to our destination of Cheras).

I can't really say that it was an extreme test of our patience (she kept to herself and didn't really make much noise), and looking back, I don't really see why I felt so apprehensive having a stranger there with us. I suppose it was the perceived burden of having to perform the task in the first place that got to me; at the very least, we saw it through.

My grandmother was in paralysis for over a decade before she passed away; my uncle tended to her every need. When my grandmother went, my grandfather stopped bothering to survive and became unsound, thus requiring even more care. My maternal grandfather lost it as well; he was admitted into a nursing home and we discovered that he was suffering from Parkinson's, and maybe slight dimentia.

I'm pretty sure that I'll face the responsibility one day, when my parents eventually break down. And when it comes to my turn (you can't escape the inevitable), I can only hope that whoever's taking care of me would reciprocate what I did for them. It's only natural when it comes down the line.

If you're able to, you can help. Not just for the bragging rights (I have this mindset when it comes to Rotarians), but because you know that you were able to get your hands dirty and dig deep when it was needed. It doesn't matter how much you did, because you're bound to do even more in the future.

We'll probably mutter and grumble about how it's a pain...about how much of a burden it can be. But I feel wonked out about how sorry I feel for myself after I think of the burden that they have to carry on an everyday basis.

In the end, it's good to help.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Toodles & Malie (Part III).

Let me tell you this: I love the kid as if he were my own son. I might be a wisecracking anthropomorphic rabbit, but I know love like you people do. It's in my nature; it's in my veins. I'm a mammal. Warm blood runs through my veins, and is dispersed among all the pressure points, just like you. I might be a figment of the boy's imagination, but he needs me. I've seen him grow up, from a midget who was allergic to anything, to an insecure young man, who's allergic to life as it is.

Without me by his side, he'd slip into despair. He would've lost it a decade ago. It's bad enough that he'll never be able to achieve his idea of physical perfection (he's a round one, he is), and it's bad enough that he can't hold a steady job without being bounced out of it. The boy is a born loser.

A LOSER.

That's all he is. That's all he's going to be.

I only want to open him up to new avenues of expression. He's too uptight for his own good. This whole self-righteous thing makes me wary. My friends on the astral plane have a good chuck every now and then when they hear me with him. They say that I can't teach him the way that they do. They say that although they're imaginary, they're broken through their hosts' shells and made them...blossom.

Such a girly, disgusting, filthy, gay word. Blossom.

I just want the boy to be a MAN...to set him down the right path. His increasingly effiminate nature makes me sick. I don't mind that he doesn't want any cigars. I don't mind that he doesn't drink. That doesn't make a man.

What makes a man is the initiative to stand up and get somewhere. And he doesn't have that. And the worst part is, I can't give it to him...because he won't let me.

The little prick. That ungrateful fucker. He needs to open himself up. Not just to me, but to everything around him. He has to see that if he keeps on going along his way, he's gonna be stuck in a vicious cycle. He's going to be finished.

And when that happens, even his imaginary anthropomorphic rabbit friend isn't going to be able to bail him out of the shithole of a life that he'd be forced to submit to. I wouldn't be able to do anything about it. And the Powers-That-Be (those shitheaded, bureaucratic uppities) would be laughing; my license to an existence would be revoked. And for what? An ungrateful cabbage patcher who didn't have a chance in the world?

Fuck that. I'm a talking, walking, fucking rabbit. I might be short, but I know how to use it. And I gotta make this boy open his eyes.

You might question my methods. But my heart is certainly in its right place. Good cop, bad cop. I do what's got to be done. Because it's the only way.

I'm Toodles.

And I'm here to save the world. Starting with this loser.

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