12

No news is, as they say, good news.

And this is especially true of me, and this half-arsed blog of mine.

The days and the weeks preceding my return from Sydney has been marked by a distinct lack of posts, with as many as one in thirteen weeks.

This is not because I have found another source for an outlet, not because I started a ‘secret’ blog with a corny, melancholic URL, and not because I found someone to talk to —if you seriously thought of me as that sad a sod, well then, it’s you who needs someone to talk to =)

The simple truth be told, life really has been good to me lately.

I’d like to go on about the warmth of home, of family and friends, the company, the coffee, the car, the speakers and the DAC, me having gained 8kg from the weights and the whey, and hundreds and hundreds of other such details, but I shall digress and leave it as such.

I have had no realisation so deep nor revelation so profound that I needed to ponder or write out in words. I have lost the necessity to use the word processor and subsequently visit this place post-completion.

So with things the way they are, this trend will set to continue into the foreseeable future; and seeing how I will not be around (that is, won’t be around and can’t be bothered enough) to write something that sums up the past twelve months in reflective reminisce, but as is tradition to do so, this will serve as the rojak post that will accomplish that sub-task as well.

I am reminded to the lyrics of a song that goes:

But before I learned to listen
And if indeed someone said it
Then I guess I must have lost it on the wind

Still, all in my own time is all in good time I suppose.

As per the short, succinct (or possibly shadowy) theme of this post, it is to end here without much ado, or glossy detail. Perhaps indifference would best characterise my current attitude, and if so, would anyone blame me? =)

Liquidity

The third 17C night in the middle of spring. In my room at this end of the world, its quiet, solemn and cold.

Cold.

Old wounds and past mistakes have a habit of catching up to you from time to time.

Today, yesterday, are one of those times.

Regrets, mistakes, what ifs, the many maybes and could have beens start to swirl into a tornado of distress. I think, I wonder, I wish… but what good does that do?


The shot glass, the beautiful golden hue, the woody aroma… this isn’t the first time the thought has crossed my mind today.

And it wouldn't be the last.

I can survive without it, I tell myself. Repeatedly.

Equilibrium

 
Spring.

Spring has come, and brought along with it baggages from the past. The hot, suffocating dry air is a constant reminder of how things used to be twelve months ago.

So what better way to revisit past moments than with songs from the period?


I thought to myself what it was like. I thought to myself all that had happened. I thought to myself, and nodded.

I have come a long way. I have grown, and let many, many baddies go. I am also stronger, and much more seasoned than I was before —the crises of life have made me more hardy for sure. So many things in the world can hurt me no longer. I am not a mess with my emotions. I don’t easily fall into fits of depression. Or bouts of hate.


Life at the moment isn’t half as good as it can be, but neither is it half as bad as it would seem. With only a tiny bank account and a somewhat busy academic semester, life has been lived pretty much without the frills or the excesses of greed and desire.

It’s just me, my family, a few lifelong friends, the books, the weights and the whey. And of course, the sporadic excursions with my ageing d-eighty, which is still rolling out them day-lit scenes wonderfully well.

Really, I wouldn't want anything other than this simple, lean and drama-free existence.


Now, if only I can find an answer to the age-old “meaning of life” question.

Pages

     
For so many nights I have laid there under those sheets.

The cold, blissful silence of the wee morning hours have always been conducive for aimless contemplations of the mind. 

You know, life’s pretty surreal sometimes.


What’s all this for?

No, really, tell me what is all this for?

A fat pile of cash? A comfy, luxurious life to grow fat and complacent over? A lifetime of achievements that mean nothing to no one but yourself on the day you are forced to shut your eyelids for good?


I used to bubble with altruism. I used to think of “to make the world a better place” as the most noble, most utilitarian cause an individual could ever aim to live for.

Perhaps a truly significant contribution that will fundamentally change the way we live our lives for generations to come. Perhaps a one-inch equation of five variables that will permeate through humanity for millennia. Or perhaps ambitions less lofty; perhaps to just go, leaving behind a variety of chemicals that register as positive memories in the grey matter of family and friends.  


Laughable, isn’t it?

You grow up only to realise that so many things and so many people are already well beyond reprieve. So much is already cast in stone, so much is not worth trying for to begin with.

And what does it matter, when life as a whole means so little? Beneath delusions of an afterlife, beyond the corruptive lure of wealth, ego and power, after the passing of lust, sex and love, what else is there to life?

You think I’m the lone idiot who is paying the price for being a faithless, non-believing atheist, but I’ll tell you this: if all the things I said above weren’t true, none of us —not even the most religious fanatics— would fear death's call.

   

Cavities

I wake up to a sunny Sunday morning, somewhat warm, somewhat humid, but under a perfect blue sky.

It seemed just like one of those Sundays I used to have back home, back when I was still a teenager all those years ago.

The lunches with my parents, the air-conditioner, the blistering speed of my top-of-the-range computer, and Far Cry. And not to mention, the angst.

I suppose it happens to everyone. I suppose that as we grow, we learn that people will inevitably disappoint you, somehow.

Along the way, we learn that beyond people, many of the things you dreamed of too, once within your reach/possession, you will realise that they weren’t all that they were cracked up to be, and that they probably weren’t worth one bit of the time and effort you had put in.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps its just me. Perhaps people truly are happy with their dreams.

I suppose its obvious that its just me who finds just about everything a huge, giant, pathetic sham.

Surely, there has to be more to life than just prejudice and hype? More to our existence than just hearsay and uninformed gossip? More to us than just make-believes that don’t make sense? More to our skulls than just a runny gunk of grey matter?

Last Legs

 

My recent disgust and distaste at almost everyone around me has been the cause of a huge self-driven mental and emotional wall.

This walled-garden of mine is serene, quiet, and predictable.


But this forced, self-imposed isolation is a lonely and testing existence.

You tend see all those around you in a considerably less-than-favourable light, and the cycle continues, deepening into ever more catastrophic feedback loops.

Can’t exactly say that I’m delighted or pleased at the current situation, but I’d rather it be so than to stoop down and accept alien values, ideals or realities for which I do not share, or beliefs that make every sinew of my soul cringe at the sheer monstrosity of their absurdity.


I was once passionately empowered against religion, against the belief of imaginary omnipotent men/women/being[s] floating in the blue skies above us, and I thoroughly railed against the people who lived their lives under these ridiculous little umbrellas of illogic.

That was one lesson in life I never forgot; I still haven’t the slightest respect or regard for religionists or believers. The greater their beliefs, the farther I wanted to be from them.


Today, I am empowered once more.

Today, I say enough to stupidity.

I will not be cowed into accepting nonsense, misinformation, prejudices or idiocy, just because that’s how the way the world is, or just because that’s the norm.

There is a better way than this.

 

Spheres

 
I find myself drowning in a sea of mediocrity.
 
An endless continuum of boring people.

Pathetic ones who cannot for the life of them stand up to their own judgements. Pathetic ones who cannot for a moment see beyond the facts and figures that lie before them. Pathetic ones who cannot overcome their ridiculous little prejudices that reside deep within themselves, even though it is ironic that, for the most part, these are the very same people who’s very existence has been the subject of such prejudice and discrimination.

In this huge chasm of differing values and idealism that separates me from everyone else, I feel the four walls closing in.

I feel alienated; trapped in a reality I cannot un-clutch myself from. 

Suffocating in these vile waters, I so hope and wish I could be home where love and warmth and material wealth and time run abundant.


Tonight I again write by the yellow lamp, not unlike how I did all those posts from this time last year.

Tonight I wished I had huge concentrations of alcohol gushing down my bloodstream.

Tonight, those two bottles of Budweiser left in the fridge from my past habits cannot seem more appealing.

But such is not to be.

My Fascist regiment of four-hourly meals of carefully choreographed pro:carb:fat amounts in perfect ratios and the weights and the jogs would all make alcohol the most blasphemous of things I could ingest.

Such then, is life.

No Place Like...

 

I close my eyes.

The images start to flash.

Bright, dull lights hanging high atop the brown pyramidal shell that is the roof. The cold, harsh architecture, the concrete, the grey plastic, the pale marble flooring, the electric mini-train.

Images of my parents, my hands on the thick steering wheel, the odometer, the xenon-lit highway, the hint of palm trees, the valley at night, my cats.

And as if the relentless attacks on my consciousness was not enough, the dreams I dream each night too, are beyond escape.

One wonders if I’d go insane before I manage to even step onto that scheduled -400 jet.

A New Start

 
This is my ninth draft, and is one that I intend to publish, instead of putting to the bin like all the others before. 

I have so much to write about; me being sick of almost any and every one around me, and almost any and every thing.

But nothing I write would be fit for reading.

In between the weights and the jogs, the whey and the Quarter Pounders, the studies and sleep, I have neither the time nor energy for anything else.

I couldn’t for the life of me muster even a coherent post, despite the repeated attempts.



I miss home so much.

I miss my family. I miss the valley. I miss alcohol. I miss drinking with my dad. I miss driving that wonderful car. I miss my closest and best friends.

A few more months to go, and another four subjects to pass.

Life, for now, seems unbearably arduous, and impossibly long.

 

I Made It.

Honestly, I feel like deleting every single post I wrote for the past five months.



Success is sweet, though watching your closest, truest friends and comrades fall most definitely isn’t.

Theirs is a solemn reminder of the grave consequences of not having made it through.

Theirs is a bitter reminder of the human costs behind the thick cold faces of ruthless academicians who trump the “standards” flag.



Where most expected —especially coming from me, of all people— is the relentless gloating and praise of all the wonders and joys of life, there shall be none. 

This seriously isn’t at all funny, or worth celebrating for.



I am lucky to have just scraped through, to have saved a brand new Gen.2 and twelve additional months to repeat two subjects.

These were perhaps the two most expensive marks in my life.

Beginnings

   
Children. They are everywhere around me, lurking beneath ever so thinly veiled membranes, but just peer through the words, the conduct, and right in the depths of those shallow souls is that malicious, malevolent child reigning supreme in them full-grown adults.

They say pain is what we need to grow —that without trauma, or other extraordinary life-changing crises, we’d never learn, or progress above and beyond that which we are.

In recent months, the overarching thought has perhaps been that of immaturity, the (fortunate, unfortunate) need to grow up, not losing one's humanity, and compassion.

Lessons in life... that life is not a fairytale, a romantic illusion, or a fanciful novel, that life is not a house full of comfy beds and giant sofas with an eternal cash tree in the backyard that bears fruit rain or shine, that the world is not a fabulous land of joy and wonder where good and just is always triumphant, or that things will always work out for you.

Life indeed is short —definitely short enough not to be spent over the little things or the little people that bring you displeasure and discontent. And also too short in fact, to be wasted away over the inconsequential, the irrelevant, and the obsolete.

Times have changed.

It's time to grow up.

I’m moving on, and I’m definitely not sorry that a few of you won’t be coming along.

 

Branches

 
Facebook. Wedding. Pictures. And metallic-silver 5 Series’.

I start to picture myself at 35, a rather successful well-to-do engineer, a bachelor pad perched high atop the skyline with spectacular views of the city, and a 5 Series of my own —this the mid-sized executive saloon that has been the unrivalled gold-standard of it’s class for almost three decades, this the model that has made the Bavarian company famous, this the car that has fascinated me since childhood.

A pair of monumental KLIMAX floor-standers with an equally impressive front-end to match, huge portions of glass offering panoramic views in a small, cosy apartment, and an even smaller bedroom.

Dreams, I snap out of my mind-wandering to tell myself.

Dreams that may full well not come true.

Which is also equally fine, I think to myself. Having nothing to do with the flamboyance, the glamour, and all the gay, living a “small” life of bare minimums rid of all excess.

I figure I’d appreciate life —and everything else— more this way; living lean, living clean, and living simple.


But moving a decade backwards to the here and now is July the 14th with which I wait with indifference. As the days draw closer and closer, hope still seems to spring eternal.

Hope that I will pass the two particularly troublesome subjects, hope that a normalised curve will be employed and that it will favour me, hope that things will turn out alright.

But then again, a fool’s hope it may very well be too.

If indeed I fail any of the two papers, my graduation day will be pushed further into the future, the completion of my degree prove to be lengthier and far more costly a battle than what I had hoped or wished for.

But if there is any consolation, it is that the reduced workload of three subjects per semester would make life easier, and give me more time to do the things I want, as well as the life I would rather live.

And if I do manage scrape through without any failures —and heavens do I not hope and wish that I do— then that too, would be a wonderful outcome.

There’s the dream thesis topic I get to do, there’s the huge sum of cash not needing to be used, there’s the whole year I’d not need to spend in university, and let’s face it: who likes the idea (and the consequences) of failing?

 

Automobiles, Thoughts on

  
Cars are many things to many people. For some, it is merely a mode of transportation that ferries them from A to B. Some think of it as an extension to their wardrobe, an empty shell that represents their ‘fashion sense’. Many use cars as instruments to express the depth of their pockets, or their towering heights in the social ladder. Then there are the rare few who buy cars because of the product’s actual performance.

And by “performance” I did not mean 0-60 in four point three seconds. Or four point three one seconds. Not that it matters anyway, since it is unlikely that the vast majority of people who actually care about these things are able to shift gears that quickly to begin with.

Nor are the lap times of a confounded TV-show's test track that does not and will never properly evaluate the “performance” of a car (e.g. the real boys test in Nürburgring and Fiorano). And even at that, it’s not as if 99.9% of car buyers out there are going to race their precious cars in race-tracks every day.

Most would use their cars on the roads to get to work, to pick their kids from school, to live life. And it is in these circumstances that things like NVH and fuel economy, after-sales support and practicality becomes paramount, not what Mr Fuckson said of how fast the car could get round his little circuit.

And thanks to the said arse-head, a horde of other stupid people who think ‘sports‘ is Good, and everything else is Bad, we have manufacturers tune suspension systems so hard and rides so harsh that make these cars (and the people who drive them) a complete joke —outside of Mr Fuckson’s circuit, of course.

Where things count most is where people miss out most: ride, handling, NVH. Nothing is more important than how a car gets you to your destination. People often think that driving/travelling makes them tired, but never have they once stopped and put their “wonderful” car with all the characteristics of a horse cart as the source of their fatigue.

But when they finally do, it wouldn't matter anyhow, since particular non-essential reasons (the vehicle’s excellent fuel economy, *perceived* low maintenance, safety and aesthetic features) outweighs this extremely critical unimportant negative non-issue point.

It’s not as if the 25% savings in fuel costs could pay for the higher priced vehicle to begin with, nor —ironically— cover the cost of the more expensive replacement parts —parts that will have to be replaced someday, either way. Friction, wear and tear, are universal effects that applies to any and every thing. 

Safety is indeed important, and does indeed seem particularly so when airbags explode deploy with metal shrapnels that finishes the driver off when the accident itself did not, while at the same time, so too is low maintenance, especially when the accelerator pedal sinks in on itself, and when the brakes refuse to engage. Pretty hypocritical, don’t you think?

But then again, none of these really have anything to do with the manufacturers in question, since they did have those components sourced from other manufacturers, which brings me to another point: cars these days are just a bundle of parts where no one really makes anything. Everyone makes something. German, Japanese, American, gearboxes, spark plugs, control systems or electronics —you name it. 

Oh sorry, did you actually think car makers made these stuff, and that some make’s “stuff-that-goes-into-the-bonnet-of-said-make’s-car-is-magically-better-than-others”? That somehow, just because it goes into a car from country Y the part lasts longer than the part that went into country X's car? 

Time for a reality check then.

To exchange large sums of cash for a product with it’s make being one of the primary reasons ranks as one of the *MOST* stupid things one could ever do in life. Putting one’s John Thomas in the hands of an insane butcher comes to mind. But then again, I suppose the majority decision is always the right decision, which is why the best argument for democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter. Majority's choice could never be wrong, now can it?^*

I beg to differ.

 

Yellow

 

Issues.

I have lots, and lots of issues.

Childhood was a pretty rough time for me: the targeted isolation I suffered from cousins, the name-calling at school (my middle name makes for easy verbal abuse even for the most uninspired of people) and then, finally, as a teenager completely alienated and disassociation with society as a whole.

It’s three in the morning, and I have a paper to sit for at 8.45, and I haven’t a clue why I need this to be written.

The exams —ah those blasted three subjects— were essentially over and done with on Tuesday, the last of them engineering subjects that one needed to worry over. The two papers remaining I’ve already passed with coursework marks alone: 29/30, 39/40, 10/10, so the marks go.

Almost exactly the way it was last semester, I remind myself.


I have since (the ‘conclusion’ of the exams) been letting almost each and every relationship vegetate away, for in the solace of these four walls and the umbilical cord of glass fibres and pulsating flashes, I have found space.

And serenity.


Hypocrisy becomes of me tonight, as my innate sense of selfishness takes over, yet again. I think to myself the certainty of me dying a pathetic old man, lonely from lack of/non-existent social interaction perhaps not, miserable from the sad state that would become of me in my old age most definitely yes.


Questions, questions, questions, but always without the answers.

Jumbled bits and pieces of incoherence, fragments of discontinuous thoughts, a whirlwind of chaos: one would be right to think that I’m going insane.

But then again, what is insanity when properly kept within the confines of one’s mind? After all, madness and insanity are only relative terms, subjective in themselves.


I reckon the very posting of this entry alone would make it clear that I best be left alone to ponder in my lucid quasi-dreams. Peanut, anyone?

 

Days and Nights

   
Despite what the unending stream of dark and solemn posts would suggest, life has been… fairly good to be honest.

Haven’t had the want/urge/need to drink for what must be close to one and a half months now —so much so that I have decided to use my allocated allowance for alcohol for a tub of protein instead!

I have been eating well, sleeping well, working out, drinking litres and litres of water a day though definitely not studying as well. Strange as it may seem, for the entire past three years, this has got to be THE least stressful and/or pressured pre-exam period I have ever experienced, despite the coming three papers being perhaps the most instrumental in my life.

I feel little, if anything.

Perhaps one day —and one real soon at that if I may add— I will look back at this, and deeply regret my being more concerned with my health/physique than the impending exams, but oh well.

Now I wonder what new is there to watch on Youtube today…  

 

Crystals

 
Memories.

People and places, faces and feelings —things of any and every sort spin through my head like the eternal spin of time’s preverbal wheel.

Back and forth, back and forth, again and again. Clockwork perfection. White, black, past, present… so many things are made so clear where I stand.


Epiphanies. More than anything else, this eight-month period is one that has never ceased in it’s indiscriminate and relentless pursuit in shedding light on as many avenues as there are minutes in a day.

Those who have always been there for me, in times of joy, in times of darkness. Those who were never there, but always were in times of dire need. Those who cared, those who went all out, those who were never calculative. Those who never flinched, those who’s only sole and overwhelming reason was that of love and friendship.

Then those who were the empty shells, the masks behind faces, the hollow vessels. Those who never once lifted a finger, those who never gave a passing thought, a second glance, nor a second chance. Those who couldn’t have cared less, the icy depths of their indifference… not unlike a cold, harsh death by drowning.


Uncertainty is all around me, yet strange as it is that so much can be this clear.

A string of words for this entangled state of flux reads: people, relationships, disappointment, frustration, hurt, appreciation, content, self-greed, choices, consequences, uncertainty, worry, despair, optimism, hope, hatred, anger, defeat, calm, denial, disconnect.


Take no relationship for granted, especially ones most important, most cherished, and most prized. But make no mistake and hesitate not at getting rid of the people who have been nothing more than their eloquent smiles.


A restructuring is called for, and by the time it is finished, a handful of relationships will have come to an end.

Thinking of the simpler times, the innocence, the careless freedom —all if only in song.

Warmth

 
The arrival of winter brings along with it the gloomy, cloudy, grey over-cast skies, the plummeting temperatures, and an unending barrage of drizzle and rain.

It is little wonder that coffee sells so well, and has seeped so deeply in —and has become such an integral part of— the colder worlds' culture[s].

It is close to impossible to get out of bed in the frigid cold mornings.

It is close to impossible to sleep comfortably in the night.



Can’t help but keep thinking about this particular place back home; can’t help but feel distinctly warm and fuzzy picturing this place in my mind; can’t stop thinking, missing and craving the hot and the humid afternoons, with my car’s air-conditioner supplying a perfect stream of breezy cool of air.



 

Eating the Cake

 
Sometimes, I stop and I look, and I then think to myself just how much better your lives have now become, and I smile --I am happy for all of you.

Your lives are now rid of such monstrous academic torment, free of all the unduly pressure and ridiculous stress, emptied of all the painful, obscure, mind-boggling theory, calculation and hundreds of years of humanity’s accumulated knowledge.

I see it in your eyes. I see it in your faces. I hear it in the ways you talk. All of you look so much better, so much more at ease, so much more relieved, so much more cheerful, and so filled with life.


All you who have jumped out of this wretched hell-bound train live better lives now. But on this flaming carriage, there is little life.

In fact, beyond that of academia, there is no life at all.

Many times, I do wonder if I too, should jump. Sometimes, I wished that I too, had called it quits.

But I have already threaded so far down this path —one that so many have said that I neither should or could all those years back. But then again, I am neither closer to the end nor farther from the beginning.

Guess this must be how it feels like to be stuck between a rock and a hard place!

 

 

Cycles

 
Last night was the second I spent drenched in a blaze of alcohol, a state initiated by conscious choice of course.

Sometimes, doing what feels right needs no explanation. And for the past two nights, swirling in pool of quarter-consciousness under the sheets of a 16°C night was something that felt good, and justly right. 

Sometimes, one must accept that there are just too many things in life that one can never control, and can never foresee. We are forced to do things we never wanted to do. We are forced down paths we never chose to take.

We are just little pawns in a continuum of chaotic variables.


I have lost sense of everything.

For once in my life, I know not what it is that I actually want.

For the second time in my life, I am consuming my self like a cannibal.


What if being, studying, and failing in (and perhaps one day graduating from) this tough, glitzy and expensive place isn’t what I want?

What if taking the easy way out, what if a simpler, easier, less pressured and less grand or impressive piece of paper at the end of a three year programme, all the while being closer to home, to the people I loved, and to all joys of a more sane and more ordinary life is what I wanted instead?


Perhaps acknowledging that mystery is an unavoidable part of life is the most sensible thing to do right now. It is, perhaps, the only thing that can be done. Which essentially means doing nothing but to sit here and wait for the hands of time to do their thing.

And hope. Hope that perhaps in time, things will solve themselves out (or not).


And no, I am not as "emo" as I sound =) 
 

Honesty

 

Another bottle of beer by the yellow lamp.

Another passing day.


Alcohol solves nothing they say, but fuck them: it sure as hell makes a difference. I know not the reason why I have managed to --over the past few days-- find so much peace, and so much serenity amidst so much uncertainty, the burgeoning amount of academic work notwithstanding.


I have also realised that so much of these “issues” have been my own doing: had it not been for my selfishness, my wanting the cake and eating it, all this would not be so.

Beneath this shell that perhaps pursues objectivity and rationale at a (somewhat) obsessive level lies an emotional core that isn’t always altruistic, nor cares or loves that much.

I guess inside, I’m just a menacing little kid after all.

But I’ll give you this: I’ve got the guts to admit it.

 

Unbottling

By now I'm sure all of you have seen the next generation iPhone.

I know almost everyone dislikes it, just as I did the first time I laid eyes on it. 

But now, I absolutely love it.

It is a sheer testament to minimalism, and coherence of industrial design across the entire Apple product lineup. I've always hated the 1st, the 2nd, and the 3rd iPhones. I've always hated the potatoes. I've always hated the "classy" silver/chrome livery. 

I recall a documentary that featured Mr Ive talking about design. I remember him stressing how the things that are not needed, are just simply not there. You see the design philosophy in every inch of a Macbook, every Mac Pro, and every iMac that ships: they're simply devoid of the millions of pulsating LEDs and protruding buttons that adorn the body of every other product on the market you see today. 

I simply love the design of the new iPhone. Those of you who don't? Well, it simply boils down to this: sour grapes (yes all you last-gen users, your potato is now obsolete, hail the new brick).

Lines

 
With the renewed sense of urgency, and the crystal clear consequences of me not passing being so real, I put all cerebral engines on full, and pushed on without a care in the world.

But sheer-headed optimism means only so much against the harsh reality that we live in.

Sometimes it gets so surreal: a little unforeseen question that you cannot twist your head to solve, or worse still a little error in mis-substitution, the difference of a single minute negative sign in the equation, that collectively, could mean the end of your hopes, dreams and plans of graduating at what particular time-frame, and consequently, from which particular institution.

Having always stood by the sworn principle of being open to second chances, I find it particularly ironic that it is me who will --with almost all certainty-- not be given such an opportunity myself.

I have worried. I have despaired. I have been distressed. I have tried. I have done much, much more than I will or shall reveal on this open site.

I have not faltered even as I stand against all odds.

But I know: the war has already been lost.

The consequences trouble me to the extent that I no longer want to even think about them. What will be, will be I tell myself. But we all know that that is utter crap, because I will not stand for taking a defeatist attitude when the official white flag has still yet to be raised.

But tonight though, the surrealism took on a whole new depth as I cycled home thinking that in two months time, everything that I now see, touch, smell and feel might very well all be over and done with by then. 

You then realise a whole new layer of detail, like the dry, chilly crispness of the air, the absolute clearness of the night sky, the seemingly larger-than-normal moon, the odd sounds of the passing diesel-powered 5 Series, A4s, Tiguans and Golfs...

But perhaps weirdest of all is the soothing calm that takes you over.

Energized

 
With eyes glued to this LCD and fingers epoxied to this keyboard, I watched as the hours flew by last night.

It was round about midnight when I ended the hour-long call back home.

Then it was one in the morning.

Then two.

Then three.

Then four.

Then, with extreme reluctance, I forced myself to shut the unibody's aluminum lid.

So there I then laid: beneath the moderately thick sheets, in the blanket of silence that was my room, my eyes opened as wide as they could possibly be opened.

I heard my digital watch blurt out one more hourly beep and recoiled in horror when I thought of what time it probably was. 

It was as if only a mere few seconds later that I heard my phone's alarm, and the sun had risen from the night sky, and it was time for class.

A gruesome six hours of Monday classes, with four still to come, but there is neither time to spare -nor time to waste.

Balancing shaft imbalances in the library, with the phrase "I won't go down without a fight" ringing as loudly as it possibly could.

Epiphanies

 
Expectations.

That has been the one single belief that I have held on to for all this time, and has perhaps, been my biggest downfall.

Expectations of academic leniency. Expectations of easy ways out in school, and in life as a whole. Expectations of a rosy future. Expectations of being a rich and fabulous engineer, without hindsight of any/all the pitfalls. Expectations of people.

Reality however, eventually sinks in, and the last of the Titanics that went down the frigid icy cold depths of my local Atlantic waters has all but made this clear: my expectations of life, of people, and of any and every thing around me has grown utterly beyond the depths of realism.

Did I thought that I would graduate from among the world’s best institutions without needing to put in arduous hard work? Did I thought that I would sail through the the entire four treacherous terms here without having to put my life, my pride, and my self-confidence on the line?

Well, it’s time to wake up and realise that the life I have chosen for myself, this path I am heading down and these waters I am steaming through are not and have never been for the light-hearted.

It’s time to wake up and brush all those distractions and illusions and delusions aside, and prioritise on getting through these tough academic yardsticks that by the time I am done with, I would hold in my hands a piece of paper stating: I made it to the finish line.

All other concerns in life can wait till then, all other issues can be decided upon then, all other personal problems can be dealt with then --and only then.

But, if I don’t make it, and if I decide that this is not the path that I truly want, there should not be any expectations that I will pig-head my way down this road either.


  

Threads

I walked out of the library, exhausted from my revision to the thought of going home and taking a nap to end this half of what has been an extremely shitty few days that has led to my being constantly pissy and agitated. 

As I approached my bike, I noticed it no longer had a front wheel.

When we all this end?

As if I was not sick enough of everything already, this had to happen at such a time. 

All the people and all the things around me feel like they are hanging on a very thin thread right now: if I had said one upsetting word too many (or if I had not said or done anything when and where I should have), if I had decided not to care, if I had gotten fed up, if I had gotten tired of everything and everyone, if I really really preferred things to be otherwise, then so what? 

Paths That Don’t Converge

 
These three months have seen me being uncharacteristically calm amidst the mountain of pressure, and (relatively) unfazed, as I stand before the greatest academic struggle of my life.

Even from the very onset of the semester, it was clear that this was to be a war that would prove to be extremely swift, tremendously difficult, and unbearably gruesome.

But it was all just that: always just a lingering thought, one of certain possible failure, of defeat, and of the great financial consequences that would ensue --but nothing, and never more than just a lingering thought.

Earlier today, in a span of a mere four hours and over six pieces of paper, I experienced what it was like to be the instrument of my study account’s considerable implosion.

In the post-exam aftermath, I have felt relieved and glad (that it’s all over), frightened and fearful (of the consequences that now lie ahead), and pissed and upset.

That none of my course-mates --many of them worthy benchmarks-- fared any better than I did is a comforting thought, but it does not change the bitter fact that I will, for the first time in half a decade, founder in school.

Something has changed.

Indeed, the papers have gotten tougher, and even if I were to have put in every single last drop of my soul into it, I would still not have made it. But still, something has changed.

Over the past few months, I have grown increasingly more laid-back, more mellow and more contented. It is not that I have grown lazy or complacent --I can hardly imagine who could in such a semester-- but that I have lost my drive.

I no longer have the energy to fight, nor the energy to pounce. I have been drained of almost every enjoyment. I have been clipped and battered down to an inconsequential rubble.

My heart just isn’t in it anymore.

Since stepping onto that four-engined jet three months back, not a day has passed without me being clouded by the illusions of a career, and of a life that lay in waiting for me back in the tropics.

I have lost track of the world around me, and my goals and my priorities in life. And if the previous post is any indication, it is  that perhaps my subconscious mind is trying to speak.



   

Nights by the Yellow Lamp

 
Never before has this hit my head so hard.

But these past few months have really drove it deep into the contents of my skull, and I think I have finally come to see, grasp and understand it in a profound and fundamental way.

It matters not what your current/future situation in life is, how deep or numerous your relationships are, where or who you are… all these don’t at all make a difference because when the push really comes to shove, we are --each and every single one of us-- truly alone in life.

Alone.

Alone because at the end of the day, it’s your life, your one and only life, and there will be situations that no one else --not even your closest/most loved ones-- but you yourself, who will have to go through.

I feel as if I have woken up from a skewed, rosy imaginary realm into the solemn, sombre awareness of life’s bitter and (often) harsh realities.

Maybe its the duty and responsibility, and having my actions and decisions being so much in direct control of so many aspects and consequences of my life that has given me this new sense of…

A new sense of ...life being not being a bed of roses.

It’s scary, sometimes. The shadowing knowledge of life being so individual, that at the end of the day, it’s just going to be you --you, and no one else.

Life is not a joke.

Acceptance

I regained consciousness in a time period small enough for me to realise that a mere split-second ago, it was the slamming of the door that woke me up from my sweet slumber.

It's a sunny Sunday morning, and none of my 10:00AM alarms have yet rang, so I snuggle under the sheets some more.

I got out of bed and into the toilet, and later, as I showered, I thought to myself why I felt so profoundly different today.

Why did I not feel drained, and emptied of all my humanity?

Why did I not feel despair, and desperation?

Why, I kept wondering.

Then it struck me minutes later, when I recalled what it was that I dreamt of last night: I had just gotten home. I was driving again. I had my hair cut. I had my white coffee. I had my car washed. I was with all the things and all the people I loved. I got to see my parents again.

I was home.

Today, somehow, the thought of not being able to pass two academic subjects seem rather, small. And minuscule. Today, somehow, I am not that bothered anymore.

Perhaps I have finally come to terms with it, and am done with the shock and horror. Weighted academic standings and the huge financial costs notwithstanding, failing two critical pathetic little subjects is not the end of the world.

There are still many decades of life left to live.

And so life goes on.

Times Gone By

It was another one of those nights where I had reached mental saturation. Lost and confused in the jungle of trigonometric mayhem, I was tired and my mind was twisted beyond any semblance of academic sanity.

I --as what I have always done in times like these-- closed the books, the notes, switched off the calculator, and packed everything up. 

I had the table lamp drench this room in it's mellow, soothing 3000K rays, and opened myself a nice bottle of chilled Budweiser.

Going through my -by now rather significantly sized- library of photos, I started off this time from the very beginning.

Pictures of me being seventeen. Pictures of places that are no longer the same. Pictures of people that are no longer with us. Pictures of family and friends and pets that remind you of a life you have all those thousands of kilometers away. Pictures that remind you of the places you went and all the things that happened back then. Pictures of gadgets and possessions deemed so valuable back then. Pictures of irrelevant things.

Pictures.

So much can be captured in pictures: the sights, the sounds, the people, the situation, the words spoken, the feelings felt, the thoughts you had, the dreams you were dreaming.

They reminded me so much of myself in the past, as well as all those around me. It's a stark contrast to the people we are today: so much more mature, so much more grown-up, so much more seasoned, so much more complex, so much... less innocent.

The days and the nights when things were so much simpler, so much more unhindered by so many responsibilities, so much more honest, so much more exciting, and so much more real, well, it's sad, isn't it... that they're all gone?

Food

It's two in the morning.

Having had the disastrous Mechanics II quiz we sat for today that I do not feel bad about since none of my peers did it any better than I did, all that is left is tomorrow's Solids II quiz in the evening.

But I'm tired like fuck, and nothing more is going in. I'm not a bloody sponge with infinite-absorption abilities, and my point of mental saturation was already surpassed last week.

Tired though I may be, sleepy I definitely am not.

I am simply dying for something good to sink myself into. A good blog maybe, by a deep, witty and intelligent blogger. A good book that reflects upon humanity and our horrid lives in insightful ways that I never before realised.

I need a good read -one that will spare the mathematical regions of my brain, yet feed the rest of it with the profound knowledge that I would otherwise not have.

I've visited a trillion blogs, I have gone through pages listing hundreds of "good books", I have searched high and low in any and every search-able domain ...to no avail.

And no, I'm not in the mental frame of mind to open the book by my bed that goes on and on about evolution. Thank you Richard, but no thanks. Not this week, and definitely not tonight.

Sighs. What is a hungry boy to do?

Drifter

It's nine pm on a Sunday night.

I have done litte/no studying today. Or yesterday.

Or even, the day before.

The mere mentioning of the phrase "under mountains of tremendous pressure to perform and to pass in 3300" -as well as the other subjects- is akin to flogging to death the already dead horse one more time.

I have become used to living under the mountain's shadow. So used to it in fact, that I do not even fear living in the darkness anymore.

I have so much energy bubbling inside me. There is just so much I want to do. I want to read up on a good book. And then another one. Maybe even a third after that. I want to travel to the other ends of Sydney for example, and get lost. Taking thousands of pictures along the way, and thousands on the way back.

I want to draw. I am so inspired to take up drawing again, my previous 'personal frontier' -photography- having been conquered (veni, vidi, vici so the saying goes) and a certain Andrew having uploaded his drawings very recently.

I want to write. Write and write and write and write. I want to write on a myriad of issues: politics, technology, the stupidity of Malaysians, and -oh hell yeah- you religionists-die-hards and your ever so contradictory and hypocritical ways.

I want to go home. I want to see the people I love. I miss them so much. I want to see real people, not the fake hollow shells that I am surrounded by. People who actually have soul, people who are warm and genuine.

I want my freedom.

But alas, that all has to wait.

And apparently so too will my revision, as I continue being inexplicably glued to this LCD.

Bygones

“It’s amazing how people don’t change.”

That has been the single one thought that has been banging in my head since I woke up this morning.

A particular conversation last night brought to me a chance rendezvous with my past, and boy was it an insightful one.

Why am I not surprised? Why -more importantly- does the ringing reverberate and resonate so intently within the confines of my skull? Why -above all else- am I even remotely bothered by this?

I know not the answers to these questions, but if there’s one thing I know, it is that I am thoroughly glad that that element of my past is behind me.

Way, way behind me.

Thousands and thousands of miles so, in the dark recesses of the horrendous pit I got myself out of all those months ago.

Each and every day is an opportunity for me to move further and further away from that hell hole, and it is one that I have duly made use of.

Each and every day I grow more and more pleased with the current reality that is my life -a life made delightfully pristine without the presence of those nasty element(s) that I no longer associate myself with.

Each and every day I become more and more glad that there are people like you, you, and you: all the you(s) who have found me, stepped into my life, bringing along with you, and showing me so much love, so much warmth, so much decency, so much innocence, and so much life.

This is a post as much it is about the past as it is the future: yesterday, and today has been a reminder of the past -my past; one filled with a garbage truckload of negativity, and at the same time, it has been a reminder of how much much much better off I now am.

And how bloody lucky I am.

On this track, there is only one way to go -and it is forward.

Strength

Insomnia strikes again.

In the middle of the night, being too mentally drained to study, and too filled with caffeine to sleep, the alcohol is making little (no) difference to me.

In the 3300 tutorial-cum-quiz today, I for the first time in many, many years, felt what it actually was to be so vastly inferior and sub-standard to a certain 'reference point', so to say in 3300-speak.

It was disheartening, and in that blaze of envy, I felt an overwhelming gush of (negative) emotions.

Yes, I'm certainly not the most gifted tool in the UNSW shed. And I certainly haven't all the intelligence in the world -nor even amongst my peers, for that matter.

Personality wise, well, that's even more of a no-brainer: from the bottom up would perhaps be an accurate description. Oh, and let's not forget the constant emotional outbursts that plague this blog.


But now that the evening/night has settled down, and played itself out, and that the chinks in my ego and the insecurities of my life have all been papered-over and pacified, I can't help but feel how tremendously nice it is to be me.

I have two of the most exceptional people in the world as my parents. I have a warm and wonderful group of close, life-long friends --people that I cannot be more happy or proud to know, or have known.

I am courageous with the things I know and for the things I believe in. I am a formidable combination of good looks, quick wits, and an ocean of depth and a wealth of intellectualism.

Luck, for the most part, has been on my side for the past half decade. And as horrendously wrong as this would sound, I have faith in the future always being a better place than the past.

Truth be told, it's good to be me.

Fridays

...mark the start of all the (wonderful) things that the weekend entails.

Not needing to wake up early, or at all. No classes/tutes/work. No pressure. No schedules.

Fun.

It's just the second Friday since the semester started. I'm sitting in the library at three in the afternoon, trying to revise for the doom-and-gloom that will befall upon me next week.

It's just the third Friday I've spent in Sydney since I flew back here, and I've already cancelled out all the other Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays until the semester is effectively over and done with.

I simply won't have the time to a 'weekend'.

Currently, I have lost all my senses of perspective of life -lost them senses all in the sines and cosines and angles of trying to integrate this arbitrary height of a sphere to find it's volume, so that I can find the weight of the working fluid, and thus the pressure it applies to the liquid below.

Why am I doing this?

Why am I cracking my head in this horrendous pile of scribbles and mistakes and errors? Why is it that when I'm done with this, I shall have to worry about LaPlace-transforming equations into forms that I know I will never do for the rest of my life? And then after that, face Mechanics II and be expected to be an expert in the field of motion by an expert who has spent his entire life in the same university?

Why.

Hell Below Blue Skies

So there I suddenly was again, onboard another Boeing craft jetting south through the massive Australian heartland.

It seemed just like yesterday that I was heading the opposite way -that 400 going ever faster with each kilometer it passed.

It seemed just like yesterday I landed at the airport in the night where my parents were waiting for me.

It seemed just like yesterday that I was suddenly home again, and where everything I could ever want or need was within arm's reach.

It seemed just like four months ago when I reached the flat and entered my room: a place filled with academic struggles and that very familiar feeling of frustration at everything I did.

It seemed just like four months ago when I finished unpacking to realise that beyond the double-digit circle of souls, there is no one, and nothing else for you here.

Engineering Mechanics II though, is unlike anything else I've gone through before. I am truly frightened to bits at incurring another term here that cannot be afforded.

I wonder why such dickheads are lecturing 3300. I wonder wish if there is even the slimmest chance of me passing. I wonder wish if anyone has tried murder doing something.

I wonder at times, why a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to do so much good to me, my career, and my life, has turned into a hellish nightmare that I cannot bear to live with.

Yoyos in the Sky

That this was perhaps the most unenjoyable Chinese New Year to me is definitely an understatement.

It’s just the most polite way I can think of putting it.

And so I thought my escapade to the Big City would be a welcome (and much needed) relief.

Disheartened, disappointed, frustrated and sad, I packed my things into the car and hurried off in the middle of the night without a care in the world.

Never would I have thought that so many things were being put to the test in so short a time, and in so many possible ways.

And if I thought driving two hundred kilometres down south to the thriving metropolis to see friends close and dear would solve everything --at least for now--, then I was to be proven utterly wrong.

But its all over now. What’s past is past. And it was all to be another lesson to be learnt. Even with all this being so, I definitely had a pleasant time during my stay there.

Thanks so much for the omelette sandwiches. For staying late despite the long drive back to Cyberjaya. For the lovely DAC. For the pint of Guinness. And for that afternoon drenched in green tea.

We are told from young to not keep unhealthy things --emotional baggages, and grudges especially-- against others for too long a time, but I cannot help but walk away from the past week doing precisely so.

Maybe just a little bit here and there.

Oh well. With all the hustle and bustle settled down and done with, I certainly look forward to the (very few) days ahead, spending time with family, the cats, the car and the coffee in this beautiful valley that is home.

It won’t be long before all this would again be a luxury, and nothing more than a mere memory of people and a place that once was.

It won’t be long before I’ll start missing all this, and wishing the academic hellhole in the island continent would be over.

It won’t be long before it’ll be time to go, again.

Another Late Night

It's almost 5 in the morning and I am still awake, gripped by a dark sense of dismay.

Petroleum is running out. The climate is at a critical point. A little over a billion people will —in the very near future— join the developing/developed world in its voracious consumption of energy.

Fusion technology is still half a century away at the very least. Carbon capture sounds like a childish fantasy. Wind mill farms don't really cut it. Nuclear stations cost too much time and money.

The country has lost it's lead in every single field to the once inferior competitors from South Korean and Taiwan. But instead of teaming up to get our acts together and to stand up to the challenges of the world, we're a nation gripped by ridiculous religious drama and a sodomy trial. Add that to a population intent on seeing even patriotic and unifying attempts fail, you know that we're in deep shit.

Lowering the scale to a more personal level -and perhaps upping the significance- is 3300 that awaits me, and the towering exchange rate and the heavy financial burden it will incur. 

I get the sense somehow that the coming decades will see humanity go through an extremely difficult and trying period, with deep and overwhelming changes to our way of life, and the way we see ourselves.

I feel like a fool and an idiot to worry over the problems of the human race, not least when a course in dynamics is impossible enough in itself. But is it absolute wrong to fret and to worry over things one has no control over, especially if there are smarter, wealthier and more-abled people in the world to lead us out of this pit?

All I want to do is to wake up in the afternoon tomorrow, step into my chilly air-conditioned car, burn a few hundred mils of black gold —putting my share of humanity's CO2 burden into the atmosphere— to get to town and have a lovely glass of white coffee.  

And when the festivities of the Chinese New Year is over, all I yearn for is to go out and get my freezing cold beer and drink well into the mornings with the people most dear to me, then speed through the city streets to get home.

Insomnia

Its 5 a.m. in the morning.

I have, for the past five hours, failed in my many attempts to fall asleep.

In these crazy few hours, I have watched a movie, managed to catch up with ALL the news and blog posts of the past week, and found time for myself to just... just wander, idly and slowly round my thoughts and day dreams.

Inevitably, I always look back towards the past.

I feel apologetic to many people for many things. I hope you could find what you're all looking for in this crazy mayhem-filled, malice-infested world of ours. I hope that a couple of you will know that I'm no longer angry or disappointed, and my re-initiating contact with you is a sign of that.

I wish everyone well, and that each of you will find your peace -as I, for the most part, have found mine. =)

In two and a half hours time I am to go to work, and gawd knows how I am to last another eleven hours at work.

Wish me luck.

Encounters of the Silly Kind

As I walked towards the kitchen, I saw a man standing in front of my gate.

Almost wanted to say an [name of race] man but I just realised that, and I am beginning to refuse to identify people by race.

Anyways.

He carried with him a sling-type notebook bag, and was dressed in a collared long-sleeve white tee, holding a green-coloured leaflet with one of his hands.

The conversation goes roughly as follows:


Man at gate:
“Hello, can I have a few minutes of your time, sir?”

Me:
“Sure. What is it about?”

Man at gate:
“Can you please answer this questionnaire? It’s ‘Do you think the world will end…’”

Somewhat bewildered, and cautious, I immediately asked:

“Who is doing this questionnaire?”

Was it the BBC? Was it the WHO? Maybe some university-led study. Or maybe a polling agency wanting to know what the general opinion was; what with the amount of nonsense that is being spewed by the 2012 absurdity -the title of the movie notwithstanding. As these exciting thoughts raced through the neurons of the grey mass in my head, he answered:

“It is meant to be something for you to read”

Me:
“Who is it from?”

Man at gate:
“It is from a group sir.”

Me:
“What group?”

Man at gate:
“It is a Bible studies group tha…”

I cut his sentence short when halfway through, I shook my head and hands in a blatantly violent way, and started walking towards the kitchen again.

I’m pretty sure he clearly heard me yelling “We’re atheists” as I made my way to the kitchen.

I’m not too sure though, why I said “we”; it is only a matter of time before my dad joins the church, what with sickos like these.

And that he already believes an omnipresent, omnipotent being is sitting up there (where is up now that the world isn’t flat and that the atmosphere is of a finite height?) wielding all the powers in the universe[s] but still insists on punishing people for the little and large actions that he/she/it deems as a ‘sin’.

This is not entirely unlike an expert programmer having finished his magnum opus AI-enabled ‘child’, and punishing him/her/it to burn in hell for eternity, simply for making mistakes; mistakes that it was bound to make since it was entirely a programming fault by the said programmer.

It is almost impossible to appreciate the sheer elegant genius inherent in Darwin’s theory; a theory that explains not how things go down the ladder (as in the god-humanity a.k.a. master-slave relationship) but up.

You see, religionists and intelligent-creationists talk about how we/all other beings/animals are created by a higher-up intelligence ‘up there’. What they fail to realise is how this is just an intermediate postponement of the inevitable question: who created the creator?

An unending paradox that will never be solved, it is a question for which religionist have no need to care for. No, for theirs is a solution and an answer not for the minds who think along rational lines, and certainly not for minds for which reason still bears meaning.

I cite ‘all encompassing god was always/is/will always [be] there’ as example and digress.

But for the rest of us not so little folk who question, Darwin answers that question in ways no one else ever can.

Through the hundreds and thousands and millions of years, life goes up the ladder slowly, but surely. It takes time to grasp fully the idea, and to realise and understand how fundamentally important it is, and how mistakenly simple (and thus elegant) the solution sounds.


I wonder why that man at my gate had to be so reluctant at revealing his religious agenda. What a sneaky little bastard.

But then again, how else will religionists recruit people if it wasn’t by the projection of fear? Fear as you lie on your death bed in hospital. Fear as your entire career collapses before you. Fear as your loved one leaves you. Fear as you lose your way to the crises of your lives. Fear when you are thrown off balance by the mayhem of the world.

Fear, as you lose the last remnants of your sanity.

Fear as to how the world will end in twenty four months’ time, and that you’re going to hell for ‘eternity’ to burn till every last drop of matter in your body is no more, but still it will burn some more.

Divergence

So you’ve had a long and tiring day. You’re all but drawn out by the endless (and tiresome) horde of faces. Faces worn like masks. Masks worn like faces. Faces like porcelain shells covering the hollow voids within.

You grab something to eat, you shower, you turn down the white lights into a cozy, mellow haven of incandescent bulbs.

You settle down into a comfy spot, and think to yourself how sickening it all is.

Faces.


It frightens me to realise that I sometimes think of some friends that way. It frightens me to the very core when I think of some friends as a complete and utter nuisance.

It really scares me when I realise how much I’d rather distance myself from those I truly considered friends.

But above all else, it saddens me to think that we’ve grown so much that we no longer sync any more, that our wavelengths don’t match and that we’ve become so irrelevant to one another.


Some of them really go way back. Many don’t. But for those who do, I keep trying to be patient, knowing that this is just a moment and that it will pass.

But what if it doesn’t?

Are we destined then, to never cross paths again?

And worse still: what more of those that don’t go way back?

Thank You

The new year has cometh!

I certainly hope it will be a good one for all of us, especially me ;)

And to further the blatant displays of selfishness, I shall now continue to write about me. This, after all, is my blog and if anything, it is supposed to be about me =P

But I have nothing to write about.

That’s right: nothing, zero, nil.

As the saying goes, “no news is good news” --and this is especially true for me and this blog of mine. These are among the most peaceful and serene days I’ve had in ages. Minor annoyances and frustrations notwithstanding, I have grown deeply accustomed to this environment of zero hostility, zero drama, zero hurt and zero nonsense.

I love my life.

I can’t help but be thankful to all those around me, and to all those who are still with me after everything.

I can’t help but to think back, and question why so many wrongs had to be, and why so many things that were so unnecessary had to happen.

I can’t help but be happy with where I am in life right now; asking, wanting and needing nothing more (except a healthy dose of cash) than all the things I already have.

You are all so awesome, so wonderful, and so, so great. And as another year begins, I cannot help but to wish that every single one of you will still be around for many, many years to come.

This song is for all of you...



...but above all else, especially you ♥