Distant Ties

There were quite a number of you.

Back then you were, all of you, my saviours from ...so many ugly things.


Sometimes it pains me to see how far we have all drifted apart from one another, the currents of our lives taking us toward our individual destinies, as we set off to make our mark in the great big world.

We have grown distant; friendships stretched just a little too far, and just that wee bit too thin. It’s as though we never met, as though we never knew each other, as though the other person never existed.

Then again, I suppose there isn’t much to be said between us in the here and now anyway. Simple hellos, simple take cares, and simple goodbyes.


But memories of the warmth, the good times and the good deeds linger in my head and in my heart still.

I cannot for the life of me find words to express gratitude for everything that you have filled my life with —if only in times past.


Wherever in the world you are tonight, you are not forgotten.

There’s a little piece of me, wishing you all the best, in whatever you are going through.

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? =)

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.

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…  

 

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!

 

 

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? 

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?

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.

Bridges Burnt

Enough.

I'm sick of these dark recesses.

Come to think of it, isolation and avoiding issues have never helped me in the long run: they serve only to numb the initial shock.

Facing facts, knowing precisely where I stand are the things that give me my grounding.



But I think best of all is dealing with issues.  

I felt a huge sense of liberation when before the finals finished I told the person what I had wanted to tell for a very, very long time straight to the face.

I no longer care about the outcome, or how it will affect said person.

I stand by my decision, but I will not stand for what I consider an utterly unacceptable act.



Today I managed to tell another person what I had wanted to say for quite some time.

And it feels relieving.

It's pretty odd how not caring makes me feel better.

I vow to myself to write less emotionally-drenched posts after this one.

Wish me luck.

And friends, thanks for all your comments. Thanks for sticking around. Thanks for everything. You guys are great.

"...you'd be a clown by now" 

I...

I remember waking up early on Saturday mornings, speeding my way down the Sg. Besi highway. Keane, and Dashboard Confessional were played loud on the stereo. The sun having just risen, the highway empty of cars, the hot, humid Malaysian weather barely that, and the ever so troubling speed limit of 90 km/h I never obeyed. Ms Lee and JLJC were often the subjects of these trips I made to the big city.


I remember my first time drinking before the sun had set.

It was with Ms Lee, where in my order of Pepsi, she ordered a margarita. Then me, with a RM15 bottle of Heineken -what ensued wouldn’t surprise anyone.

That was also the first time I hung out with cousins I had never previously knew; the age gaps between us had ensured two decades of zero communication.


I remember finishing the 6 p.m. Machine Control classes on Thursdays, immediately jumping into the car with the clothes for the overnight stay already packed into the boot beforehand, and (again) driving speedily to catch dinner and a movie with LSH. And the early, sleep-deprived Friday mornings back to Nilai to catch another class. The Script were frequent favourites on the stereo. Many a times I left for Ipoh later the same day, or for KL early the next.



I remember that afternoon with ABS. It was one of the best conversations I’ve had in months, and certainly the most Heinekens I’ve ever had at one goal. I got so drunk I had a hangover the next day, but still drove back to Nilai to pack everything into the car before making my way back to Ipoh for the final time.

But what I remember most of all are the drives back to Ipoh on those Friday evenings.

With the sun about to set, a wonderful golden-hue was cast across the land. It’s boiling hot out there, but inside, the brand new air-conditioner of the brand new car is blowing an unending gust of freezing cold air. Andrea Bocelli is playing at at least a hundred decibels, as I (again) exceed the speed limit. With each additional rpm, the engine gets ever more powerful, rocking harder and harder with every speed increase -to a point where even the steep climb of the highway nearing Ipoh is no obstacle: the car just pushes through without a sweat. And it is roughly by then that the sun was almost completely set, where the xenon headlamps would have lit a million miles in front of me.

And then I remember reaching home. The drinks and the suppers with my dad, the chats with my parents, the white coffee in the evenings, my two cats, and the lovely meals.

Those simply were, the best times of my life.

I miss home.

Hours After Midnight

Another gruesome 14 hours in university. Another day passes. Another cycle beckons to repeat itself.

Before I plonk my head down onto the pillow and call it a night -something which I seriously need to do- I have this incessant urge to write.

Something deep. Something profound. Something meaningful.

Alas, there exists nothing within this skull but a tired and weary mind.

So I turn it off, and leave as little conscious intervention between my fingers and the keyboard as possible.

I have so many things to say.

I am happy.

I have been so for many, many days now. Despite the frequent, violent mood swings that would suggest otherwise, the unbearable stress and pressure to perform, despite the bastards and the bitches that plague my every living day, despite my moodiness --despite all this, there exists a deep, underlying current of happiness.

Of content, and of hope.

And belief.

Alas, after thirty extraordinary months, I have finally put things back in order.

I'm back.

No Air

It’s a lovely Saturday night: cool, breezy, but not exceedingly cold. The air smells of joy and jubilation. Living it out good, celebrating life, and taking it easy after a long, tiring week’s worth of hard work.

This was made all the more so as two lovely hits from The Eagles played whist I cycled home.

They reminded me of my dad -we spent many Saturday nights together, drinking, having delicious suppers, and driving home speedily through the streets after that.


But for now, that will all have to remain what it is: a lovely thought, and a memory.

Because for now and until this damn semester is through, there will be no breaks, no time to rest, no free slots to live it out good -there will be no joy.

The sad truth is, I HAD to have the phone play something as I made my way through the modestly lit open areas of upper campus --simply because it felt eery to be walking alone in the silent, empty spaces devoid of people.

The sad truth is, I HAD to stay back and do assignments on a Saturday night.

The sad truth is, these days Friday, Saturday and Sunday means not that the weekend has arriveth, but that there are no lectures or tutorials, and that these are the times that I should use to study or finish up the unending continuum of academic work.

'Give me a fucking break!' has never rang so true.

The Purge

I think this must be it. ‘This’ the slow, the gradual, and the progressive death to a train of thought that has plagued my mind since…

Since it all fell apart.

Relentless and unceasing, each and every day it comes for me: hiding behind my active thoughts, surfacing from and menacing the times when my brain is idle.

But with each passing day, and with each passing dream, it grows ever weaker, as the threads of relevance slowly unbind and untangle themselves from the nasty convoluted mess that has been the giant thrombus in my head.

The lines between right and wrong converge and intersect, winding in and blurring out into a million eddies of contradictions. The more I see, the more I think, the less I know, and the less things seem to make sense.

You then start to think about how people do it, and why.

And then you start to wonder: were you ever meant for such a thing?

Status Report

It’s been three weeks since I landed in Australia, and life here I must say is pretty good!

Well, there are always two sides of a coin of course.

I’ve almost completely forgotten how it feels like to be in a 25C+ environment. Last week I went by three days without rice. I’ve forgotten how it feels like to drive. I’m starting to like, and be okay with having bread taking up an ever increasing portion of my food-pie. Every time I eat a good, proper Chinese meal, it feels like it was forever since I last had one. And if paying eight to ten dollars -the standard price- for every meal once (or twice) a day was of no concern, then there is absolutely no problem with the food here. From Asian to Western, fast food to restaurant to home-cooked-style food, everything is here.

I think that my chances of finding and developing relationships (of any and every sort) here are more limited then they were back home. I think I will be reluctant all the way up till the very end of my course to tip the scale in favour (or against staying and working) here for a couple more years.

I still keep multiplying prices by three and converting them back to RM, though with food this habit has stopped completely. I’m more or less getting used to walking half an hour to get to my classroom in uni, though at the same time the feeling of annoyance and sometimes that of frustration has not subsided.

And speaking of uni, academic life here is starting to get tough-ish. The amount of material I need to read up on and revise for is already piling up and all this are pretty heavy stuff to absorb.

And last but definitely not least, we still have yet to get the internet connection set up in our apartment. Which sucks, but oh well.

The skies are wonderfully blue almost all the time, and the sun and the sky at dusk is simply spectacular.

I should have much more positive things to write about, and that is absolutely true: but knowing me, and me being me, that just doesn’t really happen much! XD

So that’s it for now folks.

I’ll catch you all soon enough. =)

Half Way Round the World

Yes, yes everyone, I'm in Australia!

It's been a busy week, what with trying to get the apartment we're renting furnished and setting up all the basic stuff (e.g. bank account, telephone line, internet).

It's cold and windy here -kinda nice if you asked me- and in the mornings, the skies are impossibly clear, with a wonderful blue hue that kinda belies belief!

My feelings on the other hand are ...confusing, to the point that even I find them difficult to comprehend.

What I do know for sure is that I miss home, I miss mum and dad, I miss my friends, I miss being able to talk to all these people on a daily basis. I also miss many other things, and other people.

And, I'm troubled by the university's academic requirements/expectations that will soon be laid upon me. I don't like being in the calm before a storm.

I dislike how I now am feel so petite short walking down the street, vanishing into the crowd where before I would have been slightly above average in stature.

I wished it didn't have to be so far from or difficult or expensive to get back home. I wished I could see more of you guys, and be in contact with all of you more often.

But oh well.

Standing Up

Warning: this is a post drenched in anger -a sheer, random outburst of emotion inspired by loud, bassy, metal music (Linkin Park) that I have become so obsessed with these past few days.

Life. It is many things to many people; the meaning of life is as varied as it is vast. Some spend a lifetime searching for the purpose in theirs, others live through them without even a passing thought. Whatever it may be for you, I know what it is not for me.

Life is not about the ruthless and absolute pursuit of goals, dreams, wealth or utility. There is leeway to everything, room for adjustment in every case, space to manoeuvre in every situation, and above all else, compassion.

Life, and “people” -the humane ones- are not cold or calculative. They are not machines, they are individuals who have humanity in them. They are warm, they have heart and they have values and principles.

There isn't always right or wrong in life; things are never that simple. Where fact, reason and objectivity may dictate, the feelings and emotions that makes us human say otherwise.

Life is not perfect, and neither is anyone.

My life, you can mess with. You can destroy the things I treasure, you can steal from me, my hopes and my dreams you can take away, you can fuck me up… yes, all of you. I may not stand up or fight back. I may have just walked away before, but it means not that I surrender. It means not that I quit.

Because I never will.

I won’t vanish from my earthly-existence without a struggle, I won’t fade into the darkness without first exploding into a blinding burst of flames.

It is not so much about perseverance as it is of defiance: I defy all the shit that is being thrown at me -stubborn little rebellious soul that I am, I refuse to budge. 

I wish for anarchy and a coup on the repressive social ‘norms’ and double standards that are being inflicted and implemented on us misfits.

I will not succumb, because I know to life there is diversity, and that is the only thing absolute about it.

The Drug

It always starts that way for me: an irritating discomfort in the throat, developing the next day into a full blown sore, fever, coughing, and vomiting --the works. 

This latest bout is among the worse I’ve had this year; a nasty, searing fever that lasted for days, and the scorching pain that followed every gulp of matter as it passed through my throat. 

The usual mix of antibiotics and paracetamol put me to sleep for the better half of those 48 hours, but during the times I was conscious, the one thought that wouldn't let me be was that of humanity’s obsessive addiction to the drug.


Sweet, beautiful, timeless, and irrefutable: what and where would mankind be without you? 

For you, and only you, we put ourselves through things of the most absurd kind. We force ourselves through all sorts of nonsense. We allow ourselves to be patronised, to be mocked in front of our very eyes. We shed, not just tears, but blood, skin, and our dignity. 

To ensure a steady and undisrupted supply of you, we lie. We deceive and we manipulate. We sacrifice, we tolerate and we submit. We let your blade cut deep into our hearts and souls, spewing insanities of every sort imaginable -ones every addict will know, and none will forget. The scars never fade; we carry them with us for the remainder of our lives.

As our addiction grows ever stronger with the passage of time, more and more of the drug we demand. But it matters not, for the drug is all that we want. It is, all that we need. And thus the suffering continues, with what joy the drug brings into our lives, and whatever amount of happiness it provides us with.

To ‘quit’ is easier said than done, for many have tried, but only a handful have and will ever succeed. The ending can play out in so many negative ways: a violent backlash, depression spanning the length months --sometimes years--, the shattering of self worth, of hopes and dreams, and in the most severe of cases, death. 

But then again, there are always those who would move on as swiftly to the next syringe as they did the ones before, and to the ones after. The method of acquiring the drug, and precisely what drug is being acquired matters not to them, for the effect is the only thing of consequence. 

Ultimately though, try as we may, no one can fully run away from the addiction. It is what is required of us. It is what we require. 

So go on, choose your syringe.                                    

Kings

There can be no victory without loss, no joy without pain, no action without consequence. 

But there are those of us who just want to have it all. Oh yes, everything there is in the world, and the universe beyond. Perhaps the root cause of this is isn't greed, but that they do not know what it is that they truly want; thus, everything becomes that that they want. 

But somewhere along the lines, there has got to be sense amidst the insanity. When the crunch comes, when it is truly time to make the call, a decision has to be made, and stood by thereafter.

Yes, decisions are never an easy thing. Choices, ah the agony of choice, they tempt us in their infinite variety of ways. They toy with our emotions, they cloud our judgement, they distort our reality, and they blur our focus. But, no matter what the decision is, one can never escape the impending aftermath that follows it. 

Sacrifice.

It is what it all ultimately boils down to. It is something no decision nor choice can be made without. It stalks the undecided, and it haunts them. Always it is there, incessant and relentless it clings to them -even those of us who seemingly have it all.

=)