The Homecoming

It is a good day to be a wrestling fan.

Albeit the mediocre ratings and the rush of key injuries of late, the only wrestling promotion that I watch, the (in)famous WWE, has successfully recruited the final tantalizing piece of the puzzle of excitement to complete the troupe of my favourite wrestlers. Now featured among the roster of its flagship show, Monday Night RAW, are the silky in-ring skills of three performers; coincidentally all known rockers in their own right.

After months of frenzied speculation and cryptic teasers instigated by his viral campaign, joining the evergreen show-stopping Heart-Break Kid, Shawn Michaels and the high-flying, death-defying daredevil Jeff Hardy is the one and only Ayatollah of Rock ‘n’ Rolla, Chris Jericho!!! Welcome back, interesting segments! With the amalgamation of impressive acrobatic wrestling and crafty mike skills, is it a surprise I am beaming from ear to ear?

It is a good day to be a wrestling fan.

The Letter

Written on the back of an invoice:

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To the Management of Royal Lake Club,

It is a shame that the supposedly prestigious Royal Lake Club decided to fleece its own new members by using various underhanded tactics. I am bitterly disappointed that I was charged extravagantly for a compulsory ‘Members Introduction Dinner’, especially when the food and services was not worth the RM252 that was billed to me. Because of this, please provide me with an itemised receipt detailing the prices incurred for this ceremonial banquet.

Similarly, I am flabbergasted by the audacity of your organization to impose the payment of a ‘gift’ back at myself when I was not informed of the cost beforehand. Hence, kindly credit my account off the Centenary Book that I ostensibly purchased and am currently returning. I have no intentions of keeping the historical chronicles of a disgraceful club when it is but another unscrupulous way it swindles its members.

All in all, I am happy to inform you that your apparent endeavour in keeping members away from enjoying your facilities is progressing promisingly, and I must assure you that I would not extend any recommendations to potential members who may be interested. In fact, I would be glad to assist in your mission of limiting honorary members within your establishment by circulating this letter through any electronic media I have influence in.

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Disclaimer: This letter was written in anger under time constraints, so pardon the lack of narration flamboyance and grammatical precision that you probably expect from this site. If the intention behind the letter remains elusive, all I wanted to say was ROYAL LAKE CLUB SUCKS!!!

The Introduction Night

It recently dawned upon me: within this personal digital page dedicated to dilatoriness, I suddenly realised that I have never endeavoured in mentioning any of my brothers I have gained during my best years. Sure, considering how proudly I parade them to my acquaintances from my other stages of life, there was never a need to introduce them here. Yet for the benefit of my online fans I have never met, such integral elements of my character merit recognition.

I have always integrated myself into groups of four, and this one is no different. Recently, there was an unveiling dinner, even though it was somewhat sullied by juvenile assessments to be of decadent intents. Obviously this was not true. The immaturity of people astounds me sometimes. Nonetheless, petty nuisances were brushed aside as pretty guests were invited to witness the christening of my longest affiliation. It was made known that day of the existence of VICES.

However, I must admit that despite the unification under a new tag, no consensus was met on the actual denotation of the abbreviation. But this being MY blog, I am less inclined to compromise the sanctity of this space by promulgating elitism. So within my world, VICES is the acronym for the Victoria Institution Charming Enigmas – a worthy description of us I believe whilst paying homage to our alma mater among others.

Like most notable band of brothers, I am sure VICES is a kaleidoscope of personalities in spite of the prevalent parallels adopted. Even so - due to the similar origins of the members (explicitly our school for those a little slow today) - it was a challenge to distinguish and subsequently designate a part to each of its members. Credit goes to our alma mater I supposed, which has consistently nurtured versatile high-achievers like us, laudable in most areas.

Yet, for identification purposes, a distinction must be made. With my impressive intellect, what is the probability I would fail? However, before I venture further, be forewarned that there are perils to labelling that could beget a multitude of potentially dangerous implications. Even a moniker as simple as ‘the Smart One’ may trigger an inferiority complex in others, thus do not be foolish and think that the following cognomens illustrate the whole personality of each VICE.

Therefore, purely for entertainment purposes and with no offence intended, please permit me the privilege to present to you the prestigious people affiliated to the Victoria Institution Charming Enigmas, class of forever… *cue regal theme for dramatic entrance*

Bachelor No.1 is arguably the most successful in terms of individual honours with his collection of gold medals in martial arts sparring. Nominated as the Victorian of VICES, Nash is the Muscles of the company with his enviable lean body and his fascination for all things violent… virtually.

Next, Bachelor No. 2 is definitely the sharpest of the lot, considering he was the undisputed top of the class with his grades. Earning the highest already, Yew Boon (YB) is the epitome of Institution among us. Likewise, is there any surprise he is known as the Brain?

On the other hand, Bachelor No. 3 may not boast as many accolades as Muscles or Brain, but he is definitely Charming of the gang. It is Trent who plays the key role in luring unsuspecting ladies into this humble party of ours, since chatter tends to be incessant whenever he is around. Also known as the Face, his achievements varies from Scrabble to Archery; a fine analogy of the multitude of façades within one’s looks.

What about the Enigma then? On contrary to popular belief, I am not the Heart; even though it best exemplifies my influential decisions within the group democracy. Nor am I the clichéd Soul of VICES too, despite my inclination to bring everyone together in all deeds. Nay, I am merely the Arse. Before you demonstrate in dissent for such blasphemy, consider this: with the amount of shit coming out of me, which anatomy would be more appropriate in embodying me?

I rest my case. =)

The Practical Revolution

With the surprising finale of the F1 season for this cycle, I am inspired…

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I must admit that despite my eloquence and my apparent maturity, I am but a youth in his prime. Therefore, it is not strange that I suffer from the adolescent delusion of immortality and juvenile illusion of invulnerability to find it particularly exhilarating to speed on the many highways that are like arteries of our dear nation. Do not get me wrong; I still feel that a horrific accident involving some reckless driver’s brittle tin cans will cause my demise but hey, I am Superman now.

Being a reckless driver myself, prudent parties are not wrong to assume that I am courting Death (heard she is hot, albeit a little gothic) with my lackadaisical outlook. However, with the gridlock of motor inactivity plaguing our urban lifestyle lately, it is difficult - if not nigh impossible - to find a good long stretch when we can spur our mobile metal home to purr like it wants to. Alas, the short winding roads are a worthy price to pay in exchange for the many luxuries we enjoy.

Do not be too discouraged though, because other claustrophobic metropolitans are mushrooming throughout the world, urging an increasing demand for alternative adrenaline inducers. So when a racing-themed movie based in compact Japan was released not-so-recently, like mindless sheep, our nation’s youths embraced this new fad of negotiating tight turns without compromising speed. So while some arses vented their pent up aggression by weaving through traffic in the vehicle of their choice and somehow survived (for now) to brag about it; their equally dimwit counterparts are boasting about their latest drifting stint at some obscure location.

As indicated by my affiliation with IDIOT, I have no interest in swimming in the sea of conformity of course. Besides, with my bold driving and the resulting damages, who in the right mind would want to splash another few hundred dollars to frequently replace their worn-out tires? I seriously doubt any ladies with their wits intact would find the screeching of tires sexy anyway. Talk about torturing the ears! Heck, if you ask me, I would rather play around with this other gear rod of mine to make some other pretty thing scream (in ecstasy). But that’s just me and you did not ask, so let us keep that story for another day in another post.

No, my pursuit for adrenaline comes not from such orthodox endeavours. You will be surprised what little joys I can derive from the daily clogging of roads. If you are proactively looking for it, or if you are as sharp-minded as yours truly, such inconspicuous achievements on your travels will not elude your weak-handed grasps. Similar to other great skills, this guilty pleasure I have been rambling about goes by many names; the most prevalent one being Defensive Driving.

Yes, this is my declaration of my advocacy to Defensive Driving. Which intelligent city rat would not? It is after all tremendously effective (and enjoyable) when navigating within a metropolitan. But wait a minute; do I hear a whisper of ignorance? You should read more, my dear readers. If nothing else, you should know this: it is the failure of one Lewis Hamilton to master this technique that he is not the youngest F1 winner ever (yet).

The Quinquagenary

It is very uplifting to find so many fellow countrymen bloggers across the globe deferred from their usual depressive and/or hostile perspective on life and dedicated an exclusive entry within their private digital domains, just to commemorate the Golden Anniversary of our Nationhood.

I may not be the most ardent patriot, but considering how those within my circle of influence are professing their love for the nation, is there any doubt I would participate and celebrate such an accomplishment as well? Heck, even the staunchest critics that I had to convince of the wonders of our country are offering congratulations for this milestone. Well, notwithstanding the fact that beautiful women in their best attire flourished the festivity for me, that is. =)

It is equally encouraging to discover the number that had congregated at a ‘lesser known secret hideout’ that offers a full panoramic view of our distinguished Asian capital. Despite the rampant incredulous logic to evoke racism among the people that has plagued our political scene of late, to find a patient crowd of all demographics lingering past the hour mark after the countdown for a mere glimpse of the customary firework display, definitely made a Malaysian proud.

Alas, most turned back disappointed, for even from an elevated height, the more entertaining use of gunpowder could not overcome the buildings we have and rival the stars. (Yes ladies, there WERE fireworks. Sorry about that.) I am not sure that fact alone should invigorate my patriotism or douse it though. Should I be upset that our country did not invest in a definite crowd pleaser to commemorate such an event? Or should I be proud that our nation boasts skyscrapers that could obstruct a soaring exhibition? That is a thought for another day. At the moment, I am just grateful for the pleasant company that night of many firsts.

The Speculation

Although blogs range from a collection of mindless photo journals to an anthology of outstanding daily chronicles to a compilation of thought provoking pieces, there seem to be a mutual attribute that ascend online journals from the sea of mediocrity: format consistency; regular updates; and constant up-keeping. Obviously, mine feature neither of these.

It’s been more than a fortnight since my last post, yet I have refrained from adding any interesting insights of mine to my previous post, disappointing many I’m sure. Well I guess this epitomize the direction for the rest of my writings: I write for pleasure, not for pressure. Then again, don’t hold it against me if I amend my position when my fan-base increases in magnitude.

In spite of the title of this web-waste, procrastination did not rear its ugly head throughout most tempting times. Instead of composing paragraphs of nonsensical ideas and opinions like a true procrastinator would, I found myself engrossing myself with paragraphs of relevant concepts and procedures in the form of official manuals over my last fortnight at work.

However, this does not denote the absence of thought and its subsequent desire to express them. In fact I’ve been mulling over this latest entry for days now yet I can’t seem to convey the vague ideas into actual words. It doesn’t help too when I procrastinate so much. Hey, don’t blame me. Consider the sheer number of luxuries I can indulge in. Besides, being the procrastinator I am, isn’t it generally accepted to find me procrastinating from procrastination?

So maybe I’ll stop blogging and let it die a natural death…

On second thought, maybe I should weather this mental impediment and persevere on. Too many a time have I preached to others on the healthiness of blogging. A firm believer of the psychological benefits of intrapersonal communication, all the encouragements to friends to continue in their endeavours of online journaling would be put into disrepute should I not practice the same. Heck, I’ll be labelled as a hypocrite.

With that, hopefully another post of a banal, poor attempt on self-discovery will emerge on this page again. Don't hold your breaths though, as I have just begun my journey towards traditional self actualization, otherwise known as another phase in my latest project. Who knows? Maybe in another procrastinating moment I might actually compose something astounding to avoid working on an all important report due the next day.

Till next time, God bless. God bless us all.

The Monthly Monologue

Today marks the first full turn of the moon since I offered my services under a new slave-driver, and I must admit I am quite excited. The monetary bribery they offered for my month-long labour is quite appealing for the poor man I am, while the presence of graceful beauties never fails to distract motivate me to toil, even though it means embarking on daily journeys to distant lands.

With my constant travels, I’m sure my compassionate readers will understand my inability to add any insights within this humble space. Yet, with this prolonged absence, previously unforeseen revelations were graciously accentuated to my limited mental capabilities. Not much of a spiritual junkie, the liberation that comes with such epiphany is but a recent discovery of mine.

I must say despite my boyish good looks and tantalizing charm, I was never the type to win any popularity contests. I am simply biologically and psychologically hardwired to favour relaxed yet intimate conversations at a hidden corner of Starbucks over parading around with fake plastic smiles to maintain visibility within a circle. This inclination I inherited from my mom.

However, similarly fated like my mom, I am still astonished by the frequency strangers approach me, claiming that they know me from some past affiliation. Although there ARE a select few who were able to provide such detailed descriptions of me to warrant a second suspicious look, most did not exude such creepy stalker-aura. Heck, most don’t even know my name!

Therefore, those graced by my presence identify me through the many oddities distinctiveness I happen to radiate. Despite my stark individuality, I am proud to declare that I managed to elude the many harsh lessons that span over one’s childhood and adolescence. No cruel epithets or any twisted desecration of my good name were attached to me throughout my youth.

Alas, such matters are inevitable as monikers have slowly gained foothold over this poor soul. A hypothesis that was concocted tells of the immensity of my potential and how it compels people within the vicinity to impart some sort of acknowledgement, yet no approach can be made due to the intimidation most have to endure in the company of one brimming with such promise.

Ironically, the month spent traversing through this new adult phase of life, embodied by a 12-floor office and its surrounding areas, have garnered me a few reputations to say the least. Due to the sheer enormity of the enterprise I’m currently affiliated to, in addition to the diversity of my evident mannerisms, each soubriquet is distinguished by the degree of exposure to yours truly.

A modern day princess once shared that the current corporation I am associated with populate its male half of the workforce with people who are pleasing to the eye. Nonetheless, I am recognized as the Handsome Fellow within the walls of my company. Says quite a bit, doesn’t it? Then again, which other dashing Chinese can boast a full goatee, portending his superior masculinity?

Obviously, such physical qualities cannot be explicitly articulated with the shrinking of the working relationship distances, especially when sexual harassment lawsuits are plethoric at the corporate stage nowadays. It is a dangerous world today, as telling the truth is often deemed offensive. Try calling a 20-year-old female co-worker a ‘girl’ and watch the lawsuits come in.

Hence, those within my department chose aliases that reflect more of my eccentricity rather than any outstanding physical traits, no matter how tempting. Thus, I am better known as the Bag Guy (not remotely related to the Bag Lady) due to my insistence to uphold the scouts’ motto. It can’t be helped that being prepared means some sort of carrier is needed to house my stuff!

Still, as the crowd gets thinner and the group grow closer, I go by another name. I must reiterate to the IDIOTs that I have not defected and established a new clique in this current chapter. It is true I exhibit a palpable tendency to tag along a particular bunch for lunch, but do not let these ostensibly habitual associations fool you. A deeper connection in mentality is still unreachable.

Nonetheless, that did not stop a handful of my colleagues from christening me with the third, and final, nickname for the month: Fung Yao Boy. It is no surprise why such appellation was affixed to me, especially when the moniker is not entirely original. A housemate of mine used it once and I am not afraid to admit again that it is ONE of my many proud distinctive features.

There you have it, the three titles that evaded my carefully placed defences against stereotyping after barely a month. I am sure that more labels will bloom as my sphere of influence increases, but I anticipate each will remain clung onto me for years to come. Are they pleasant or are they distressing? It is too early to tell. I am just glad that they are not that bad at the moment.