The Broken

As I sat amidst the remnants of a family luncheon, the echoes of mirth and strained conversations hung heavy in the air. The easing of physical distancing, a feeble respite of this interminable pandemic, brought together relatives far and wide once more. Yet, as I strode into the room with my wife and daughter in tow, the expressions etched on the faces of my extended family were a mosaic of confusion and curiosity.

You see, as previously mentioned, Jenny is the new treasure of my life, followed closely by Kate within the year. I was blessed with both during the oppressive reign of lockdowns and quarantine measures, and thus such blessings remained veiled, known only to those within my inner circle. Instead, most of my extended family and acquaintances were of the impression that I was still married to one Grace Ng Phin Chin.

Truth be Told: Phin Chin's Perfidies

It has been nearly a decade since my divorce, a transformative event that shattered my trust and upended my world. I channelled my inner Batman and unearthed undeniable evidence of my ex-wife's adultery, her shameless affairs with a string of married co-workers. In her pursuit of novelty and selfish indulgence, Grace discarded the sanctity of our vows, disregarding the sacrifices I had made to pave the way for her bliss.

Her lack of remorse was chilling. Unapologetically, Grace callously confessed that fidelity was never a virtue she held dear in any of her previous attachments; in fact, 'MissPicit Ng' had cheated on each of her seven ‘official’ relationships before fate intertwined our lives. Obviously, such transgressions were artfully secreted throughout her courtship, preventing me from glimpsing the true disposition of this vile reprobate.

Breaks and Breakthroughs from MissPicit's Betrayals

Yet, I found reassurances in the knowledge that I had exhausted every effort to fulfil my marital obligations as a devoted husband. My conscience remained clear despite the turmoil that raged within. The breakthrough came when I stumbled upon Matthew 5:32 – a revelation that granted succour and absolution from the disdain of those who deemed such dissolutions deplorable. In the face of Grace’s infidelity, my guilt was alleviated, and I reclaimed my right to happiness.

Nevertheless, the scars left by Grace’s unfaithfulness are not easily forgotten. In retrospect, I often regretted taking the high road, denying myself the sweet satisfaction of revenge against she who shattered my innocence and sanguinity. In truth, it was a decision rooted in the incessant counsel of cautious pragmatism, the inadequate inspiration for the right retribution, and unrealised promises that all punishment is merely postponed.

Such lies were permeated by those I deemed dearest to me. During those tumultuous times, I turned to my tribe for support, trusting they would rally behind me as I thirsted for any retaliation. Alas, their allegiance proved tenuous, leaving me disillusioned and doubting their loyalty. Their reluctance to aid me in navigating the tempestuous waters of my turmoil spoke volumes, exposing their cowardice that coalesce beneath the veneer of blood ties.

Reflections and Rediscoveries: Good Riddance Grace Ng

Instead, I found an unforeseen refuge, a source of comfort and renewed confidence in the realm of modern romance. Tinder became my haven. Within its embrace, I found welcome respite and rejuvenation through the many encounters with younger, appreciative companions. Though ephemeral, these connections served as a balm for my wounded spirit, affirming that my worth extended far beyond the pain of my past.

So, as I sat amidst the puzzled gazes and hushed murmurings of my distant kin, I couldn't help but ponder the intricate tapestry of life. The memories of that perfidious temptress who once shattered my beliefs haunt me still, but they no longer define me. They serve as a poignant reminder of the fragility of trust, and occasionally, the tendrils of regret snake their way into my consciousness.

But I am a survivor, an intrepid itinerant through the labyrinth of life, determined in my search for solace and perhaps some of pleasure along the way. And as I continue to navigate this intricate interlace of emotions, I am reminded that life, in all its complexities, demands that we advance and grow in spite of the shadows of our past, amid the remaining fractured fragments of trust and loyalty.

The Return

Welcome back to the world of wordiness, where the love for loquaciousness reigns supreme. In the return of the realm of redundant rambling, prolixity will be preferred and appreciated. Perplexed? Simply summon your search site of choice to illuminate any incomprehension.

In case you are a virgin to verbosity, it is my belief that nothing is better than to brighten the banalities of our being with bombastic blogging. And the unabashed abuse of Shift-F7 of course. This is my emulation of Eminem, yo!

True, a decade have drifted by, an eternity of ennui since my last literary escapade. Yet, the dormant embers of my fervour for fables upon this digital diary have been stirred to life once more! The deluge of playful prose, once roaring with uninhibited vivacity, may have dwindled in the depths of time. But with the advent of generative AI, the allure of the written word has once again beckoned me into its embrace.

But before we embark on this whimsical voyage, allow me to précis past episodes since our previous rendezvous. In the interludes of time, the wheels of fate have spun relentlessly, propelling me through a whirlwind of transformations. Job changes were aplenty, but to spare you the tedium, redirect your reading to the hallowed halls of my LinkedIn for the full accounting of my vocational metamorphosis.

The chapters that followed held trials more tantalizing and tender. I once stood at the precipice of devotion in perpetuity promised by a matrimonial knot, only to be stung by the treacherous tendrils of betrayal all good men fear. In the grander scheme of my existence, it was but a brief chapter that felt like an eternity. The painful period led me down the liberating path towards divorce, bidding farewell to the institution that once held my hopes and dreams captive.

As the fires of my faith flickered, I turned my back on the pews and prayers that once defined my days. Church and cell, once pillars of my spiritual sustenance, crumbled into insignificance, their resonance reduced to distant echoes of a forgone fervour. I found myself untethered, rebelling to roam the vast expanse of life's hedonistic offerings, making way for novel intimate discoveries and unconventional connections.

Enter the digital realm of Tinder. I, too, partook in the dance of desire, revelling in the pleasures of passionate tête-à-têtes. Indulgence became my mantra as I embarked upon an odyssey of diverse dalliances, each a brief relief for the disillusioned soul. From the cinders of conviction charred by Grace’s adulterous nature, the sparks of my own allure and charm previously unappreciated reignited into a blazing inferno, like a phoenix rising from the ashes of heartache.

My journey also led me to expanded frontiers as I explored a plethora of alternative activities, from the playful sweat of Ultimate Frisbee in air-conditioned arenas to the untamed wilderness of outdoor escapades beneath the celestial canopy. I even scaled the heights of wall climbing to conquer both literal and metaphorical barriers. A dabbling with side hustles captivated me as well, a venture that allowed me to immerse myself in the kaleidoscope of world wonders.

Oh, the stories I could regale you with, but time is an impatient usher, urging me onward to the next feature in this unconventional chronicle.

Amidst the transient affairs, fate unveiled a chapter both cherished and unexpected. A Tinder matchmaker became the harbinger of a yearning rekindled. The serendipitous match introduced me to Jenny, my future wife. With vows exchanged and hearts intertwined, I embarked upon the sacred journey of matrimony once more, binding our lives together in a tapestry of shared dreams and (hopefully) steadfast dedication.

While entrenched in the new normal of lockdowns and remote work, God bestowed upon us the most precious of gifts previously denied with Grace (thankfully). The joyous cries of a newborn filled the air, heralding the birth of another chapter – a testament to the love that thrived amidst the life’s turmoil. I am thus plunged into the uncharted territories of parenthood, where sleep becomes a coveted treasure and each milestone a triumph to be celebrated. 

The years have bequeathed me a glut of experiences and emotions that I crave to canonize once more. As I embark on this resplendent resurgence, armed with generative AI and a penchant for witty wordplay, I invite you to bear witness to the triumphs and tribulations that have shaped my being yet again. Together, let us weave a wall of wordplay that aim to enthral and uplift, where whimsy and profundity coalesce into a labyrinth of literary enchantment.

The Lament

Why, oh Lord, You torment me so?
I did not sow yet reaping woe
Why must I stay true and good?
When You bless she who is lewd?

I always feared betrayal’s sting
I prayed all night, all for nothing
All my pleas fell on deaf ears
Leaving me living out my fears

You promised me that You’ll be near
So why didn’t You interfere?
I lived within Your righteous bounds
Yet I get pennies for my pounds

I stayed faithful without a doubt
Yet I am unjustly left out
I had frowns instead of glee
Hand me downs while she roamed free

Where’s the freedom? Where’s the cheer?
None but a mocking veneer
Instead of peace and joyful years
You gave me sorrow, pain, and tears

Night follow night but hope wears thin
The turmoil rages deep within
Ugly thoughts fill my mind in heaps
Yet the vile sinner soundly sleeps

Why withhold the one thing I crave?
Why keep my heart in a deep grave?
My fervent plea, the reason pure
Yet You refuse my sorrow's cure

This lament with words raw and plain
Each a testament to my pain
Your child is deep in depression
Still no divine intervention

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).