The Timely Art of Pettiness

As the season of gifting winds down, there is a tale of pettiness that ticks back into my thoughts often. This story stars my then-wife, who scarcely kept her legs closed for a carousel of colleagues from the few companies she flitted between throughout those five disgraceful years.

In truth, I sought to stage some small-scale sabotage to settle the slight. But I was counselled by the cautious, the cowards, and the chronically concerned to curb my inclinations. Still, there is a particular pride in pulling off one perfectly timed act of petty payback.

Long story short, I left behind a memento when I moved out the marital home. Just a simple clock, with a plain Post-it proclaiming: "For you".

Innocuous to most, but in Chinese culture, gifting a clock is phonetically akin to sending someone off in a coffin, a poetic way to saying "go die". The tart, steeped in such traditions, got the insult instantly. She wasted no time; the accusations of cursing her came in like clockwork.

In response, I simply suggested that if she saw something sinister in my goodwill gesture, maybe her guilty conscience was catching up with her. I could nigh on hear her gears grinding, and I (silently) sniggered at every tick of her growing aggravation.

But the pièce de résistance? I returned to the house and reclaimed the clock, leaving nothing but the note behind. Cue another cacophony of confusion and indignation at the sudden disappearance of her treasured timepiece.

My mom later laid claim to the clock while slyly slipping me some spare change, insisting it was a simple sale instead of a grim gift. And so, ten years on, I can’t help but chuckle whenever the memory ticks back into my thoughts from time to time.

After all, I delivered a well-timed message of symbolic spite, took yet another thing from that tart, and walked away somewhat ‘wealthier’. More significantly, there is no sweeter satisfaction than pulling off some timely passive-aggressive pettiness.

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).

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.

The Reminder of Impending Death

After eagerly anticipating my turning of age since the beginning of the month, it seems like my birth anniversary arrived only for the briefest of moments. In a blink of an eye, we are now waiting for the next batch of birthdays to come. So after letting the disappointment permeate through my consciousness for a whole week, I have finally come to terms with such dire circumstances. Yet, one thought remains…

WHERE IS THE FREAKING 30gig WHITE iPod I WANTED FOR MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT?!

Don’t worry. There’s always next year. =P

Just make sure it comes with an extensive collection of alternative rock.

Falling In Love

She wanted to be a cowboy
She was shooting them down
She was tramping around

He walked in crooked with the clear blue eyes
"There's a nice pool in my motel - you want to go for a swim?"
That night he moved in

The time between meeting and finally leaving is
sometimes called falling in love
The time between meeting and finally leaving is
sometimes called falling in love

At night she'd wait for the sound of his feet on the doormat
The sound of his hand on the doorknob
The sound of her heart beating in her head
He'd go out playing nickel slots ‘cause he knew he'd lose
She didn't know, so she couldn't choose

But one night while sleeping alone in her bed
The phone rang, she woke up, and sat up and said
"What time is it? What time is it?"
"Well it's 5:30 here and it's 2:30 there
And I won't be home tonight," he said

The time between meeting and finally leaving is
sometimes called falling in love
The time between meeting and finally leaving is
sometimes called falling in love

Now she sits in a booth in a diner
Waiting for someone to take her order
Waiting for someone to come and sit down

She rubs the smudge off the photograph, puts it back in her purse
The grey sky was romantic cause he was holding her hand
He was her man

The time between meeting and finally leaving is
sometimes called falling in love
The time between meeting and finally leaving is
sometimes called falling in love
Sometimes called falling in love…

She wanted to be a cowboy
She was shooting them down
She was tramping around

Sex and Violence

I used to love you now I don't care
Now I turn around, you're everywhere
So you can chew me up and spit me out
You're just the little bitch I cared about

I know you can see me
But you don't believe me
I know that you're lonely
Time will tell and time is hell

No sex or violence
No morbid silence
Forever sleeping
You won't stop breathing

You hold me captive and it's not fair
Progressed insanity is everywhere
You need to love me but you kicked me out
My head is wandering so knock me out

I keep my head afloat I'm drowning in
The muddy water pulls me down again
I used to love me but I hate me now
I'm just a little bitch I cared about

Heaven and Hot Rods

You can get it if you really want it
But you better off just leave it alone
You won't forget it if you ever had it
So you're better off just staying at home

She walked in with her alligator sister
Trying to get to Heaven on Sunday
You'll never get it if you never had it
So better off just leave it alone

And the dogs came in
Just to see her smile
And the dogs came in
Just to see her smile
Just to see her smile

You don't get it, no, you won't forget
So you're better off just leave it alone
If you don't stop thinking, soon you will be drinking
And you're better off just staying at home

And the dogs came in
Just to see her smile
And the dogs came in
Just to see her smile
Just to see her smile

Coming Down
Mom I'm still healing
Coming Down
Oh, and I'm still breathing
Coming Down

In The Arms of Sleep

Sleep will not come to this tired body now
Peace will not come to this lonely heart
There are some things I’ll live without
But I want you to know that I need you right now
I need you tonight

I steal a kiss from her sleeping shadow moves
’Cause I’ll always miss her wherever she goes
And I’ll always need her more than she could ever need me
I need someone to ease my mind
But sometimes a someone is so hard to find

And I’ll do anything to keep her here tonight
And I’ll say anything to make her feel alright
And I’ll be anything to keep her here tonight
’Cause I want you to stay, with me
I need you tonight

She comes to me like an angel out of time
As I play the part of saint on my knees
There are some things I’ll live without
But I want you know that I need you right now

Suffer my desire
Suffer my desire
Suffer my desire for you

Becoming

Listen, heart
Listen close, listen
To the melancholy
Melody of your own voice

I am weary
Of my own dreaming
I am tired of waiting
So this time, I'm leaping

I reach beyond myself to see
What I find, beyond my mind, there is no time
In this place beyond my sight
My heart knows what is not yet seen
I'm witnessing my own becoming

Lash myself to the
Mantle of my desire I will
Turn from its temptations
But the wanting takes me higher

I am hurting
Oh, I am not yet born
I am the mother and the father
Of what is not yet known

I reach beyond myself to see
What I find, beyond my mind, there is no time
In this place beyond my sight
My heart knows what is not yet seen
I'm witnessing my own becoming

Darkness surrounds me
I scratch, I struggle, I breathe

I reach beyond myself to see
What I find, beyond my mind, there is no time
In this place beyond my sight
My heart knows what is not yet seen
I'm witnessing my own becoming

Pure Morning

A friend in needs a friend indeed
A friend with weed is better
A friend with breasts and all the rest
A friend who's dressed in leather

A friend in needs a friend indeed
A friend who'll tease is better
Our thoughts compressed
Which makes us blessed
And makes for stormy weather

A friend in needs a friend indeed
My Japanese is better
And when she's pressed she will undress
And then she's boxing clever

A friend in needs a friend indeed
A friend who bleeds is better
My friend confessed she passed the test
And we will never sever

Day's dawning, skins crawling
Pure morning

A friend in needs a friend indeed
A friend who'll tease is better
Our thoughts compressed
Which makes us blessed
And makes for stormy weather

A friend in needs a friend indeed
A friend who bleeds is better
My friend confessed she passed the test
And we will never sever

Day's dawning, skins crawling
Pure morning

A friend in needs a friend indeed
My Japanese is better
And when she's pressed she will undress
And then she's boxing clever

A friend in needs a friend indeed
A friend with weed is better
A friend with breast and all the rest
A friend who's dressed in leather

The Lingering Rancour

Worrisome revelations were recently brought to my attention. To capture the complete scale of emotions involved without infringing anyone’s privacy, all I dare to mention is that a close friend of mine had an attack - not too long ago if my sources proved to be reliable. Further information is sketchy at the moment, but I have been assured that aside from the further deterioration of the condition, no other significant damages were observed, save for some expected minor bruising.

Albeit the rarity, it’s times like these when I question the wisdom of my parents.

Regrettably, I continue to harbour some resentment towards my family’s decision to retract my opportunity for post-graduation studies. Despite the blatancy, it is not my brother’s insistence to transfer to England for his law degree that left me disgruntled. Sure, there are more sensible, if not practical, options like completing his studies locally where he intends to eventually practice; or opting for Aussie alternatives instead of imposing the exorbitant exchange rate on the family.

No, I am disappointed at my parents for their integrity, or rather the absence of it.

Why did you agree to my proposals in the first place, building my hopes up in the process? Why did you rob me of my chance of enjoying my stay in Australia by duping me into returning home so soon? Why did you choose to divulge such predetermined verdicts AFTER my homecoming and distorted my forward planning into a lack of foresight? Why did you seethe with anger when you discovered I left a bulk of my possessions in Adelaide when foreknowledge was not granted?

So I waited, and interrogated, but no answers are forthcoming.

I acknowledge that non-preferential treatment among siblings should be practiced to ensure the healthy growth of every child. In fact, I wholeheartedly agree that favouritism is damaging; even though it indirectly ended my academic aspirations with its philosophy, its cursed rationale that each individual should be allowed similar chances as seen fit. But don’t you dare accuse me of exerting my influence as the favourite when it is clear I command no such affections from you.

It fuels my indignation, so much that I am now running out of rage.

Yes, a deep breath later and I could almost feel my exasperations slowly seeping away, shifting the emotional energies into the equally dangerous realm of envy. Commitments have shackled me, denying my pleas for mobility, so now I can only stare longingly beyond the ocean at the places I scheduled to visit, the cuisine I planned to savour as well as the endeavours I wanted to experience.

Hence, this is a thank you post to the cunning - the ones dictating my future.

Thanks for robbing me of the opportunity to tie up loose ends before my homecoming. I’m sure it makes you feel superior for pointing out all the things I would have done. Thanks for robbing me of the chance to capitalize on my stay overseas. I will never share any of the unique experiences that I revel in so much. Thanks for robbing me of the prospect to strengthen my friendships. An emotional distance exists now, and growing, between my friends due to my prolonged absence.

If anything happens to my buddies abroad and I start losing friends, guess who I’ll blame?

White Lips Kissed

Wake me up, only nightmares take me in
Through these walls the winter bites
A draft from all sides

Why did you not include me on your list?
Let me in through the ceiling
White lips kissed

Our love is a fickle love
Keeps itself locked in a suitcase
To be ready to go always

I won't cry when the silver lining shows
But you're right, you understand
You ride with both hands
Worrying is the breathing that you need
So there won't be far to fall
You mustn't climb tall

Things that are supposed to mean lots
Leave you cold
And with a malady of the soul

Our love is a tricky love
Bet you know this, bet you noticed
Bet you know, which is why

I should know better than anyone ever could
Soon as I let go
Everything falls apart

I won't cry when the silver lining shows
But you're right, you understand
You ride with both hands
Worrying is the breathing that you need
So there won't be far to fall
You mustn't climb tall

Wake me up, only nightmares take me in
Through these walls the winter bites
A draft from all sides
Of course you can, there are diamonds in demand
It's a shame and as you know
The stain will not go