...Well I'm not a pessimist

‘Cause you know how it is, when you're about to enter a whole new and completely alien world of LRTs and honking cars that seem to perpetually make it their life's calling to wake innocent victims in the middle of the night. Now, I’m not saying that all unfamiliar landscapes consist of flashing lights and malls with more names than I have fingers; it just so happens that yours truly has as much tolerance for greenhouse gases as I do for RBPs or Really Bad People .

And just before setting off to the south (I say going down, my mom says heading south), I couldn’t help but speculate in the all too familiar ways of “Will this happen? Will the experience be soul crushingly horrible? Will I enjoy myself? What if? How if? When will…? WTF????” And somewhere I knew, not to keep your hopes up, not to dream about the glam possibilities, because being optimistic only crushes you - till you’re nothing but a grey lil’ speck of that stuff stuck between your two front teeth.

That’s the pessimistic view of life.

And I have more then plentiful friends who would attest to that. But suddenly it hit me (someway between Tapah and Sg. Buloh) that no! I can’t keep living my life like this, because a pessimist is exactly that. You think that you’re doing yourself a favor by shadowing the lowly view of life where everyone’s a child molesting jerk and the only sustenance which doesn’t end up giving you cancer is water*.

Because no matter what happens, even if it’s the greatest thing on earth, all you’ll be able to think is “Great, yeah, sure...But we're all gonna die in the end” The glass is always half empty and though you fool yourselves into thinking that the view ain’t so bad, it’ll always be that ‘what’s the point?’ mindset which dampens everything.

You think that an optimist is someone who’s constantly setting themselves up for disappointment by setting such high standards, but I’ve got news for you buddy...Just as I was in mid-way through speculating how my sleeping arrangements would be like, it hit me (what the oxford dictionary calls an epiphany and Oprah calls an Ahah! Moment). That there was one more word we keep overlooking. It’s called an idealist. Definition found via

Wikipedia: the philosophical theory that maintains that the ultimate nature of reality is based on mind or ideas.

Or Uncyclopedia: Basically idealists assert either one of three things and therefore belong to one of three schools of thought:
Those who believe that chairs don’t exist.
Those who believe that tables don’t exist.
Those who believe that trees don't exist.

Because, optimists on the lighter hand, only see the bright side of things even when something goes horrendously wrong. Nothing brings them down, they don’t set themselves up for disappointment; they’re incapable of disappointment. Optimists realize that without the shit and crap, there’s no learning, and so they keep moving forward without fear of falling.
So next time you decide it’s better to just look down and think ‘well, it could get worse’, think it could get better. And shoot for the stars so when you fall, it’ll be on the clouds.

*Which, in fact little buddies, is wrong: It’s been scientifically proven that consuming too much hot water can lead to throat cancer

My imperfect life

It's the dead of the night, and the moon is hanging pretty boredly in the sky like it's got nowhere to go - But that can't be right. 'Cause I know that every morning the moon disappears just as the sun comes up. Not much time for it to just sit there like it does. But I don't have much time neither, to just stand and watch the moon. It's almost breakfast hour and even though ma isn't here to feed me anymore, I need to get back home and sit down. Rest my broken, rotting, peeling legs.

I usually can't stand walking around for too long because my left foot tends to hook itself around a fallen branch and fall off. It takes half an hour to get to some place once that happens - the bloody thing. But it isn't just my foot that can get a bit jiggy sometimes. Usually, it's my teeth. But hold on before you go all "oh that's not so bad, you've got sixty-bloody-four to spare" on me, it's just not as simple as it sounds. How else would I bloody feed? You see, I have a friend - Tom - and ever since the poor fool's last tooth fell, Tom now needs Amy to spoon feed him like a bloody baby. Every stinking day of the week. But to his defense, Tom isn't exactly the brightest of zombies.

So...this could be the part that bothers you the most - probably also the reason every human I meet hordes away screaming whenever they see my face. But get real, people. Why on earth would I want to feed in public? Didn't your moma tell you that's rude? Can't an animated corpse get a little respect these days??? It's not like I asked for this. It's not like I wanted to have my skin peel off over rotting pus, or walk around like one of those retards at the mental institution, or to bloody get rejected each time I ask a hot chick out. It's not like I wrote "Rotten limbs and hunger for flesh" On my Christmas wish list. You think eating brains and bone marrow is all that fun? Come on, I see pretty, macho men taste dog food and barf. How do you think scarfing a prostitute's belly feels? Fun?

Not everyone's like Edward-bloody-Cullen alright? Oooh, look at me. I'm so perfect, I don't even have a pimple. Git. He drinks blood and dreams about eating his wife, and yet pretty boy over there's the one with all the girls. And here I am, PHD and everything. Smart, talented and available - unlike Tom, my poor rotten soul (No pun intended). So what if my scalp is disintegrating, and one of my eyeballs is missing? What's wrong with this world? Doesn't anyone care about whats on the inside these days? Bloody hell!

And yet I have to face this bloody $#it every single day of my life. I don't mean to complain, in fact, I'm a pretty nice guy once you get to know me. But life can suck - a lot - if you're a partially rotten, soulless and deceased animated corpse. All I'm asking is for one guy a day - In fact, I'm learning how to cut down my cravings - I'm aware that living, hot, soulful humans are getting pretty rare. I'm not a wastrel. Like I said, don't blame me. People gotta live, I gotta eat.

Choir 2009 in Bukit Gambang Resort Day 1

And if you're scratching your head (or worse, shooting the CPU) at the all too direct and uncharacteristic title of my blog post. Be assured, that it is all intentional and you have every right (If fact, you are encouraged) to feel despondent and annoyed at the lack of creativity. Mine was all used up in the participation of NaNoWriMo and don't ask what that is, just click on the link.

To make things simpler, I'll start from the very beginning of our trip where I jump/dragged my limp body out of under my covers. How can a limp body jump you ask? Well I'm afraid that will have to remain one of those ubiquitous, unanswered questions for the philosophers of the ages, like, how Paris Hilton became famous (or stayed famous)...

To be honest, I put off packing for my things till the last minute (So she can forget what to bring? I hear some people wondering) to avoid fretting and repacking multiple times, things that i'll probably not need anyways. (Hah) I had oatmeal for breakkie; people say that it's the best possible diet breakfast or something or other...but they never mentioned the inevitable urge to puke after a few mouthfuls (Is it the slimy texture? The blanchy taste?) And I bathed (etc. Yada yada hurmph hurmph) before waking my mum up and spending the next half an our waiting for the arousal from sleep to fully kick in.

So being a good and proper Malaysian, me and ma left home at the exact time designated to arrive at school, causing me to fret and worry and grow even more paranoid in the car all the way. Apparently everyone was there by the time I arrived (although the banshee like shout-scolding I was expecting never came) and we filed into the bus mere minutes after I stepped into the school compound.

Abby, who's more or less easily described as best friend/soul sister/OCD girl/pain in the tight ass/and conscience, was with me the minute i arrived and we boarded the bus together (no prizes for guessing who I sat with) somewhere around the back-ish seats. Next door neighbors are Xi Yuan (wrong spelling I'm sure) and Sheilhill (of whom, the closest spelling option I could obtain is Sheila and we all know that can't be right). Sitting behind Abby and I are Joe (and his wig, I'll see if I can get the picture later on).

Surprisingly, for a 9 hour journey, the ride didn't seem as long as I expected. Naturally, it was long of course, but the consideration of planting a bullet in my head due to desperation never entered my mind (ok, maybe just once) as it usually does during a trip of this lengthitude. By the way, I just made that word up.

We had a couple stops along the way, and two hour's confinement since the last stop till we reached the resort that wouldn't have bothered me so much if only I wasn't bursting to pee. The bumps were the worst (try it with a remarkably full bladder and you know what i mean) but I'm okay. The doctors at the OR said there wouldn't be any lasting, permanent damage. Just kidding, I made that up as well.

The first proper look I got of the resort was its incredible water theme park which we could, quote our teacher: see, but not touch. What a waste, and I was hoping to drown before competition day, saving all of us the shame from a disastrous performance. As for the rest of resort, words used could be white, dirty-new, beautiful, promising and castle-ish. Castle ish, because the corridors stand three stories above the ground and imply the appearance of floating with the clouds. Also, the fact that we were on high grounds didn't hurt either.

Our room is a pretty nice conjoined space with separated bedrooms. I personally loved it (though everyone kept saying how Johor stood far more superior, making me want to smash and egg). Late on we had a fancy schmancy formal dinner the next night, but that comes in the following post.
:)

Amazing~

Amazing
(kudos the name to Abby & Ryo)

All awhile I've been told,
to keep my pride and expectations low
But now I beg to differ,
That seeing through trial and error
I've found there's nothing wrong,
in wanting to be strong
Nothing wrong in dreaming,
to give our hopes a try
To stretch our wings and flap them,
in learning how to fly
And even should we fall,
we're learning on the way
We continue to dream,
to what we are today
So if you're afraid to get hurt,
take a look around
Do you think that by staying safe,
we'd get to where we are now?

Halloween Poem

Boy do I miss Halloween, it just isn't the same here in Malaysia. Still, the skies seem enigmatically darker every year on that night and the moon seems a little greener. When you sleep, remember to keep your eyes peeled for little siblings under your bed and maybe even shadows darting in the corners. Don't walk alone on the street, little kiddies. And one more thing, watch your candy intake. We want to be happy, not have limbs dropping off on count of Diabetes :D

*Will upload the page later when I'm feeling not so lazy

All Hallows Eve

Rain falls like sunshine
covering every creek
in scarlet rivers flowing rot
and rusting garbage reek
Butterflies drop from the sky
they taste the putrid air
For night comes dropping slowly by
and beetles in your hair
Midnight glows like rotten cheese
filling up the sea
Zombies crumble left and right
while shadows hide and seek.

Happy Halloween everybody!

Goodbye Moonlight Guy

A new poem.
Watch out, it's a bit different from what I'm used to cause I used my left hand to write it. :D

Goodbye, goodbye, to the moonlight guy
And rain will fall in gummy balls tonight
The sky is fiery blue and purple bright
I will dive and swim through the soft moonlight
You left my heart the day my pancreas died
I screamed, I scream, nothing worse than water pie
But soft, what light through yonder window breaks,
It's a flood of Dr Pepper and all his heartaches

Epiphany during History (the class)

I wanted to scan the page straight out of my diary but got lazy. Oh well, here goes. And wish me luck for PMR :D

The whispers are leaving me out of the blue

the words don't talk to me, not anymore

that friendly warmth stops travelling down my wrist

it's the price I pay for treating them ignored

An old friend of mine, rusted from neglect

did I choose to grow up and leave them behind?

Are they scared of me, that I no longer write?

Or was it just me, who grew out of my mind?

But my hair wont stop running and neither my limbs

as violet and rose sprout across my cheeks

poisoning the innocence all children once had

naivety is something a woman must never keep

Then what happens to that place of friendship and warmth?

of sweet brilliance when amity is scarce to be found

that soft haven when children find themselves writing alone

or drawing, or reading when truth be turned down

Instead of this grown up, plastic new earth

of memorized greetings and pre-rehearsed lines

where handshakes mean nothing and eyes count your worth

and looking your best is more vital than nursery rhymes

But when I start writing, I hear 'Welcome home, Friend'

the journey though years is worth every mile

and though i can't reclaim my naivety long lost

those who know me well, will be sure that I've learnt how to smile

Courtesy of The Diary dude