Disturbia.

Her best song this year. (:

Overhaul.

I was walking down the road going to Plaza Singapura and there was a bunch of young Chinese lads, who looked like students from THE rich boys’ school, or perhaps who CAME from THE rich boys’ school, looking at me with somewhat impulsively satirical and repugnant faces, faces that suggested the possibility of them bursting into laughter, or regurgitating their shit out in public. I was astonished, seemingly amused and petrified by the mockery in their eyes, the ridiculous body language, the sinister smiles, the deafening silence emanating from their mouths. But from their boastful aura dissipated the thought that I was exactly thinking about: my uniform.

I continued walking past. I tried to imagine that I was a model unlucky enough to be victimized by a fashion designer’s occasional outlandish fashion concepts, that I had to carry what I was wearing since I was obliged to do so. Well, in a way, I am indeed obliged to wear the unform, but hey, looks count as well. If people deem the uniform as a joke, then there’s something wrong with it. The rich boys’ gang was supposed to appreciate the uniform, not to make a jolly mockery out of it.

Sometimes it takes simple fashion sense to understand what the laugh was all about. The uniform does suck, in a way, since the shirt just tucks itself out from the pants, ever so willingly, since its one size smaller than the usual shirt I wear. Sometimes the pants just skyrockets up to my high waist that I tend to look like Mandark without the wavy hair shine. And the way the uniform embraces itself on my body makes me look like a flagpole on a diving suit. And sometimes – No – all the time, the seams on the pants just seem to be unable to hold themselves together, they almost look like they’re going to tear apart with one simple wide stretching of the legs. And since my uniform is really tight on me, sometimes when I get the occasional innocent bulges it gets really embarrassing – well for me it is.

Or is it that the problem lies not on the uniform, but on the person who carries it? They always say, it’s not what you wear, it’s how you wear it. Yeah, right. Talk about wearing a bunny rabbit costume along orchard road, or going for a swim in Sentosa with a tuxedo.

HAHA. I intended to wear it that way for this photo.

Nevertheless, it’s time to do some changes!

I’m all for the uniform overhaul: new pant cut and colour, a tie, and long sleeves. That will make us look way cooler, smarter, and less nerdy, and even more less weird.

Back to normal.

I realise I have been writing too many emo posts already!

Time for me to lighten up the mood of this blog.

Anyway, today was officially my cam-whore day, and i took some crazy photos of myself!

Looking forward to go back to school tomorrow! (:

***

Anyway, I saw this on Joey’s blog, and I have decided to do it as well.

9 lasts

1. last place: Holy Family Church, Singapore
2. last cigarette: None, and no cigarette whatsoever in the future.
3. last beverage: Dihydrogen oxide.
4. last kiss: None.
5. last movie seen: None. Actually, I just finished watching Hana Kimi Japan, but this won’t count since it’s a TV series.
6. last phone call: My mother.
7. last cd listened to: >:) i don’t listen to cds. I listen to my computer.
8. last bubble bath: This house has no effing bathtub at the first place.
9. last time you cried: Yesterday. My great-grandmother passed away.

8 have you evers

1. have you ever been cheated on/played: Oui.
2. have you ever kissed somebody and regretted it? Oui.
3. have you ever fallen in love: Oui.
4. have you ever lost someone: Oui.
5. have you ever been depressed: Oui.
6. have you ever been drunk and thrown up: Non. I’m a good boy.

7 countries you’ve been to

1. The Philippines
2. Singapore
3. Malaysia
4. Thailand (soon!)
5. Austria (soon!)
6. Czech Republic (soon!)
7. Germany (soon!)

Okay whatever, I know I’m a deprived kid. (this answer’s the same as joey’s)

6 things you’ve done today

1. Went to church
2. Did my economics HL congestion homework
3. Studied a bit of Physics
4. Ate my horrible dinner. I just feel like I’m doing a fear factor stunt everyday.
6. Topped up my EZ Link card.

5 favorite things

1. Sony Ericsson W610.
2. Acer Aspire 4720
3. My uniball signo coloured pens
4. The dining table inside the house
5. My economics file

They are simple things that make me happy, because they have marked their significance in my life.

4 people you can tell pretty much anything to

1. I
2. don’t
3. really like
4. sharing personal stuff.

3 favorite colors

1. Green
2. Orange
3. Red

2 things you want to do before you die

1. Save the environment.
2. Marry a god-fearing beautiful and loving and caring and kind wife and have amazing, God-fearing, wonderful children.

1 thing you regret

1. Don’t feel like telling it here.

Who knows when we shall meet again?

Who knew that was the last time I was going to see you?

And who knows when we shall meet again?

I dreamt about this last week.

I do believe in signs. I do believe God has its ways of preparing us for the inevitable.

I do believe that He wanted me to know that this was coming.

I can’t believe I’m saying goodbye here.

I want to go back so badly.

But time, time wouldn’t let me.

Bye.

I know you’re up there now, happy and contented. Guide us always.

Choices.

One famous person said that there is a point at which everything becomes simple and there is no longer any question of choice, because all you have staked will be lost if you look back. Life’s point of no return.

I don’t believe him.

***

A few months ago, the foreign students in school, including me, attended a pot luck in school with our foster parents here in Singapore, and I happened to stumble upon one Indian mother who said this: “I don’t think time management was a big deal back for me then. What I found difficult about the IB was that I had to do subjects which I didn’t really like.”

Well, good for her, I thought. I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with such a problem, a nuisance, a conundrum. I thought, at that very moment, that I would be satisfied, happy, delighted. I thought that I would be happy with my textbooks, my notes, my timetable . I thought I would only needed to fight time, to keep up with time, to chase time. I thought, at that very moment, that the choices I made were right, manageable, appropriate. But now it seems that I, like the flowing river, have no choice but to flow downstream. I, like the fighting salmon, have no choice but to fight the undercurrents. I, like the carried away pebbles, have no choice but to be carried away by the gushing water.

Superheroes. They are the cliché-st of all clichés. They always have choices. They always do. They always will. Comic writers always give them a choice: to be or not to be? They always go around emo-ing, contemplating, self-reflecting, upon their roles in the society, in the world, in their inner selves: should I save them? Should I use my powers for the good? Or should I stay around doing nothing?

I may not be spider-man who’s gone emo, but actually, I did have a choice. I once had the opportunity to flow upstream, to embrace the undercurrents, to resist the gushing water. But I chose not to. Because I was afraid. Ironically, not choosing the things I wanted to choose was itself a choice that I consciously made.

And now, there’s no turning back. As one famous person said, “Be miserable. Or motivate yourself. Whatever has to be done, it’s always your choice.”

R-13.

I was reading news online, and there was this particular part of news article that caught my attention.

“I really wanted to get an R-13 rating so that a lot of kids will know more about crimes of passion.”

WTF?? Crimes of passion? Is that a school subject?? I really wanted to get an R-13 rating so that a lot of kids will know more about crimes of passion? What? I can’t believe the logic. Ridiculous. Stupid. Which normal parent would love to see their children watch people engaging in such “crimes of passion”? WTF. You should rather watch Potter Puppet Pals, people. Well, eventually they’ll know about it, those children, when the right time comes, the earth is nothing but a filthy place after all, but seriously, that reason is ridiculous. We all know filmmakers would love to try to dig in all the way up to that G rating just to expand the audience market (hence higher ticket sales). And with the earlier statement by that director, I assume that R-13 rating would suffice to reap profits. Who wouldn’t love profits anyway.

Nothing, nothing.

I don’t know why, but as soon as I entered the toilet, I banged my head on the wall five times – five loud bangs that made me shout in pain. Seriously, it was painful. I banged the left part of my head, the right part of my head, my forehead, the back of my head, and the top of my head. Every time I banged my head onto the wall, I heard a very familiar sound reverberating inside the skull, like the sound an empty bottle of coke makes when you slam it onto a wall or a floor. I thought I injured myself, or caused myself to bleed inside. I thought I cracked my skull. I thought I was going to die, well at least get myself into a hospital bed. I thought I was going to miss my French test tomorrow. But nothing happened. Nothing was inside there anyway.

Masterpieces.

I envy people who can create masterpieces on a TV screen or a movie screen because it is difficult to do so. Actually, a masterpiece, usually a painting, or a sculpture, or a drawing, is imagination immortalized at its best; immobile, beautifully trapped under a single frame, captured on that single best orientation, taken from the best possible angle; a fragment of humanity frozen in time, unmoved, undisturbed, unchanged, the same, forever. On a TV, or a movie, a masterpiece may occur at one time, and then may disappear on the next few rolls of film, and then it may appear again. Or disappear. It can get inconsistent. Movies do get draggy, and become lackluster. Sometimes the plot just goes haywire and everything becomes like the coke with melted ice beside your seat. TV shows always have their share of bad ratings. They can’t just possibly show sex-themed scenes everyday, right?

Worse, it’s easier to obtain a pirated version of them. Masterpieces are supposed to be impossible to replicate, because they are not mass-produced like China toys. In fact, they are not mass-produced. Masterpieces are mindfully created. They are the brilliant work of the mind, inspired by life, made tangible by amazing hands, given soul by the heart. The magnanimous colours from sweat and blood. Immortalized by time.

I don’t really know what I’m saying here.

*******

Anyway,

I have watched the Dark Knight, and I must say that it is the best comic book-based movie ever. No, it should’t even be classified as a mere adaptation of the comic book. The original plot more likely conveys a thrilling psychological thriller. The Joker just gives you the shivers. The awesome cast brings justice to the awesome plot. It’s a crime movie that ignites the senses. A film that successfully explores human frailty, human weakness, strength; inhumanity, humanity. Ah. I’m bad in giving good criticisms.

But I must say, watching Indian advertisements on YouTube with a biscuit and a cup of coffee for a few minutes is just as good as watching the best Batman movie ever with a popcorn and iced lemon tea for two and a half hours.

when i thought i couldn’t do it.

I RAN (not the country)

FIFTEEN

KILOMETRES

today.

That would be equivalent to

15000000 millimetres

1500000 centimetres

590550 inches

49215 feet

16404 yards

15000 metres

745.65 chains

or 9.321 miles.

Little Tree.

My own poetic effort. Picture not meant to disgust people. I very well know i’m skinny.

And I ask myself, why

A tree, a little tree, virgin and feeble

tiny branches spreading like wings

the Misty air that kisses the foliage green

holds a million little other things

waiting to be seen,

to be heard, to be tasted

to be touched, to be smelled;

the roots awakened from deep within the ground,

the wooden heart within swelled.

The little tree, day by day, climbs up high;

Misty air blows stronger and stronger.

Ever-nearing the clouds in the sky

Little tree sees more, grows wiser and wiser.

But in the evening when the moon shines and the stars twinkle,

Little tree sees the dark:

it creeps, it moves, it slowly trickles.

Little tree hears the songs of a skylark

unable to escape from its abode;

The branches sway with the Misty wind

the shivering leaves fall onto the mucky road.

The wooden heart, encapsulated in a life dimmed

by the moonlit canopy that has outgrown the tree.

“I want to go, I want to leave this place

And seek a new place to stay,

I want to be where the sun shines every day.”

The roots hold firmly to the ground

unwilling to let go of Little tree.

“I am here, I am where you don’t notice,

I am where you don’t see,

I am your leaves underground

I am your branches unknown

I am you wooden heart underneath,

A tree, I am not, when I am alone.

I am a part of you, you are a part of me,

please don’t leave me, oh Little tree.”

And I ask myself,

why.

PHUK ET.

Phuket.

We were discussing about joey’s rantings over challenge week.

rowland. BUSY ;] says:
ah. now, je comprends.
.rowland. BUSY ;] says:
it is ok, my deer.
[Lin³] joey says:
DER
.rowland. BUSY ;] says:
oh sorry
[Lin³] joey says:
DEER
.rowland. BUSY ;] says:
my dear
[Lin³] joey says:
HAHAHA
[Lin³] joey says:
Deer.
[Lin³] joey says:
You are my COW!

See what challenge week does to people.

If challenge week is a challenge, then the challenge week proposal would be more or so in the ranks of what we can aptly describe as insane. A few months have already gone into waste and my group is still merely on the verge of typing our title page. Add to the fact that we had people coming in and out of our group, Celine’s embassy problems, Tanya’s dilemma, the Nalaka-John-Rowland financial crisis, and Amanda’s last-minute inclusion into the NLK fraternity.

We have encountered so many problems along the way, while the rest of the other groups have started dialing agencies, typing itineraries, pressing calculators, booking airline tickets, reserving rooms in orphanages, twittering about orangutan sanctuaries, dreaming about mountain climbing, thinking of the dangers of Cambodian landmines, rejecting my lovely country – the Philippines – because of a capsized ship vessel. No, I’m not criticizing them. When it comes to traveling, I also value safety above all else. Although I would say that whichever place you go, if you’re meant to be in danger, you will be in danger, if you’re meant to be kidnapped, you will be kidnapped, no matter where you are. If you are in a dangerous place, let’s say Iraq, if you’re not meant to get shot by some terrorist, or some uncanny extremist, or some drunk American soldier, you won’t get shot. Even places like Singapore, where danger and crime are as ubiquitous as chewing gums, these places are not 100% safe. But, don’t get me wrong – I’m not being a lunatic, crime-freak patriot who worships the idea of people getting hurt. I don’t even play GTA or any other violent computer games. I love war movies though. haha. Like I said earlier, when it comes to traveling, I value safety above all else. Let’s all stay in Singapore for Challenge Week then. (:

And I’m not going to say that my country is a better destination. I’m not going to say that it has more beautiful coastlines than Thailand, or more talented people and prettier faces than anywhere else in Southeast Asia, (too bad the Pinoy government is just as bad as Nalaka trying to keep himself awake during Sunday masses) or jungles as marvelous as Borneo, or mountains as prestigious as Kota Kinabalu, or food that spells VERY DELICIOUS (with the absence of intolerable spiciness) – No, I’m not going to say them – haha – I’m just.. um… being biassedly patronizing?

See? This is just as nice as Phuket.

Ok, never mind.

Anyway, our group -FINALLY- without my presence, made up its mind. When I was told that we’re going Phuket, Thailand, I was initially o.k. with it. But as soon as I heard of the estimated budget, my eyes exponentially enlarged, shivering, shocked. I enlarged my eyes some more in the hopes of getting a clearer picture of the current situation. I resigned to the proposal because I had no choice. After a discombobulating litany of probable destinations,

from Bali, Indonesia

to Miri, East Malaysia

to Bali again,

then to Sabah, East Malaysia

to Cambodia

to Vietnam

to Laos

to Sabah again

we finally fnally finally agreed on Phuket, Thailand.

Yes, we’re going to Phuket.

And the trip will be outrageously extravagant and expensive.

We have no choice. Time is running out.

I just really hope it’s worth the money.

I so badly wanted to go to Laos though.

I saw the sign.

WHAT are you taking? WHERE are you going?

I waited for the right time, because I knew that it will come. I decided not to make up my mind on anything, and it has already been almost three years now, three years of eagerly waiting for the answer. A lot of people have been asking me about it, and although most of them do not really care whether or not I tell them, I have been, in a way, feeling very bothered about my frequent vacillations. The so-called panakip-butas replies have emanated from my mouth from time to time, modifying themselves to suit a human conversation, and at the end of it, everything said and done just seemed like a cornucopia of surrealistic ideas that only indecisive people can manufacture instantaneously.

But today was totally unexpected. In hindsight, I processed everything that I was told, everything from the first word to the last, from the controlled facial expressions to the choice of words, from the nod of the head to the widening and the slinting of the eyes. From the wry smile to the relaxed disposition, from the invisible aura that tells me to “try and not be afraid, because I believe you have a good shot at it.” Clearly, the little body languages spoke louder than words themselves. Never have I felt so much butterflies in my stomach swirling around like a merry-go-round. Is this it? I asked. Is this really it? I asked again.

Really, I did not expect to receive such an insight. I was there for the main purpose of getting a general feedback. Not a commendation. Nor an answer to the long-awaited sign that I have been eagerly searching for quite a long time now.

As I closed the classroom door, left the world to be in the comforts of my own solitude, I then have realized that I have gotten it. It was worth the wait. The sign has finally arrived.

I smiled.

Milk Run and other milky stuff.

Close to you.

In today’s world where the majority of new songs are as loud as howling monkeys, as ungrammatically-friendly as Beijing signboards, directories and posters, and as short-lived as mosquitoes, it is good to know that there are soul-soothing musical pieces that never die.

*****************

Yesterday was a good day. It was Jix’s birthday, which I totally forgot until I saw his face when I arrived in Oldham Hall. They were there – Danson, Zippy, Kenneth, Yza, Jix, Candice, and some of the juniors. Jessie is in Batam, doing overseas CIP. Well I wouldn’t really count that as overseas since Batam is like, a few minutes away from this island? I would compare it to a getaway trip from the busy setting of Manila to the suburbs of Batangas. Well it was OH’s cultural celebration, an event where they all gather and perform some cultural stuff, and then waste precious money by setting up booths that showcase their respective countries. Well, I felt kind of “junk” when I went to the Filipino booth, upon seeing tons and tons of Chippy, Piattos, Onion Rings, Goldilock’s Polvoron, Cornicks, and Dilis! beautifully spread over the table. Gosh, it was all junk food on the table.

It was fun. Went to Raffles Town Club as well. Went to CJC Hostel, ate some prawns. Had a wonderful time with my Filipino friends. Drank Bacardi courtesy of Zippy. Nice booze. Saw someone. Loved that moment.

Went back home at around 12 am.

My Version of Enlightenment.

Hello.

Update, update. TGIF.

It is said that how long a minute is depends on which side of the bathroom door you’re on.

True, true. Very true. Everyday, I wake up at six in the morning with the eagerness of removing the morning stars on my eyes, with the eagerness of filling my empty stomach, and with the anticipation of an empty, available shower room which I share with Niko, John, Bradian, and Christopher. No, it’s not what you think of. We don’t bathe together. Okay maybe you didn’t think of it. Now you are.

Never mind.

It is almost impossible for me to get ahead of the toilet since Bradian wakes up unbelievably early in the wee hours of morning, when the security guards are sleeping in the middle of their night duties, the poor nurses tending to dextrosed patients, the prostitutes covered under the littlest amount of clothing possible, on the loose in the streets of Geylang and somewhere else who knows where. Waiting for someone to get out of the toilet somehow makes you feel that he’s taking too long and you’re running out of time. It also makes you feel like you’re going to shit on your pants before you even reach the depository. Okay, that was gross.

************************

photos taken during our thursday run

************************

Anyway, that’s not really the main idea. I was just wondering how time has been so slow this week, how it has made my June holidays feel like a second instead of a lifetime; how it has made me tired and yet happy at the same time, that upon the gradual slowing of time, I have begun to realise that to live in haste is not a requirement to live a life. I have noticed that for the past few months I’ve been stressing myself to do this and do that, finish up work and stuff asap, as if they are a bunch of popcorn that you must consume immediately, or the crunchiness will fade away along with the sweetness and the warmness when it was still served fresh. But, no, I think I have learnt something new. I think I have learnt to slow myself down, to take time to reflect and think, to wait, to lengthen the ephemeral days through slow breathing paces and unhurried strolls along the sidewalk, contemplating about life, the future that lies ahead, people, love, peace, war, even thoughts unconscionable and short of moral scruples, to immerse myself in the chlorinated blue of the swimming pool when I feel stressed, to play my favourite songs over and over to give myself a sense of consistency in life.

Life has been simple this week, amidst the complexity of life itself.

I’ve learnt it from the woods. From the quiet, unhurried life of the trees and the rocks and the soil and the fallen leaves on the ground.

This sounds like Siddhartha.

I have been gradually realising that there is no need to rush to the shower every morning. Time is not selfish; it’s not it’s fault that it can neither reverse nor stop itself.

Nlk Bddhk Wrnkl.

I never really made use of my youtube account, but here it goes, a video taken with my obsolete sony ericsson phone.