Sometimes I think that I have dug a hole so deep into the flaming volcanic core of the earth that I'm not able to get back up. I've dug myself too deep that I just want to take my P08 Parabellum and conjure up a new life.
I truly hope none of you out there have the chance to quote me on that.
As I woke up today, I had this burning sensation to actually clarify why I actually do what I do (which for the most part nothing). What I'am micro focusing on at this moment in time is writing.
As early on in my childhood I have never liked reading. Reading to me was a chore and still am for certain books. My theory is that when you start reading, the books that are given to you are generally fictitious stories or mythological reads. It's at this point your personality begin to stereotype books and its just a question of whether you like reading or not.
As kids we tend to have two sides of everything and stereotyping what we know. The black and white of life. My dislike of books got me out of the house to play outdoors. Which began my infatuation with sports. Along with sports and school, television filled my day almost everyday. Those Japanese cartoons that made us all do silly stuff and eventually made us quite brand conscious at the time. Not your high profile brands but at the time, the difference between a tamiya made car and a rip off in audi was huge. Some will nod in agreement and some would be puzzled but that was the "it" thing at the time. I remember the days of the digimons, tamiya's, yo-yo's and all that other stuff people were into in those days *cough cough*.
The turning point of my reading phobia was when I got an autobiography on Bill Gates. Who other than my dad to give me that book. Now this book was huge. It was bigger thicker than all the form 4 and 5 textbooks put together. I mean, if I wasn't reading those, why in the world would I read this? I thought. To those who didn't know me back then, I was into business (even though it is a very different situation now, which made me think of the saying you don't know what you got until it's gone, but that would be a totally different story altogether). I sold numerous of things when I was a kid. Trading cards, pucks, books, cds that were mostly based around my friends. I never thought of going big or anything like that though. Just enough to get by I said. I had worked in retail even before PMR by helping out with my mom's store. This is where I think I developed my retail brain calculator (which, I think, is why my mom and friends like having me around to shop with). Anyway, back to the real story. I started reading the book slowly. I am no fast reader (if you see me reading fast, then I'm probably not gonna realize what I just read by the time I finish reading it). I was fascinated in reading the experiences this guy went through, and by looking at the book, you knew he had plenty.
This got me thirsty for autobiographies but since I wasn't "mature" enough to read most biographies I was left with mostly inspirational leaders to read into which became quite a bore later onwards. So here is where I think my infatuation with history started. So I got more non-fiction books to read. Until this day I mostly read non-fictitious books but now I'm mostly reading about popular cultures.
A-ny-way, after reading autobiographies and liking them, I began to make my essays at school more factual which didn't go so well with my dad after he found out that I wrote the story of how he decided to marry my mom, but it did get me an A though and it did get to the 200 words mark (or was it 500). Ha ha. So I began to flirt with fiction after that. Some more semi-fictitious. It has been a twisted ride on my evolution in writing but I hope it does not end here even though I think that my writing is getting awful by the day. I still like doing it. Ya, like, bukan love.
And all the while you were reading this you once thought to yourself, what the fuck?! Spread the pain people. Spread the pain. Ha ha.
It took what seemed forever to have made my decision but finally I said no and he said "your lost." If I were to get some more I'd be lying about where I had been to my boss the next day. I put on my Ipod and helmet and went my way. The city buzzing in excitement all the way to the bank I worked for. No, I wasn't your executive calling all the shots at this so called big bank nor was I even the bank teller. I had more liberté working at the back. The glue to every organization I would always imagine. The office boy.
Everything seemed grey. Life was more symmetric than I would have hoped for. Almost every people I meet inside the bank are DOA. This seemed weird considering the huge amounts of money they make each year. Every cliche you could have ever imagined was evident right smack in the middle of this high paced monetary center. Every phone never stops ringing, every keyboard never stopped clicking, and yet the people who are in the middle of everything looked like zombies. No, not your Hollywood big block buster movie zombies, they were more B movie zombies who were too slow for even considering eating peoples brains for livelihood. I didn't want to be stuck doing that for the rest of my life. Hence my past working experience of 5 different jobs all of which that slowly shred any soul left in me. I have worked for the head honchos of the business lines but gained nothing other than an imaginary cancer. I was still waiting for my appointment at an imaginary hospital about that.
My day consisted of mainly sitting around doing other people's chores. "Send this to this department," they would say or "pick up this and that". It wasn't your normal 8 to 5 job but it does get me a little wee self time on my own. I could be lazying around the office drinking coffee or having a snack outside the building. Plus I get to go home earlier than the others especially when there is anything left to do which for the most part a usual occasion. When I do go back late, my ride back home is like the game Frogger. A balancing act if one could have imagined. The impatient honking cars, the speeding motorcycles weaving around the conjunctions and fast walking zombie like creature heading to the nearest tube. I head back home to do it all over again the next day.
After what seems like forever, I came back. Even though it has only been 4 days, I'm back at home. Ha ha. I have a hard time to quickly adapt I guess. Yes, 3 semesters per year yet I still have a hard time. Enough of the yip yaps, there are far more questionable materials to unravel but since I'm not into politics, lets just leave it at that. Ha ha.
If your like everyone else, there is slightly more chance of you liking music than the political scene. Whether you own only one album or more it would be hard to find a person who can live without music. It is like living life without colors. I have this knack for music of the past. I'm an oldie they say. Even the choice of songs I hear today are not what your normal radio stations play (this has now been a major influence in the local music industry as it tries to reignite itself, but is another story altogether). The lyrical content of today's songs are very much questionable to say the least. There are fewer genuine singer-songwriters today that has caught the attention. Even up to the 90's we could still see a good amount of these people making it to the popular music scene in the likes of Jewel, Alanis Morrisette and bands like No Doubt or the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Now I find that to search for the type of artist that expands ones minds I need to search outside of the popular music scene.
Don't get me wrong, there are some inside the chart topping circle that are good songwriters but they seem like a dying bread. Taylor Swift for one has caught the attention of many with her down to earth relatable songs. One thing that a song should do is have it relate to the listeners which I find confusing in a current world with more show than talent. Even the hip hop scene, which was once glorified by the lyrical production, has now became more of a booty shaking extravaganza than anything else. The one who has still caught my ear to this day with his lyrics is Jay Z. Even Eminem has faded a bit (although this might be because he is producing more behind the scenes).
I know you kinda have problems with your internet connection right now and your probably going to miss this post unless you were soo bored that before you clicked on the archive button or older post button you scratched your fingers against the blackboard just to have a higher level of entertainment than this.
I'm here to make you feel like laughing (unintentionally of course), disgust, paranoid, nausea, and other symptoms that involved involuntary vomiting. I got you going now didn't I. Ha ha. So how long has it been? You say 1 and a half years, and I say because of the "life changes", so to speak, it was like a lifetime. Tom-ato, to-mato. (In that song British, American thing). I know, it had been that long. You were busy, I wasn't. When you weren't busy, I wasn't as well. Ha ha. I'm not sorry for disturbing you doing your work though. Ha ha. ( We're each others killjoy right?). I'm sticking to the fact that you are getting older you know. Which reminds me to ask you, why 18 anyway? Of all the numbers that could have been taken. You picked 18.
When I said I was a bit different than before, I sugar-coated it a bit didn't I. (I know, I know..Your saying, "A bit?! Really? A Bit?!). I blame it on responsibilities I tell ya. Too early to have 'em. Ha ha. At least I haven't lost my sense of humor right? And I see the same from you. After all, it is what makes us sane, right? Of course as usual had a blast even though it was slightly marred by an overdose of dairy on your part. Ha ha. ( I won't forget it as well ). To answer your question, yes I do think I have matured a bit over the last couple of years. It might be a bit surprising to know that I'm not stuck reading only comics anymore. Ha ha.
So anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is that thank you for your time. Thank you for keeping me sane all these years. I'll try not to go missing again. Ha ha. As long as you always make me feel that home is home ( after everyone's departure into "adulthood". ) Your still no Peter Pan of young adult by the way. Ha ha. So thank you friend. Best friend.
I know, I know. Your gonna some how get all wound up about the sentimentality of the matter and that its all gdik..gdik.. Ha ha. Which I still don't know the exact definition to. Ha ha. I nose you too well la amoi. And vise versa. Ha ha.
Puff. One hit. I was in. It wasn't my first nor was it my last. I was hooked. Finally it seemed clearer. The world showed it's beautiful colors. As orange as an orange could be. Bright lights of neon surrounding this dark city. This was early in the morning. The mist was still here waiting for the sunrise to squall them away.
I stood silence looking up to which I thought was the sky but in reality it was the white ceiling. The color of blue hidden in between the whiteness of the wall. My stomach growling, begging for someone to fill it with anything. It was at a time where you don't care what the hell is there to eat as long as it fulfills its natural needs. I took a box of cereal out from the food cupboard. Got out my bowl and filled it up till the cereal overflowed. Milk was then poured. It looked like if the Niagara falls upside down. It wasn't that pretty of a sight when I gorged upon these colorful rings of sweet wheat covered in the natural white color of the milk. It was like a marathon I had to finish. A dash to the finish line trying to beat the time. This was it. I was going for the world record of over excessive gorging. A gorge-a-thon. My friends became time as it slowed down for me. It stopped for me. Me.
After I gobbled up every few bits I sat down on the floor. There was this young guy sitting the opposite of me smoking some light cigeratte. It was George Harrison. With his liverpudlian accent he asked me if I wanted some. I shook my head. It was somehow a different George. His accent didn't sound scousers at all. I didn't care at the time. Why would I? I was sitting chatting with one of the fab four. We later chatted about their works and how he was never liked by the others. Their public image taking a toll on their apperception and psyche. He then said he had to go to work and left me there just sitting, waiting for something but couldn't get my mind around it.
I looked at the clock, it seemed crooked. What looked to be 3 o'clock was actually 6. "My hand was bigger" I thought to myself. It took awhile for me to see myself but when it did, it hit me that I had to go to work. Stumbling down towards the showers hitting everything in sight. Luckily we were a bunch of guys who didn't use a lot of money to buy furnitures. I showered and got changed. Got my bicycle out, protected myself with all of the pads and helmet. On the way to the door, my house mate stopped me and said, "one for the ride".
With my bicycle in hand, I looked to the door, turn to see the rumpled piece of paper stuffed with magical plantation and stood in silence.