Le' Jade

I made it. I don't know how, but I made it.

The Scribbler just made it through his exams.

It wasn't the best of results but I am glad. Truly. To further elaborate exactly why I was worried, we have to dwell into my superstitious beliefs. 

For starters, I am an advocate of calling bullshit on anything superstitious. You should also note down that I have been involved in several misunderstandings and offending situations regarding the questioning and rebuttals of certain superstitions or beliefs, which in those cases happen to be connected religiously. Because lets face the fact that most religions and cultures bring along a handful of beliefs that would be considered as superstitions to any non-believer. 

That being said, I am living a journey of a search for peace within. Trying to make sense of what I want to believe and what is true out there for me to seek. And I'm no different from anyone by doing this. A lot of people do, and I believe everyone should. Believe what you want to believe, but let others believe what they want to too. 

So yeah, superstitions. I believe in signs. Believe is a strong word for it actually. You know, like signs. Foreshadowing something. The one I have is regarding this jade I wear around my neck. 

My jade wishes it can be like this jade, but looks about the same I guess.
Maybe mine's a little karat'e la....
Lil' bitch.

I don't recall how I first started wearing the jade. A vague memory brings me back to a trip in Singapore when I was young, can't recall the age, where I may have found it at a toy store. It was on a shelf, not too high since I remember being able to reach for it. It wasn't on sale, It looked like someone had left it there. I remember it was attached to a red string. Next thing I knew, it became a part of me.

The jade stayed on all the time. During my showers, sweats, sleeps, sports, everything. It never once came off. Except one day in 2010. 

It fell off while I was just casually walking. I admit, I did find it a little odd but I just concluded that old strings do wear off eventually. I just fixed the string and put it back on. My grandfather passed away the next day. 

That was the first time it fell off. I didn't think much of it. Then came 2012, I was about to go out to prom. I had a new suit. Pocketsquare.Hair brushed back neatly. 2 tickets and a beautiful date ready. And then the jade fell off. I tied it back on my neck, went to prom and lost my date to some other dude.

Boo hoo. Nevertheless, it's one of the memories I hold dearest to my chest organs. 

Aaaaaaaand now we come to the point why this post actually started in the first place. Yeah so, the jade fell off my neck the morning I was supposed to take my final exam. You could understand my worries, I even developed a massive headache as I was doing the exam. I wasn't feeling confident at all once it ended. The omen that surrounded the outcome of the exam wasn't a nice one. Yet, the results were fine. Nothing bad happened. Everything was.....good.

So that means this jade conundrum is just a bunch of poppy-cock right?

....right?

Yaohh :D

Snow

Eh you know ah?

Know what?

Know snow.

Snow? What snow?

You know nothing, Jon Snow.

What?

Shaddap la.
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So, I grew up reading those Enid Blyton's collections of short stories. Mind me, I thought her name was Grid Bluton, and that she was a man. Don't blame me, her signature was a little hard for my young self to process.

In some of those stories, the backdrop would be in the winter. And there would be snow. I've never experienced snow. All I knew, back then, was that snow would come in the winter. There was one year, when I was very young, I waited for December, hoping to catch a glimpse of snow falling onto my window sill. Alas, I woke up on a Christmas morning to find a morning like any other morning. No snow.


I remember feeling disappointed. Felt betrayed by all the fictional tales about snow. I found it hard to understand when my mother explained that snow doesn't fall in Malaysia.

I got pissed. Lies. All lies. All those books and hours of reading and lies. I marched upstairs and locked myself in my room, set the air-conditioner to the lowest setting and jumped onto the bed. Heck, if I wasn't gonna get snow, I might as well make the room so cold that snow would get me - or so I thought.

I got a scolding the next morning. Apparently I fell asleep, room locked and air-conditioner blasting throughout the whole night. That month's electric bill wasn't very cheap either apparently.

Oh and I got snow alright, in a way.
I got a cold.

Yaohh :D

Eye Candy

What are you afraid of?

Verily it seems like a rhetorical question for a writer to ask to reader. The reader can't possibly answer a question like that in time for any further influence in what the writer is about to share. Maybe it is a premise for the writer to share his own thoughts on the question asked, by asking the question as if intended for the reader to answer. So, which means, the question that should be addressed is..

What am I afraid of?

Photo taken from scaryforkids.com

Fears change over time. For a big part of my life, I was not in favour of horror films. I wasn't a fan of jumpscares, and I didn't like going to bed with an image of a long-haired woman with bleeding eyes. I couldn't go to bed. I'd be troubled by the occasional rustling I believed I heard from under my bed or a whisper beside my ear.

Photo taken from fourletternerd.com

But in that same time of not liking horror movies, I had a constant obsession for slasher movies. Somehow, and I'm trying to make this sound as disturbing as I can, I found myself being very calm as I watched gory decapitations, or a gut-wrenching disembowelment. Was that disturbing? Were you disturbed by my words? I hope you are disgusted. It is noted that The Scribbler almost threw up after reading his own words during the post-edit phase of this post.

I look forward to horror films nowadays, especially if the plot is engaging. I don't feel afraid anymore. In fact, I pray for a dream every night, especially a scary one. There's that rush of adrenaline you get as you wake up from a nightmare. Am I enthusiastic for nightmares because I've lost my source of excitement in other things in life? Maybe. Might be a coping mechanism. I'm not complaining. Sometimes the best of stories lie inside your own mind.

On the NTV7 news, the new anchor is definitely some eye candy for the ummm uhhhh..... the eye.
Oh shut up.

Yaohh :D

Chicken Chops

Snakes. At my door. I knew this day was coming.

I'M TIRED OF THESE MOTHER-FUCKING SNAKES ON MY MOTHER-FUCKING DOOR!

Oh wait, false alarm. It's a couple of sugar-canes tied to the door frame. Happy Ponggal folks.

The following excerpt was written yesterday, while The Scribbler was on board a train heading towards the Putra World Trade Centre.
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So, today was Ponggal Day. If you want to know, it's the day Indian families cook a pot of brown glutinous rice. I forgot what it celebrates. I think it has something to do with the harvest season. I used to know. I forgot. I ask myself why, but I don't bother not knowing. Why? Well, oh well. I just rather enjoy an unusual yet colourful breakfast for all I care.

I woke up at 11. Great dedication to an auspicious day. I've been exhausted very much these past few days. Probably because I was sleeping late, but waking up similarly late does not seem to justify my tiredness.

I had plans. I can't seem to keep to my plans. It's all over the place. Like my mind.

Ever feel like getting a sawed shotgun and just driving two shots into your cranium? Sawed because my hands aren't long enough to hold a shotgun in reverse onto my own jaw. Lucky for my brain, for it has no idea where to get a firearm.

Few Indian and Myanmar residents got into a fight recently. Few Indian people got slashed, one even bled all over the floor in a nearby KFC. I just bought chicken from that same joint on the same day it happened.

Why are they fighting? I don't know. But my money's on it's something quite solvable. But these fellows aren't going to solve anything. They just have a unwritten duty to make the other side feel inferior. These fellows aren't going to sit down and talk.

Maybe, instead of chopping up each other, we could all just sit down in a KFC and eat chopped up chicken. Well, maybe even then a vegetarian, vegan or some blue cross movement is going to condemn that action.

There's no pleasing the world.
So, you might as well please what you think means the world to you.

Yaohh grin emoticon:D

So there's a girl.

It's been exactly a week since I ended my exams. And what has this self-loathing excuse for a teenager been doing? Nothing notable.

Actually I realized the mistake in calling myself a teenager. I haven't been a -teen number since more than year ago. I wish I could say the same regarding my alcohol abuse. Nahh, I'm exaggerating. I do drink, but I don't understand why. I'm not a fan of the taste of whiskey and beer, nor am I an advocate of the morning-after sensation. I don't even binge drink when I'm alone, In fact, I don't binge drink anymore for all that matter. I guess that would mean I've lost some notable friends. Which is true. They're probably binge drinking without me. How does that make me feel? Makes me feel better in the mornings that I'm sure.

Hold on, I seem to wandered off into the section regarding my perceptions through feelings. That's not supposed to happen. That's irrelevant. Feelings are abstract.

So there's this girl. Hmmm sounds like every other story from every other guy. How do I make it unique?

So there's this person who I have concluded is most likely a girl.
.....
.........

Wait, actually, I'm not sure.

So there's this gender-unspecified person who exists. Good job man, you really nailed it on that one. Why thank you, I'd like to dedicate this progress to my fictitious readers. The reader wonders if the author has an impending brain aneurysm. I don't blame you. I get headaches sometimes when I'm alone.

Stories are fantastic. I'd like to tell the world about my stories, but I always found that intention a little obnoxious on my part. So I hold on to them, in hope of finding the right people to tell them to one day.

A few days back, I got a chance to tell one of these stories. Alas, in all that time holding on to them, I felt their meaning got lost. In fact, I wasn't even telling the people the right story when it was the right time.

So, which is the better story - the real story or the better story?

Well, you can see I've made my decision right there.

Yaohh :D

Fries and faps.

So, I'm back. Trust me, even I'm surprised.

The holidays got me rekindling my love for stories, especially those short and sweet Malaysian ones. My favourite Malaysian book has got to be Amir Muhammad's Rojak, a collection of Malaysian short stories, some maybe real, some hardly but nevertheless  each a tasty bit for the reader. I remember getting inspired to write my own stories after reading that book, and I did write like five. And yes, all of them have never been published and are secured in my iPad, though I doubt using secure and an Apple product in the same sentence is doing any justice to past relevant happenings, or should I say, fappenings.

Oh dear me, did he just say fap? Itu haram. Haram jadah,

Anyways, I managed to revive an old hard disk from a laptop I fried back in 2013. I'm no American, so fried in this sense doesn't involve a grill and a boiling pot of oil. Back in 2013, I learnt that you shouldn't touch the motherboard with your bare hands. Humans have something called static charge, and that charge is well enough to fry off your laptop if you don't ground it first. So that happened, but the hard disk was just laying there until recently. I managed to restore quite a number of things, photos and documents dating ages back. So I got that going, which is nice.

Here's one of the photos I got back. Gosh my hair looked so soft back then. So soft.
So.
Soft...

                       

The shades in that picture are no longer in existence. Well, they're probably spending it's last days in some dumpster. Broke them during a hiking trip when I almost broke my guitar and my leg as well. You'd think that would have happened during the hike, but no. I fell off a car. It's a long story. Nope, that was a lie. The story's pretty short. But I'm not telling you anyway. You can go interview the neighborhood cat on it's feelings about this matter for all I care.

Yaohh :D

Balls

So, here we are.

Markedly obese since the last time I wrote anything on a blogspot. Markedly older too.

So this is 2016. Duhh. The year just began and I'm expecting a massive heartbreak about to punch me right in the face, currently lurking around the corner waiting for the best moment. Balls. Pure balls.

To be honest, I'm not really sure why I'm actually typing all these. Like most things I do, I think I just do them and find the meaning afterwards. Trust me, don't do that. Don't be that. I'm trying not to. Trying not to be me. Emo alert. Shut up. Shuttity up all of you.

Anyways yeah, so blogs. What am I supposed to write in blogs? What I've experienced every day? What I want to do with my life? Should this be like some guide/how to website to teach something? Or must I write essays filled with metaphorical texts targeted at the people in my life so that they can know what's going on in my head even when my head is nowhere near them in a geographical distance? Is that it? Maybe. Don't know. Balls.

Oh well for starters, I'm guess I'm writing this so I'd remember. Since the beginning of the last days of my mandatory schooling days (mandatory schooling days.....I say that like I'm disgusted, I'm not), I've been having trouble remembering what happens. Remembering dates, things I've done, felt, people I met, just almost everything. With that being said, you can flip a coin to whether I'd even remember that I wrote this.

Well so that's that. 2016. A leap year. One extra day to fuck up. Or hopefully, not to.

Yaohh :D