I'm too fat!

It's official. I need to go on a diet.

I've just been told, by a very reliable source that I need to freaking lose some weight. The source did tell me of course that I still look incredibly sexy in a bikini. But what's the freaking use! I don't want to be an elephant anymore! My great ambition now, is to be, a baby elephant! *Thunderous Applause*

(As you can tell, I'm a person with no great ambition!)

OK! So what's the plan?

Well, first I guess I have to learn to stick a finger down my throat, so I can start throwing up whatever I eat.

Next, I have to plan my meals. Considering the many types of diet with conflicting theories out there, I think the best way is to combine all the theories, and just not eat at all. So here's the plan....
Breakfast - a glass of water
Lunch - 2 glasses of water
Dinner - No water, because water drank before bed, bloats you up and makes you, well, bloated (like a corpse retrieved from the sea...Eeeeewwwww).
Supper - I will raid the fridge in the middle of the night, and if finding no food in the fridge, will eat my dog's food, which is actually full of all the supplements that you need to survive, and it's made of real meat, dried up of course. (Well, that's what the advert says!)

And then, my exercise regime will be to excercise excessively, night and day. I will have to wake up at some obscene hour in the morning to work out before work, skip lunch to go to the gym, and after work, to hit the gym until it's time to go home, just in time to fall into bed. I should cultivate a feeling of guilt whenever I'm unable to adhere to my strict exercise regime. And that great sense of guilt will cause me to binge, after which I'll feel even guiltier, and perhaps bang my head against the wall in an attempt to hurt myself.

All of the above should be sufficient to cause me to go down 2 dress sizes in a matter of a week or so. But it probably also means that I'll be really evil-tempered and grouchy and bitchy, so all you folks had better stay away from me if you know what's good for you. Plus, all that dog food should make my bite even snappier then before.

Darn! Who am I kidding! I won't be bothered enough to go through all that crap, just to look like good. I don't even comb my hair normally! Oh forget it!

I like elephants, so there!

I may be fat, but you're short/ugly/pimply/fatter!

HAHA!

The most impossible thing of all....

What is the most impossible thing of all?

To try to capture the fluidity and the manifold beauties of the sea unto a piece of canvas.

I will love to be proven wrong on this one.

Word verification...

For all those who have visited and added comments on my blog, you must have noticed the word verification thing.

You have to key in the word you see before they allow you to submit and publish your comment. It's to prevent spamming because spam cannot read text yadda yadda blah blah blah..

So my question is this, does it mean that dyslexics cannot post comments on my blog?!

Oh no! I don't mean to discriminate people who have dyslexia. I'm as neutral toward this category of people as I am towards other groups of strangers.

If only someone can find some way of sifting out spam, and yet allowing dyslexics to comment on blogs with the word verification function turned on.....

What is this I'm smelling in the toilet?

"A rose by any other name will smell as sweet," Shakespeare says. Why don't I ever smell things like roses? I smell only strange things. Or rather, only strange smells affect me.

I was in the toilet today, and somebody had sprayed Glades Country Garden (It's air freshner, dah-ling!) all over. The smell transported me back into my early years with the company, back to the days when going to the office meant going to a whole-day party with friends, and work was fun.

I must have spent quite a fair bit of time in the loo then, to have remembered the smell of Glades Air Freshner, Country Garden flavour. Funny how the most synthetic and sickening of smells can even be associated with good memories.

I have another anecdote about strange smells....

I discovered an old bottle of face cleanser the other day. (Don't ask me where. I hoard all sorts of things, including dust and lizards. Can?!)

Opening it up, the smell hit me and an image flashed in my mind's eye - a blue bathroom, with freezing cold bathroom tiles, a bath-tub, in Bristol England. The year was, errr, 2002 I think, and the flat was a friend's. And the reason why I had to shuffle the floor mat all over the bathroom floor, from sink to the door, was because I wasn't allowed to switch on the radiator even though it was freaking cold! (I still love you anyway sweetie!)

I was visiting friends as well as holidaying in UK, and obviously, very excited to be spending time with this particular friend, even though I was feeling cold all the time I was visiting. The memories associated with this strange smell were both sweet, and funny. (Actually, they're more funny than anything else.) Car rides in rain, walks in rain, walking all over the place in the rain, shopping in the rain, fun in the rain. clubbing and getting sloshed, in the rain as well. As you noticed, the rain was a large part of my memories in UK. Oh, and on one of those days, a memory of a paper thin layer of ice that melted within half an hour.

Ooohhh.... Happy happy days....

Strange (bad?) smells equals good memories?! That's just really weird.

Sucker....

What is a 'sucker'?

The obvious answer to that is, quite obviously, 'one that sucks'.

Sometimes, it means a lollipop as well.

And do you know plants have 'suckers'? (A new piece of useless information for you to know.)

A sucker is also a person who is shameless enough to insist that she be amongst the top ten people that I blog about, because she is such an important person in my work life, that without her presence in the office, the atmosphere will be deadly quiet and silent.

Suckers shameless exposes her tummy and shows to all her sundry the patterns on her bra, and sometimes her butt crack as well. A sucker also has tiny slit eyes.

They are often known as rude things who can often turn suddenly and unreasonably cross. ("I don't want to talk to you!" Don't talk don't talk lor! Who scared who?!)

Suckers feed on vegetables and high calcium soya bean milk. And Auntie Botero's prawn noodles.

And despite eating all that good food, they are short.

And, a sucker is one who will beat me up and call me rude hokkien things, once she read this.

Boo Sucker!

Oooohhh... I nearly forgot, the term 'sucker' is also a term of endearment for people who are your sometimes your friends and sometimes not your friends, depending on whether you want to bite them at that point of time or not. And they usually stay around for a long time in your life, and things usually seem a bit weird and quiet when the sucker is not around.

Sucker!

Futurama...

There's this great kick-ass futuristic cartoon going by the title Futurama. Containing a robot, a one-eye girl, and a blur-block of a chap, it's like a futuristic version of the Simpsons, just as rude, irreverent and dusfunctional. After all, it was created by the same person, the very great Matt Groening.

Futurama is also what I called an old old friend of mine. (Now don't ask me why Futurama is called Futurama. It just is, and don't ask so many questions!)

So old a friend Futurama knew me by my every action, my very character, my every flaw, and my every thought. (Well, almost all anyway) Futurama had an uncanny sense of what I am, which is why I got freaked out so badly sometimes. Futurama can complete almost sense what I think sometimes, and I could have sworn, would have finished my sentences for me, if given the opportunity.

Almost like soul mates don't you think?

If you noticed, I spoke of Futurama in the past tense. Even for the most perfect of relationships, it can come to a premature and abrupt end, if not cherished carefully. So now, I can only wonder what the friendship would have turned out to be like, if only we had continued.

One by one can?!

Ever since my recent blogs about Sotong and Rambutan, I've been innuadated with requests, no more like demands, from people in my live, to write about them.

Well, to all of you out there - Sucker, Weak and the other un-named, all I have to say to you is this.

WAIT CAN?! You think you what?!

Translation of the above into proper Queen's English, as per below...

Do you mind just waiting for a bit you ass?! It'll be nice if you have some idea of your self-worth really. Do I look like I have all the time in the world to write about you, just because you say so?! My finger hurts from all that blogging. My eyesight is going. I'm losing my hair trying to think about what I should blog about. I don't think like a normal human being anymore. I now think in terms of blogs -titles, content, the punch line. Aaaarrghhhh! Oh no! I'm turning into a blog-dict! Aaaaarghhhhhh some more!

It's amazing how concise and impactful Singlish, as a language, can be. So few words can mean so much.....

PS Ok Sucker, I promise you're next on the list.

Mercy vs Justice

I'm not sure why, but the following text, which I memorised during my secondary school English Literature days, came to mind. Just like that...

Fot the uninitiated, this is from The Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare...

The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
‘Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute of God himself;
And earthly power doth then show like God’s
When mercy seasons justice.

I love the way the opening line sounds "The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain rain from heaven upon the place beneath." I don't really get what it means really, but I just like the way it sounds.

But what really hit me are the closing lines "But mercy is above this sceptered sway...It is an attribute to God himself; and earthly power doth then show like God's when mercy seasons justice."

Justice versus mercy; a prevalent theme that ran through Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about Mercy and Justice, in real life.

Despite what I learnt about Mercy being better than Justice, as a hot-headed youngster, I never did appreciate the value of it all. To me, I was right, and the other party was wrong, and that's all there is to it. The world was in black and white to me, and I appreciated not the subtleties of the world and all its nuances then.

I think it's old age or something, but I've realised that right and wrong is not all there is to things.

What's so great about justice if the people I love are afraid of me for being such a stickler for rules, and refusing to give people another chance when they do wrong?

What's so great about justice if my heart was as hard as flint, and I break up friendships, just because they hurt my feelings without thinking on one occasion?

What's so great about justice if I have no friends, because they all don't live up to my expectations of what a good friend should be like, and play by my standards and rules?

I don't know about mercy being a God-like attribute, but I know it's one of those qualities that separate us humans from the animals. People are people and not animals because they have the ability to feel compassion, and mercy for another human being.

Try being more of a feeling human today, if you please. Temper your justice with a little mercy. Have pity on us poor people who tend to err and do stupid foolish things. In your greatness, remember a little mercy.

Remember, mercy is an attribute of God....

The Noisemaker

You know the word 'rainmaker'? Well, do a google on it if you don't.

Well, I'm a noisemaker....

I bring noise to places of deafening, stifling silence. Dead silence seem to settle gloomily over the atmosphere once I walk out of a room. And whenever I walk in a room, pure noise comes in and out goes the evil broody silence. Like light in a dark room. In comes noise, personified in the form of a person, namely me, and out goes silence.

Ooohhhhhh...

I feel like a super hero. And my super powers is to rid the world of bad, evil, gllomy, dead silence, to replace with lively noise!

Yayyyyy!!!!

This elephant...

You all must know this pre-schol kiddies' song....

One little elephant went out to play
Out on a spider's web one day.
She had such enormous fun,
That she called for another elephant to come.

Anybody want to come and play with this elephant (aka Me!)?! Only elephants are allowed. Skinny little people go play elsewhere! (At least until I manage to lose some weight, and look less like an elephant anyway.)

Anyway, for now, let's have a sing-a-long!!!

Dum dum dee dee dum...

Casting in stone...

The continuation of the story that I heard the other day...

The two friends continues their journey through the desert. And after a while they chanced upon an oasis, palm trees and springs and all.

Obviously, after travelling through a dry thirsty desert for days, they headed straight for the huge refreshing pool of water.

After a bit of swimming and performing weird acrobatics in the water, the friend got into some difficulties and went underwater. (Although I can't for the life of me figure how he managed to get into any spot of trouble in a calm pool of water, that's how the story goes, and that's how I'm telling it.)

The man, of which this story is supposedly centred around, went underwater and managed to pull his friend out of his almost watery grave. The friend gasped his thanks gratefully, and they both had a group hug.

OK, and this is where I want you to pay attention. This is a story that teaches an important moral, despite of how it's being flippantly told by its very irreverent author.

Anyway, the friend gasped his thanks, took a rock, and carved on a huge boulder on the side of the pool, "My friend saved my life today."

End of story. Beginning of my ramblings...

It's often been said that one wrong mistake can undo a whole lifetime of good things done. Isn't it ironic how ungrateful a bunch of people we human beings seem to be?

Save a dog from being stoned to death by a bunch of young heartless punks, and chances are, the dog will jump on you and lick you wet for saving its life, and follow you around until the day it breathes its last.

Even ferocious animals in captivity know not to bite the hands that feeds it. Even though its natural instinct might be to taste blood and human flesh.

But what is it with human beings? Do one thing wrong accidentally, and your whole lifetime of acts of kindness and love, is forgotten.

Let us not be ingrates. Let us not forget the deeds born out of love that the people around us have performed for us.

And make sure that you choose a nice sturdy rock to carve those memories on, so that it can withstand the weathering of the element. The winds of change and time will beat against it, but not break it. The heat of misunderstandings and politicking may shine on it, but will not melt it. And the rain and snow of quarrels and hurts and words of anger uttered may fall on it, but will melt and disappear against its hard flint surface.

Let's cast something in stone today. And even if the sand of hurts and anger blows against it, that which is cast in stone, will remain cast in stone, until the end of time...

Writing in sand....

I heard a story the other day.

A man was travelling through the desert with a friend. Something happened, and they quarrelled. (The story doesn't specify exactly what transpired between the two friends.)

The argument got more heated, and finally, this man slapped his friend hard across the cheek. The friend held his cheek for a while, and then wrote something on the sand, "My best friend slapped me." He then continued walking.

The two friends continued working. After a while, the man could hold his curiosity no longer. He just had to ask what the siginificance of his friend's actions were.

The friend replied, "I was very angry when you slap me. But I knew you didn't mean to do it, so I kept my temper, and did not retaliate. My writing on the sand was to express my disappointment with you."

The guy still didn't get it. "But why write on the sand?"

"Because sand can be easily smoothen over by the winds of time. The writing in the sand will only stay for a short time, until the next time a wind blows over the horizon, and erases whatever hurt, disappointment and anger that was printed into the sand by human hands."

"I may be hurt by your show of temper, angered by your hard-handedness towards me, a friend. I may be disappointed that my friend will choose to treat me as such over a minor skirmish. But because this friendship is important and precious to me, I will not allow little things to eat away at the friendship like maggots. But I choose to write all these things on a forgiving surface. I will choose to hold no grudge, and allow the winds of forgiveness to wipe the slate clean. So now, the winds have come and blown away the past. We're friends again."

A cheesy and moralistic story. But I like it, for the principle it contains.

What's the point of holding a grudge and staying angry, somebody please tell me...

I admit it feels good to envision the most cruel and torturous of revenges against someone who may have hurt or angered us. But hey, you're the one who can't sleep at night because you're just so mad, while the person you're mad at, is sleeping like a wee baby.

What it does to us, is to eat into us, like some form of cancer, eating away at our peace and our joy and confidence, until it leaves us a snivelling wreck of a human being, uptight and ready to explode like a human bomb at any stupid little thing that comes along.

What kind of a miserable pathetic form of existence is that I ask you?

So, do yourself a favour, start writing in sand today....

If the whole world learned to write in sand, this world will be a better place I should think....

Aren't babies amazing?!

I was watching some Discovery Channel show. Again. And found out something amazing. About babies.

For the first 6 months of the baby's life, you can drop one of them into a tub of water, and they'll be able to survive in it, for a couple of minutes or seconds or something.

Apparently it's because babies have been ensconced in their mother's amniotic fluid in the wombs for 9 months, and they have the super powers to actually breathe in water, or to not breathe when in water. It's either one or the other. I can't remember which.

Whatever it is, isn't it amazing?!

I'm not sure whether they've done actual tests to prove this; as in dropping an actual real life baby into an actual tub of water. But they do sound pretty sure of themselves, so I'll just believe them.

Anybody who's got a baby who's less than 6-months old that they're willing to loan me?

Guess not huh...

I'll guess I'll have to get my own baby to try it out then. All in the name of science.

Sigh! Even if I manage to get myself impregnated tonight, somehow or other, I'll have to wait at least 9 months to test it out. Which is really a long time to wait.

I guess I won't bother rushing it then. I'll wait for a baby to appear in good time. As and when.

Guess you guys just have to wait....


For all those smart people who know how it actually and really works, feel free to drop me a line, and tell me that I'm so wrong! I'm always on a quest for new knowledge.

Will I ever get bored of blogging?

What if, one day, I find myself bored of blogging?!

It may be hard to imagine now, but it doesn't mean that it's an impossible thing to happen. After all, I am known to have the attention span of a goldfish.

And I'm sure I'm not the only one. I'm sure there're others who are just like me. They get all excited about something, for all of 5 minutes, and moves along once their interest wanes.

And you know too, how societal trends move in waves - a wave receeds and a new wave of the latest and greatest technologies washes up, and wows everybody for a while, until it too receeds, and yet another a bigger and more dazzling new wave comes up.

What if, one day, a whole colony of bloggers, find themselves bored of blogging?

An exodus of bloggers take place, moving on to whatever's the latest new-fangled thingey that's taking the world by storm, then. Leaving behind them a whole blogpolis of virtual civilisation - turning into ghostly, ruined, desolate and uninhabited virtual ruins.

I wonder what they will find in virtual outer space, spanning many virtual galaxies.

Virtual space exploration anyone?

Why am I always hungry?!

Why am I always hungry?

No, seriously, I want to know why?

I wish I was one of those who eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat, and never gain an ounce of fat.

When you see me the next time, and feel an incredible urge to go "oink!", drop me a hint. I'll really appreciate it.

The incredible M5

I love watching Top Gear.

I love watching the ever-funnily wry Jeremy Clarkson, although he's definitely pretty lacking in the looks department.

I love watching cars that I can't afford.

I love watching fast cars zooming all over the place, although I don't understand half the stuff he's talking about, since I'm by no means a 'car person'.

I love the feeling that these cars give me. It's like flirting with fire, because however much I lust after them, I'm not even sure whether I'll dare drive them even when given a chance. The amount of pure sheer power and energy that emits from the car's engine from a mere tap, no not even a tap, from the teeniest nudge on the accelerator is enough to send your head whirling and your head spinning.

I was just watching Jeremy Clarkson introduce the BMW M5 over the weekend.

There were other cars of course, but it was the M5 that captured my imagination.

I don't care what they say, I still think it's a bee-yoo-tee-ful car, just by virtue of it being a M5.

And there's this one button in the M5, which is pretty much the same as the red 'launch' button on a space rocket...

...There is only one feature in the M5's electronic armoury that's good; it's a little button marked with an M on the steering wheel. Quite what M might stand for, I have no idea. Motorsport? Mohawk? Mombasa? I like to think it might be M*********** because that's the effect it has.

In M********** mode, this car is pretty hard to describe. But 'perfect' will do for the moment. The engine, which sounds like a diesel when you start it up, is transformed to a machine of unparalleled brilliance, churning out such a prodigious amount of power that there is simply no let up in the speedo's rate of climb...

We are talking about a machine that maximises its full 507 horse-power. (If you can't imagine what 507 horse-power feels like, just imagine the car being pulled by 507 sturdy strong fully grown horses. That's always how I envision horse-power in my mind.) To grip that amount of pure power in my hands, I think I'll happily give up being the ruler of the universe, assuming that I actually have that choice to choose between of course.

Sigh...

Anyway, what on earth does M stand for?!

John Travolta is sooooo cool...

John Travolta is the coolest guy..

Ever....

Never mind if he's fat!

He proves that one can be fat, yet sexy!

Like me...

Hahahah

Miss Personality

Over the weekend, I got to know a little bit more about myself.

Lucid Maxima shared with me this personality test thing, which was pretty complex, and seemed pretty accurate.

I discovered that I was weirder than I already thought I was.

Ouch!

And I realised that I'm an introvert.

Huh?!

I never fail to amaze myself.

Multi-tasking...

I'm a multi-tasker...

A true-blue thoroughbred. The kind who feels uncomfortable just doing a single thing at one single point of time. The kind who gets withdrawal symptons after 5 minutes of not being able to multi-task.

Even while sleeping, I dream up stories and watch cartoons on that great big plasma TV that is my imagination. (And that's why I wake up so tired every morning!)

Sometimes, my obsession get so much the better of me that I become rude even. I type out an email while talking to my colleagues at the same time. Funnily, I actually focus better multi-tasking, than focussing on doing a single thing.

So now, the question is, how do I multi-task and not appear rude at the same time?

Somebody tell me how!!

Rambutan Head

Rambutan just went to get his hair cut.

And now, he looks like, well, a rambutan... All spike-ly hair and all...

And it doesn't matter how many times he's got his hair cut to resemble a tropical fruit. I still find it endearingly funny.

But best of all, his hair cut is going to keep me entertained, and in hysterics, every time I see him, for the next couple of weeks, until it grows out again.

You know what they say about jokes becoming stale? Well, this is one thing that's going to never fail to crack me up, every time Rambutan shows up with his rambutan hair-cut.

Now, if I can just only find more friends who resemble tropical fruits, my life won't be just good, it will be great.

Who? Me?!!!

I know I can write a bit. Some people say I'm funny. Others say that I'm pretty inspiring. I know I do have some fans of my blog (All 5 of you, please raise your hands!)

But, me, talented? Me?!!

Well, maybe I'm one of those who actually know words that have more than 2 syllables, and who actually knows how to use them. Ok, maybe I do read quite a bit, ok, quite a lot. And maybe I do belong to the category of people who actually like reading Jane Austen.

But, me, talented? Isn't that a bit, well, much?!

I've never thoughted of myself as "talented". After all, anybody can write. So I always thought I was one of those "anybodies". But in the space of one week, I've actually 2 people come up to me to tell me I'm talented. (Wow.. That's quite a record, for me. I'm more used to people telling me to "shut up lah"!)

Ok, it's true that the 2 people who said I was talented aren't, well, exactly the greatest authorities on 'talent'. One doesn't even read much, and the other, I affectionately called Sotong. And well, we all know what sotongs are like.... It's kind of hard to take very seriously the words of a squid. (You know I still lup you Sotong!)

But still, it's nice to be thought talented, even by people who may not recognise talent even when it bites them. I know you people really mean it from the bottom of your heart, and all that. And thanks very much, but until somebody actually puts money, real money and not Monopoly money on the table, and commisions me to write an epic novel that's already slated to win the Pulitzer Book Price, even before the book has ever to be written, I think I'll still stick to my humble blog scribblings.

Or.....

Until I get at least 1,000 comments on this blog entry, asking me, no, begging me to start writing my book novel.....

Ode to Sotong....

I got something in the mail today.

A real piece of mail. Which came in a brown envelope, with my name and address hand-written, albeit scribbly-ly, on the front.

The kind which you tear apart to get to the contents inside.

It came as a real nice surprise really. Besides bills and more bills, I hardly get mail that comes in envelopes anymore.

I was able to recognise the hand-writing as well as the sender's address on the envelope. It was definitely Sotong who was writing from UK. But it was a nice feeling which I hardly get anymore nowadays; a kind of excitement and anticipation, even though I knew who the sender was, wondering what the envelope contained.

It could be a nice long hand-written letter, which means some hours spent trying to decipher Sotong's handwriting. Or it could be a lock of her hair. Or maybe some vitamin C tablets. One never knows, when it comes to Sotong. She could have been using the envelope to contained her nail clippings when she trimmed her fingernails, and decides, on impulse, to send it across an entire ocean, to me.

But I hardly get mail anymore. So I would have been happy to receive anything. Even vitamin C tablets. Maybe not so much the nail clippings. But the nice girl that she is, she sent me a little gift, a little butterfly brooch.

With it was a little note, in her hand-writing, that I still recognise after all these years, "Yoohoo! Don't know who to thank for your writing talent. Keep it up and be happy." Short, to the point, and very sweet.

Sotong is tall, to the point, and very sweet.

And she knows, that despite my succintness and apparent lack of intense emotion, that I'm really very touched by, her efforts at actually sending me something via snail mail.

Thank you Sotong, for remembering me. *Long distance hug and kiss*

Thank goodness you're not here. I wouldn't want to get all weepy and mushy in front of you. That'll have been so embarrassing, and so weird.

Try harder...

I thought I was good. But I realised that I'm still not good enough.

I realised that it didn't take me very much to lose my cool, and to start panicking. And everybody knows, panicking is a sure way to make anyone go all to pieces, and start blabbering nonsense. And that's what I did; I panicked, I lost my head, and I started talking nonsense, saying things I really shouldn't really be letting people know.

And you know what the worse thing is? I can't remember what I said. So much for damage control.

So I was totally embarassed and humiliated and ridiculed yesterday; I cringe at the very recollection even.

But you know what they say; you can't keep a good man down.

And I'm the best yeah!

Bad bad bad...

I've been very very bad today...

Whatever happened today, it's really no excuse for my bad behaviour...

All I can do is to start anew tomorrow, and try again, to be better.

Kopi on Weak's pants....

And I'm proud to say, I was the reason why his pants kenna kopi...

*Thunderous Applause*

I was drinking my kopi-o when somebody said something, and out it came. Right unto Weak's pants, dangerously near to his family jewels. My aim was poor. Sigh.

So, things I've learned from this episode..

Never drink anything when Weak and the rest are talking. And especially not when they're talking about muffs and ear muffs.

I should aim higher next time.

I shouldn't gargle my kopi-o. Or any other beverage for that matter. I should just be drinking it, and not gargling it like a bubbling brook.

I can't bweathe...

The last few days, I've been in the office spreading germs to everybody.... Haha...

I've been surviving on just one nostril. My brain is disintergrating into pulp, and is actually dripping out through this one surviving nostril.

The other nostril is stuck for some strange reason. And that's why I'm whistling bubbly tunes through the other nostril too.

There's something in my throat that feels like a slimy fish trying to wriggle its way around within the confined space of my throat canal. And obviously, not much air can go in that way either.

And obviously I can't breathe through my ears.

So it's very easy to kill me at this point. Just cover the one last functioning nostril, and within seconds, I'll be blue in the face, gasping for air.

Yucks. All orifices seemed to be either clogged or spewing gross stuff.

I quite poor thing right?!

I have a happy plan....

I will sleep early tonight... I will sleep early tonight..I will sleep early tonight.....

I will try to get more rest so I can recover from the stoopid 'flu.....I will try to get more rest so I can recover from the stoopid ‘flu…..I will try to get more rest so I can recover from the stoopid ‘flu…

This is my resolution and action plan for tonight...

And from tomorrow onwards, I promise that I'll try to get some exercise and maybe kick-start my energy levels a little.

I also promise to do away with all negative thoughts and stay away from any sort of negative vibes. (So no listening to melancholy music, and no reading of depressive books. No talking to people who make me depressed.)

Think happy thoughts, and I will fly!

About Life & Laughter

I've been thinking of a tagline for my blog for a long time. And I've finally came up with a little something. The tagline's still work in progress though. It sounds little awkward and a little weird. (Maybe I ought to get someone to do a little copy-editing for me!)

But the essence of it is still there. My blogging's about life, about normal human beings trying to live their lives the best that they can. (OK, I admit that I'm more weird than normal most of the time.)

I'm a normal person trying to live my life the best way I can. But like the rest of the world, life's no piece of cake. I go through periods of low spirits and self doubt too. I'm sometimes confused about what to do next. I get good and mad, and life seems pathetic and hopeless sometimes too.

But that's essentially what life is all about isn't it? Whether we like it or not. Shit happens.

What I hope to do, by chronicling the crap as well as the good moments, someone out there will feel a little better.

And I guess that's where the next part comes in. Laughter. Loads of humour.

I find that huge doses of humour helps to maintain my sanity when the crap really seems to come. What is life without laughter? Laughter brings life. Laugter gives hope. Laughter makes things more bearable.

So, life and laughter. They're both important. Without laughter, what is life? But without having lived life, bad parts notwithstanding, we can't laugh sincerely and with gusto either, when the funny parts come on.

Get yourself a sense of humour!

How does one survive without a sense of humour?!

I think I'll just die if I'm not allowed to make irreverent anti-establishment wise-cracks.

I know people are nice when they ask me not to say derogatory things about myself. But it's really just self-deprecatory humour you know.

Life will be such a bore and a pain if I don't have myself to laugh at, and to entertain myself.

Everybody, loosen up a little lah!

Laugh a little, live a little!

A gain in perspective

There's something that I like to do...

When I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by things, or a little lost, or a little discouraged, I like to go up to the top floor of the block of flats where I live, and take in the view from up there.

I do like the view from the top. The height allows for a little breeze to sneak is way in, past and over the top of the shorter blocks of surrounding flats. The roads look like it's got tiny toy cars zooming its way past. Especially at night, the zooming cars with their yellow headlights and the reddening brake lights, makefor a nice pretty picture.

Sometimes, I play a little game. I play that I'm God of some sort, looking down unto my domain and my subjects, in ther little cars, and in the little buses, walking down little roads. If if I so wish, I may reach down and scoop up a couple of little cars and with wee people inside them, and crush them in my hand. (Yes, I am evil!!!!)

But when I'm up there, above the world so high, I find that my sense of perspective of the world I live in and the people that surround me changes. The problems that I face, the issues that I have with people, the things that used to look so big, they all seem to fade away.

When I look at the world from a higher ground, I seem to become a bigger person as well. I seem to become more tolerant and patient, less petty and irritable.

Perspective really makes for a whole lot of difference. Try it for a change.

Bali

I heard the news on saturday night...

Bali was in the news again, 3 years later. This time round, there was more than 1 bomb that detonated. All were detonated in crowded places. The people who did this wanted to ensure maximum damage was done you see.

From the sounds of it, it sounded that the bomb blasts this time round was less serious than the one 3 years ago. There seemed to be fewer dead and injured.

Nonetheless, it's still a sad waste of human lives. Just because some people decide that the message they're trying to propogate, is worth more than human lives.

How do people become such heartless beasts? How can the hearts of people contain so much evil? I just don't understand.

3 years ago, I was in Bali when the very deadly bomb blasts took place. Thank God my friends and I were safe in the hotel when the bomb shook the island. It was a miracle that none of us were hurt, for they were at least 50 or more of us all over the island; we were on a company trip you see.

I wasn't in the thick of action. I didn't go near the place after the bomb took off. I saw none of the carnage or the dead bodies of the shattered neighbourhood. But the incident shook me still.

I felt for those people. These people did nothing to deserve what had happened to them. They were just the unfortunate pawn in the hands of a group of people who will stop at nothing to get what they think they want.

And you know what, I'm not sure what they stand for and what they're supposedly to achieve anymore. Is it some higher purpose or some greater good? I'm not quite sure. I only know the only things I associate these people is to do with the in-human qualities of evil, carnage, destruction. I think they've evolved from humans to pure evil. The look like humans, but they no longer have any heart, or any soul, or any capacity to think logically. They think they stand for a greater higher purpose, whatever it is. They think they've attained some form of enlightenment or spiritual immnuity from the things that they've done. But they can't be more wrong.

I was listening to the news this morning, and this lady made an observation about the people in Bali. She said that they seem to be suffering from some kind of bomb fatigue. They're no longer surprise or enraged when something like that happens to them.

See what these monsters have done. It's not only the dead they've done wrong against. But they've killed and snuffed out the spirits of the living as well.

I mourn for the dead. And I mourn even more for those who are living, but who've died on their insides.