Maude...I lost the farm.

Argghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Let's see some Flamenco!

Maude? 'Ow's yer day, honey? Whot?....Of cuz I know whot time it is! I'm at tu'h joint, where'se would I be? ...In a while, in a while. Keep yer bloomin' voice down, you'll wake the kids.

Okay, list'n, now this may take yer by surpris'. Yer know how yer always goin' on 'bout takin' that cruise to Tobago? Okay, Tahiti, whotever. And how we disc'ssed 'bout gettin' one of em' tractor thingies...Let me finish, will ya?

Maude....I've wagered our farm. On the game tonight. ... Maude? Now, I know I'm not the luckiest...what? No, it...Yes, it ...NO, I am NOT joking. WILL you stop screamin'? Yes, the whole farm! Look, the corn fields 'aven't been doin' all too well, you know 'at. And li'l Jimmy's almost eight. He can pull'is weight if 'e 'av to! And Sarah's 14, she's a pretty one, she is. ...I am NOT suggestin' nothin'. Maude, for God'sake, I wasn't implyin' nuthin'!

Look, just boil yerself some tea, I'll be 'ome soon. Yer'll see. Yer all see. Spain'll win. Okay, I gotta go, honey. Game's 'bout ter start. Luv'ya!

Empty

I came back to an empty home, but at least they left the light on for me. There's always no place to park around my house on weekends, what with my socialite wannabe neighbours whose guests jam their cars on any semblance of a kerb along my road. And I'm not even invited to their parties.

A house still and dark is never a good thing to come home to. I switch on some lights, turn on the TV and check to see if there's any leftovers in the fridge. There isn't. Guess I'll go hungry. I wade groggily to my bed, stripped down to my shorts and settled down to sleep. It was 7.30pm.

The moment I closed my eyes, my mind spun like a broken video projector, flashing images in random sequence of my day just ended. I succumbed to a fitful slumber of the kind only fatigue can produce.

Some noise wakes me up. I check the time. Only 8.15pm. I wanted to get up but the heavy feeling in my chest makes even sitting up a feat. But I've gotten used to it by now. The days I stay home, I confront the demons. My very own. Which may explain my increase in drinking of late.

There's a match on at 9pm but I wasn't in the least interested right now. I walk to the kitchen to see if I was in the right frame of mind to whip up dinner for myself. I wasn't. I walked back to the living room and sat down staring mindlessly at the blaring TV. I wondered many things but never to any conclusion.

I switch off the TV and the deathly silence descends once more. I can feel my chest heaving. My arms feel like they're made of iron. My feet seem to be mired in mud. I stare blankly at nothing in particular for the longest time, quietly surrendering to the truth I tried to deny. I am grappling with depression.

If a lotus may bloom from the most defiled of soil, I prefer the exuberant wildflowers in the fields. If there is beauty to be found in the tormented soul, I would rather the corruption from that of the flesh.

O, beautiful football

Okay, I admit, it took money to get me interested in the game. But, apart from purists, you simply can't watch it alone. It's about fighting for a common cause (even if the cause is the RM100 you bet), it's about finding common ground with each other, united against a foe.

I don't really watch football but the World Cup is different. I was transfixed on the England vs. Trinidad & Tobago match. After 2 matches I've given up on England, but T&T were so frustrating with their purely defensive play. I mean, didn't they hear, the best defence is a strong offense. More importantly, didn't they ever play Warcraft 3? Dudes, you can't turtle up! The attacking side almost always wins.

Look at Netherlands vs. Ivory Coast. Now that was an edge of seat game, especially since the odds were a half goal for the Orange team, and CIV showed more flair for the game. Still, I'm up by 250 football money now. (which is equivalent to RM, unlike monopoly money).

My sister walked in halfway and said "Wow, Argentina scored 6 goals. I think they're gonna win the cup." That was seriously funny okay, but let's see who gets the last laugh.

Two days ago I went for some wine with college friends again. It was a pretty good joint, quiet and tasteful ambience, but shan't tell you where though. It's a dirty little secret ;)

None of us were any good at choosing wine, so we made pretend connoisseurs and chose the nicest-sounding labels, but more than that, it has to be under RM50.

When it was my turn, I selected an Australian blend of Cabernot Sauvignon and Merlot (totally lost on the pronunciation) Bin 888 and the girls were complaining it was too strong. Well, I told them I tried looking for Bin 444 but they thought I was pulling their legs. I am being totally serious. They have a whole series that goes like 444, 555, 777, 888, and 999. I'm not sure if they had a 666, but wouldn't that be really cool? Especially if your waiter was named Damien.

Now, not to be too presumptuous, but what has football and wine got to do with anything?
Answer: they're some of the all-time best distractions.

And after 3 bottles of wine, I tried to explain to my friends the wonders of blogging.

Me: You know, blogging is considered the best form of citizen journalism, simply bec..
Them: What?! How can it be journalism when people write about what they eat, who they slept with, what time they went to the toilet,
Me: Come on, not everyone writes like that!
Them: Oh really? Okay, what do you blog about?
Me: Me..er..well...it's complicated..it's more of my feel..
Them: You write about your sex life, don't you! Ahahaha
Me: I do NOTTT!!
Them: I was reading a friend's blog, and she was going on and on about how she was depressed because she just broke up. Seriously, you tell the world such things?! So..what do you blog about?
Me: ....yeah, like I'm gonna tell you now.

Conclusions: Don't bank on a team simply because it has the world's highest-paid player, and never try to argue with girls high on red wine.

thoughts

I don't mean to pretend but it's easier than coming off pathetic. At this point, I suddenly feel like I have nothing much else to say.

That sure is a weird feeling, to reach a stage where I almost don't feel anything.

For the past month now I have sculpted a routine where everyday I'd point my mouse towards blogger.com and write out my heart. It was easy spilling out my guts that way, and it made me feel better.

But like when you tell a friend the entire story and you're all cried out, and said everything you wanted to say, there comes a silence. And then there's nothing else to do...but give it time.

Just a pat on my shoulder, a few words of encouragement, and my friend is gone, and I'm alone again, thankful to have had someone during the first few moments of hell, but not really looking forward to the lonely road ahead.

Breaking up is not hard to do. It's getting back on your feet again, that's the tricky part. And not being cynical, not being bitter, but still full of wonder and energy. Especially when it's the umpteenth time and everything seems so sickly familiar.

There are certain memories that I can never forget although it's painful to remember.

When I asked her, what is her favourite moment, when was she happiest with me. And she said at the airport, coming out of the gate, missing me so much her heart was bursting with joy when she saw me.

I remember another time when we quarreled and she cried uncontrollably. My anger dissipated in an instant and I hugged her body racked with sobs. "Don't you like my bookmark?" she asked tearfully. I retrived the crumpled bookmark she made for me that I crushed in a moment of anger. I hugged her closer and I loved her in that moment more than I ever did. And I'ver never managed to get over my guilt since then. I mean, she made something for me and I crushed it. And she was crying so terribly. :(

How do I ever walk away from that with my soul intact. I don't think I can.

I am ever so sorry. But I am bitter over what has happened, how she could just walk away. I am cynical about women and all they say they want in a guy.

She's gone forever. Just like the wind that blows today and disappears tomorrow.

It's true what they say about you being most vulnerable once your heart is broken. I think I could fall in love with the next girl I see. Am I desperate?

Maybe. But I just, you know, need to love. I just need to love. I miss her emails. My inbox is ...pretty bare now. heh. But it seems fitting.

Well, goodnight, wherever you are. I love you.

A different kind of high

Question:

If I chat up a girl at the bar, and she tells me she's a dancer, and I go all starry-eyed and impressed, and ask her "what type of dancer", and she replies "lion dance", do I still have to buy her a drink?

Now I hope I don't give the impression that I like to drink a lot. In fact, I hate getting high because it feels like a cactus is growing on my head, and, you know, I'm not all that fond of thorns.

But I suppose...drinking has its uses. Well, for one thing, it helps put a wet blanket over my amygdala. Aha! And you thought I thought amygdala was Queen Amidala's cousin. Tsk. Just so you know, let me state that I sometimes misspell names in Google and end up learning new words, so there.

But drinking isn't the only way to get high. I remember the first time I smoked a joint, it was during my era of self discovery marked by milestones such as getting a tattoo, a piercing, and losing my virginity. (no, not last week, smartass)

Being inexperienced, I finished the joint quickly and was somewhat disappointed when the physical effects I was expecting didn't show, while my buddies all looked like they were in Tahiti with their eyes half closed.

So I called up a girl I rather fancied. The last part of our conversation will forever remain etched in my memory as a tribute to the day milk spilt out of God's nose when he laughed so hard at me.

Girl: ....um...are you listening to me?
Me: Why, of course I am, of course, of course. I am listening to your voice, from the other end of the phone, through the wires and into my ear and then....er....wait....why am I talking about my ear?
Girl: .........what?
Me:...........what?

Well, suffice to say, my plane overshot Tahiti and crashed straight into Hell. I spent the next hour puking out everything but the kitchen sink. The fact that I was puking into the kitchen sink seemed like a cruel irony.

Yes, great story for the grandkids, but I actually did want to talk about my amygdala. But, come to think of it, it's too depressing a subject. My life is a tragic kingdom. Maybe next post.

I suck

What am I doing now?

For all my powers of inventiveness, which, incidentally, is not just the offspring of necessity but of indolence, and my God-given talents of finding significance in the farthest reaches of my fantasy-addled rationalizations, I cannot, for the life of me, imagine anyone curious enough to want to know the answer.

But I'll tell you anyway, because I, the owner of this blog with nary a clue of a title to settle upon, have nothing else to do.

I'm listening to Billy Joel's New York State of Mind over and over on earphones dangling over my keyboard typing out a post that I have yet to anchor to a coherent topic, whilst methodically, if such a thing is possible considering the objective, getting myself drunk.

I am confident the vodka flowing through my veins is not only messing with the neurotic synapses of my brain that informs my "thinking" cortex of the emotions I'm supposed to be feeling, but it also affords me a rare yet momentous opportunity to use the word synapses and cortex in the same sentence.

Oh nevermind the fact that I'm out of my preffered drug of choice of whiskey and have to settle for the anti-larynx, Malaysian-idol-ambition killing poison that my sisters and the rest of the sane world call vodka.

Oh my friends, I am sorry I keep changing the title of my blog, and I realize this may or may not alter the universe in ways such as the likes of which have never been seen before, but as my online buddy technorati tells me, nine people who link to me couldn't possibly expect anything less. Oh yes, technorati tells me stuff like that.

Don't let my flawless grammer fools you. I'm as sober as a wino. I keep writing lines of poetry, most of which I never publish, and all for only one person in the entire world, who, if you must know, has evidently vowed never more to acknowledge my existence.

I look at the mirror
this is what i see

i totally suck.

Eight times a Lady

I've been tagged by Chloe to list eight most desirable traits I seek in a lover. Truth is, I have never in my life went out looking for women with a checklist. I don't make comparisons, I try not to judge, and I especially do not benchmark. I'm a pragmatic person, I am. Oh yes, the only reliable thing I swear by when seeking a partner is my Chinese Zodiac-Western Horoscope-Feng Shui Love Match Almanac.

But it's so hard to find the perfect partner, isn't it, perfect according to your drawn up list.
"Are you a Saggitarian Fire Goat? You are?! What are the odds! Wait, there's more - were you also born facing East? No kidding! Um...you're also a lesbian? Damn! ...so close!"

Anyway, as long as we can dream, here's my perfect woman:

1. Smell. Her scent is intoxicating. When I'm close to her, nuzzling against her ears, her cheek, her neck, I am in a heaven of senses. The pleasant scent of her shampoo when she cuddles in my arms, or the lingering fragrance of her perfume on my shirt, or simply the mild fruity freshness of her newly-scrubbed skin when she comes out of the shower.

2. Touch. She loves to be touched, and loves touching me. Feeling the smooth texture of her skin sends shivers down my spine. Holding her soft hands make me lose myself in her. She always wants to hold hands everywhere we go, a hug every so often to remind me of her love, a cuddle at times to know I value her, and simply finding in touching each other a completeness to our lives.

3. Sound. We treasure an intimacy that needs to be sustained daily with communication. She needs me to tell her I love her every day, she tells me the depths of her heart's content, she knows when to play vixen, friend, soulmate or mother. And I can tell her anything, and she listens.

4. Sight. Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, but she can make a few heads turn at least - and for the right reasons. She's not a self-obsessed vainpot but takes pride in being presentable, is happy with her reflection, and has a face I want to see first thing in the morning for the rest of my life. Not too pretty, more a girl-next-door look.

5. Taste. Her lips are sweeter than wine. She is the girl I'd give up smoking for. Her taste is wonderful all over. Also, her taste in fashion, although a pretty subjective area, isn't too extreme compared to mainstream tastes.

6. Heart. She is kind-hearted, not excessively, and not necessarily to any particular category of living things, but she doesn't possess a single malicious bone. Most of all, she has a gentle manner about her, slow to anger, not foul-mouthed, quick to forgive, and full of love.

7. Mind. She is comfortable with who she is, and thankful for who she is with. She appreciates intelligent jokes, has a sense of fun and adventure, relishes an exchange of views or ideas about any topic under the sun, and loves reading. She lives in the present, looks to the future and is romantic about the past.

8. Soul. She is faithful and loyal, always rising to my defense when threatened, always willing to trust my words first before others'. She is wise beyond her years, knows all my unspoken cues yet never fails to be surprised by me. She understands me, accepts me, and wants me. She is my soulmate.

Don't wake me up just yet. Zzzzzz....


I would tag 8 more people if I KNEW 8 more people, or rather, if they knew me. But you don't need to be tagged to draw up your own list. Go ahead, it's fun to fantasize. :)

Seek and ye shall find

I awoke with a start a while ago, and judging from the ache in my chest, I surmised it was another row with my subconscious. Why can't we just get along, I bitched quietly.

I dragged my sorry ass to the shower. It was just past midnight. For three days now, I find myself stumbling home from work bone-weary and sleeping before prime time was done, always waking in the dead of night from a fitful slumber.

I felt the tension drain along with the water over my body and try to recall the dream I had. It was not a complete fanciful story, or maybe it was, I can't remember. But amid the twirls of images and rush of memories, there was one scene which stood out in great detail like an Impressionist work of art come to life.

I slipped off a silver ring from my finger, clutched it in my hand, and slipped it back on again. And just as dreams play out like scenes on the TV, this particular vision was a close-up of my hand, as if I had an out-of-body experience, seeing my own self through the eyes of another.

I suppose you may wonder why I should remember so vividly a random dream event. I might just as easily have dreamt all the curtains in my house were made of chocolate and all the walls coated in a glossy shade of lavender.

Except that my curtains are not made of chocolate and my walls are white. But I had a ring once that she gifted to me, and I lost it.

I may project a pragmatic lifestyle were you to survey my workdesk and neatly-categorised wardrobe, but the chink in my image of level-headedness is my foolish insistence on ascribing sentimental value to things.

Of course, it shouldn't matter now that the ring is lost. It was, after all, a symbol of a love that today has ceased to exist. So I wonder why I still feel guilty.

Hunkered down in front of my monitor I try to reflect and piece together all these psychic clues that would doubtlessly lead me a step closer to finding my Neverland. Inner peace. Peace of mind. Mind, body and soul. Brand's Essence of Chicken suddenly comes to mind. Dear God, I'm going crazy.

I took a few days off to find Heaven but instead I found Hell. How I suckered myself once more into believing I could just move on with a week's worth of sleeping late and doing jack.

But I did something stupid today at work. I reread all our old sappy love emails that I haven't yet had the heart to trash. And for a moment I was seized with a paralyzing heartache, that she was exchanging the same sappy love emails with someone new. Or something more than virtual.

I could not move an inch, gripped as I was with the stabbing pain of betrayal. The moment passes and my breathing returned to normal. I quickly glance around and am relieved nobody noticed my brief excursion into the netherworld. These sudden attacks come and go, but with decreasing frequency. Maybe I'm just getting better at denial.

Songs play in my head all day like a jukebox gone haywire. Most of the time I'm not even aware of the tune I'm humming. Right now, though, I find myself unable to ignore these lyrics, unrelated as they are to anything I'm feeling:

There's a saying old, says that love is blind
Still we're often told, seek and ye shall find...

Maybe it harks of a past romance where I was that someone who watched over her. I don't know. I just pray I never find that ring again.