Updated

I should blog more, I think. Practise focussing my thoughts, excercise my literary inclinations, but most of all, to purge all rotten nonsense from my mind in a harmless outlet. Because I think, for me, blogging is an outlet.

I'm not much of a diarist, as you can see. I turn to blogging in low moments of my life, lashing out wildly, or expressing my deep despair in poetry and such. Thus, if I lapse in blogging, it's really a good thing. Really. If there's no "in" there's no "out"let, eh?

Okay, so I am trying to proffer an explanation. I owe Alynna a meme. I'm glad these things don't come with expiry dates. I owe..lessee....who else what? Hmm...nothing more.

My life now is pretty much ...what's that difficult word again...oh yes, .."blah". But "blah" is good. "Blah" means things have settled back into the routine pre-breakup, pre-breakdown days. Life is happening again.

Why, just that day, I met a sexy tight little package. Hooo. Okay, I probably shouldn't refer to women that way, but I never meant it in a derogatory manner. Just that day I was watching a movie and it made me think about my attitude towards women, especially when I'm in a relationship with them. It's not what you may think, I love women. But right now, I can't remember that movie. Damn!

I also had a wonderful dream the other day. I seem to be having a lot of such dreams of late. I don't mean wonderful as in awesome, but as in "full of wonder". I felt like Adam in Wonderland. I mean, dreams are surreal anyway but you never realize it at the time of dreaming, right, only when you recall it. But in my dreams, I was somewhat conscious that the universe I was in was very surreal and defies explanation. I was going about with childlike awe and curiosity. My dreams are a chunk of symbology and Freudian material, I tell ya.

Hmm...so many stories to tell. What shall one do?

In need of healing...

Lamb of God,
You take away the sins of the world,
Have mercy on me

Lamb of God,
You take away the sins of the world,
Grant me peace.

About nothing

We like to romanticize the past, filtering out the bad memories and keeping close to our hearts only the good times. Things somehow always seemed better before.

This is detrimental when you're trying to move on from a broken heart. Just when I thought I was over her, certain things trigger the memories - walking hand in hand to the shops, eating dinner in hotel rooms, being close to each other on holiday. I was happy - neurotically happy.

But I force myself to also remember the bad memories. Because that is the only way I can move on. You know, the many little things that irked me, but it was too insignificant at that time so I just let them slide. How she'd stare at others. The things she'll say. Her vulgarity. How easy she is.

"What did you mean by that?" "Why did you do that?" "Why did you say that?" "What are you trying to prove?"

Nothing. It's nothing. So I left it at that. Time to pull out all those "nothings" filed away in some dusty corner of my brain. And think objectively. Would it have worked out?

Maybe. Would I have been happy? Honestly, I think it'd have been a long shot. Too many "nothings" can't simply disappear. There will be an accounting one day.

To be fair, I have an equal, if not more, share of faults, but now's not the time to review them. They're more for me to learn and grow so I don't screw up next time.

You would think dredging up sour memories would make me bitter, but it's more to counterbalance the romanticized memories, so I end up feeling...neutral. And this helps me think without the interference of emotions.

I don't want to be neurotically happy. I don't want to need someone else. But is there such a thing as pure unselfish love? Or am I just putting love on a pedestal?

New Robin

Ahh..me lads, t'is the hour arriveth at last. I lie before thee, slain, and with naught but a moment to breathe my last words.

Grant me this, my final wish, that wherever I point my cursor, there shall you bury me. And throw in the mouse too so that none shall ever point again.

The Waiting Game

Have you ever tried using Bit Torrent to download some obscure movie?

...like...watching...paint...dry...

Measuring adhesiveness

I used a glue with purportedly high-tensile-strength on my running shoes but the sole still came off, so I enquired at the shop about a fourteensile or possibly fifteensile-strength glue, to which the sales clerk stared at me as if I was an idiot for not knowing what sile-strength glue to use for running shoe soles!

Baking quandrary

If "piece" means "gun" as in "that's a nice piece you're packing", "some" means "sex" as in "I had some last night", and "cake" means "cocaine" as in "He got busted for dealing cake", then the phrase "some piece of cake" makes totally no sense at all!

Born to be wild

Every once in a while, I like to experience an adrenaline rush by living dangerously, so today, I showered with the bathroom door... UNLOCKED!

Spring cleaning my Brain

After putting it off for months, I finally quit my job and am now your Basic Unemployed Man, but somehow I get an uneasy feeling there's a more sinister meaning to that.

What does a man who's used to 50-hour work weeks do with all the time in the world now? He observes the most inane details and attempts to unravel life's mysteries. Or, at least, I do.

Okay, here's one. Do the guys who draw up those word verification codes try to input hidden clues in them? For example, if you get ucSpmf, does it just mean ucSpmf, or does it mean "you crazy spamming motherfuckers"? I take a sip of hot coffee and ponder on that with a quizzical frown.

Suppose also, just suppose that, were I to collect all codes and crunch them in the anagrammator, I wonder, would I or would I not regret the time wasted on such an idiotic endeavour?

Thankfully, I abandoned the side quest and stuck to my original mission. And the mission is? Well, if my mind were a house, the mission is to renovate the kitchen, redecorate all the rooms, and give the whole thing a new coat of paint.

And start working again by August. Now, if I weren't particularly prone to obsessing over details, such as why didn't the bathroom tiles last as advertised, this would've been a less painful excercise.

Speaking of excercise, that other night, past 12, I took a walk to the 24-hour stalls instead of customarily driving there. I wanted to walk because I was dangerously close to losing my mind to utter despair, which you may have noticed from my recent posts, and I needed some air.

As I was walking beneath this overbearing tree cast in shadows along a darkened street, I thought I heard twigs snapping, and a few leaves fell around me. Under normal circumstances, I would have made like lightning and bolted. Because I am reminded of a story my friend recounted many years ago, about the same tree, when he saw two red glowing eyes staring at him.

But in my current state of mind, I don't believe life could've thrown anything more at me to make me feel worse than I did. So I stopped and looked up into the darkness of the tree silhouetted against the night sky, raised up my hands and whispered fiercely, "Come on! That all you got, pazza? Come on then!"

But, of course, nothing came. Story of my undramatic life. I think about what I did and feel slightly worried, not about the chance that some evil being might've leaped out, but about the fact that I was actually inviting that. Says a lot about my condition.

So I hope you'll forgive my mercurial moods and fickle feelings, but house cleaning is a stressful time. Still, as messy as it is, I know it's built on solid ground.

What has Zenedine (Zi)dane??

Earlier today I had a stark vision of France's living legend holding aloft the coveted trophy, but what happened at extra time is God's way of telling me what he thinks of my clairvoyance.

I'm 60 days clean!

No, I'm not referring to alcohol or cigarettes, but a similarly potent form of addiction. Almost everyday I struggle with the urge to call her, and it is kind of depressing that the attacks, although decreasingly frequent, are no less intense even now. I'd get the familiar hollow feeling starting at my heart and pretty much sapping the energy from my whole body. I'd pick up the phone, and lose myself in space for a while. It's no joke, but I won't hold it against you if you laugh. Ah...the curse of modern technology, putting temptation right at my fingertips.

It used to be worse, in the earlier stages. I'd come home from work some nights, tired and aching all over, open my room door and half-expect but fully hoping to find her there waiting for me. She does visit me, though, in my dreams. I did call her and email her then but I would've got a warmer reception if I'd asked my loanshark for a deadline extension.

Now, why do I want to call her so badly? I'm not even sure what I'll say. Maybe just to find out how she's doing. But I know, if she tells me she's busy with her new boyfriend, it'll crush me. I don't dare chance it. And it's not like I'm going to beg her to come back. I know it's over, yet somehow, I do miss her.

She was someone I could talk to. I mean, really tell her all my embarassing fears. She was someone I could joke with and tease, you know, the kind of teasing between close friends that can only work if there is mutual trust that it is done wholly without malice and all for fun.

I secretly loathe having to observe proper decorum and political correctness in social settings, knowing my incorrigible sense of wacky humour and would like nothing better than to start laughing and joking with complete strangers. Or maybe I'm just getting tired of the old song and dance routine, much to my disadvantage, perhaps. But with her, she was so easy to talk to that the first time we met, we were already poking fun at each other as if we were old friends. I knew something special was brewing. Have you ever met someone that you just instantly clicked with?

I found a rare kind of intimacy with her, and yet, we failed to communicate to save what we had. I guess we rushed into things, disillusioned with how very compatible we were in the beginning.

Looking back, I needed her more than she needed me, but she appreciated me more. About a week before we broke up, I distinctly remember one evening at my office when I vowed to myself to treat her better, to be more patient and try to listen more. I guess it was already too late. It's memories such as these that haunt me forever.

So, maybe, I just want a chance to say I'm sorry to her. Well, in fact, I did call her to tell her that. But unless "sure, anything else?" is the appropriate response to a heartfelt apology, I guess she was still bitter towards me.

Or maybe I just want to talk with her, like old times, about anything and everything under the sun. When we could let our guard down and just say whatever pops into our heads without fear of it being inappropriate or being judged.

I miss her friendship most of all. She was the best friend I had in a while. The sudden loss might help explain the deep emptiness I feel but that's of little consolation.

I venture though, more than anything, I want to call her to tell her how much I appreciated her, eventhough I know it's too late. Tell her I am grateful how she gave all she had to me. And how I wish we can end what we had with sweet memories, instead of bitterness.

Today, alone in the kitchen, I called out her name. You know, just to see how my heart would react. Well, there were no seizures. That's a sign of improvement, isn't it? I called out her name a few more times, remembering how it felt like rolling off my tongue. And I felt profoundly sad, her name echoing into oblivion, a chasm of good intentions too late, of all that could've been.

I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to call her. I'm inclined to blame this emotional recklessness on the rogue chemicals in my brain or perhaps it's coinciding with the end of World Cup season. I managed to put off thinking about her for a month, but to my dismay, the cloud of gloom still hangs over my head. There's no hiding from the reckoning of a broken heart.

Perhaps blogging about it helps. I'm not sure if she knows about my blog or reads it, but I can't imagine the difference it makes since I absolutely blog whatever's on my mind anyway. I don't exactly make it a point to protect my anonymity but I do like to fly at the edge of the radar.

I'm searching my feelings but I can't seem to identify the one that is causing me much pain. Is it guilt? Regret? Anger? Loneliness? Longing?

I know a time will come when I no longer think about her with any feeling, probably a year on. But I feel I owe her more than that, for the love she gave me.

I am at a midpoint of adulthood where I am sufficiently equipped to evaluate my failings and try to improve myself. And I am eager, almost desperate, to start a new relationship and prove to myself that I have now what it takes to make it work.

But I know, my unresolved feelings are the baggage I must not carry in my next journey to find love. I need to find peace somehow. And stop missing her so much.

Any suggestions?

Life's lessons

When I was in Sunday school many years ago, I got to know a guy who irritated the hell out of me the first instant I laid eyes on him. Now, you may think it bizarre, quite an embellishment of facts, even. I mean, me? Sunday school? Haha. But it's true. If there's one thing I don't do, it's lie in my blog. Now, back to this guy.

He had a turnip for a head, his glasses were way oversized, and he spoke with a nasally tone that really just made me want to tear up my underwear in a rage. But for some reason I could not fathom, he was popular with the rest of the class, especially the girls. Okay, so maybe I was the new kid and the others had the advantage of a year's time for bonding. Sunday schools have a way of doing that to you. But still, how could the others stand him, I thought. Yes, especially the girls.

Well, how wrong I was, as this little anecdote turns out. He had a heart of gold, this guy. He found all your jokes, even the flat ones, genuinely funny. He always saw the good points in you, and somehow were blind to your flaws. If I make him sound like a really smart terrier, forgive me, it's not my intention to do so. But that's what he was - every man's best friend. And the traits that annoyed me earlier gradually became the very ones which endeared him to me - as neurotic as it sounds, his irritating habits actually rendered him more...harmless.

Life's dramas usually happen when there's an appreciative audience, but the lesson this guy taught me was quietly profound. It is simply this: with people, assume nothing.

A lesson that, I am quick to add, I have not dilligently observed.

But how wonderful it would be, for two complete strangers to meet, introductions exchanged, drinks ordered, and a mutual agreement sealed with a shake of hands - one that simply states: "I do not know you, but I am willing to. And I will assume nothing about you. Even if your face vaguely reminds me of someone else. Or if your voice hits the wrong note deep within my subconscious, I will not hold that up against you. Or if your mannerisms, your accent, or anything about you somehow conjures up a preconceived idea, good or bad, I owe you as much as a blank canvas on which to make a whole new impression."

Yes, a handshake says all that adequately. You don't actually have to recite the whole thing.

Impressions can go either way, but each equally misleading. Sometimes you can be so taken in with a person's charm, only to find out later he's a real asshole. That would be Hugh Grant in Bridget Jones' Diary. But mostly, it's the negative ones that rob us of opportunities to experience the inner beauty of people. I read somewhere that we make up our minds about people so quickly because of the way our brains work subconsciously - we create patterns, assign them to schema or categories, and thus, are able to function effectively with the storm of stimuli input every second of our waking lives. But this evolutionary function has its drawbacks under certain circumstances when we should manually process the incoming stimuli, and not leave assumptions to be made on autopilot.

For instance, if you've read thus far, you'd be under the impression that this post would lead up to a point of sorts, or some key to help you discover a startling truth. Alas, you assumed something of me, and now you're dissappointed. Or not.

Oh, but wait. One last anecdote, if I may.

Imagine I was the perfect gentleman. I meet a girl, we became a couple, I had my fun, we broke up, and I move on, without a bitter bone in my body.
Or imagine I was a dysfunctional guy. I meet a girl, we became a couple, we had fun, we broke up, but I don't move on, bitter at the unfairness of it all.
You might assume I'd ask which one of the two I most identify with, and I'd assume you'd answer C: neither. Because you're too smart for this simple test. Or the smarter one might say D: both. The true genuius may even answer E: It depends.

But the truth is, the answer is F for "It's too Fucking complicated".

I did meet a girl. We did go out and broke up eventually. And I did want to be both. I wanted to be the gentleman who bows out graciously, earning respect for his dignified manner. I also wanted to be the scumbag calling her an easy fuck, earning disdain for his childish display of bitterness. But don't judge yet. Look closer.

The gentleman charmer who hops from one girl to the next, only to fulfill his sexual desires. He is liked by many, but he has no feelings for anyone.
The scumbag nobody respects, who is bitter over a love gone bad. He hits out at the world, simply because he's hurting.

Not so black, not so white, after all, eh? I don't quite know which shade fits the bill, I'm still trying to find my way. I only know that, in discovering myself, I must assume nothing.

This just in...

July 7: Saddam Hussein has been found guilty and sentenced to be shot. His last request is to name his own firing squad. He chose Lampard, Gerrard and Carragher from 12 yards.