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As of today, I have moved here so please update your links and visit me at my new site ya?
Monday, November 26, 2007
Friday, November 23, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
I'd like to introduce you to a chant/rhyme that I've picked up in '04. There isn't a specific name to it, but most of my friends refer to it as the "Diarrhoea Chant". It's a little different from other chants/rhymes because it doesn't exactly have an ending to it; you can keep adding to it and take it as far as your creativity permits.
Here's how it goes:
Diarrhoea! (Clap x 2) Diarrhoea! (Clap x 2)
I was walking out the door when I saw it on the floor!
Diarrhoea! (Clap x 2) Diarrhoea! (Clap x 2)
I was trying to keep it in when it flowed down to my shin!
Diarrhoea! (Clap x 2) Diarrhoea! (Clap x 2)
Go on! Add on to it! Let me know so I can update the list!
Posted by Scornork at Thursday, November 08, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Pop icons. It is not uncommon to see them emblazoned on a wide variety of apparels these days, and because of that, you’d see them at almost every corner of the street even though they have already passed away for decades or so. Drop in at any apparel shop along Far East or The Heeren and you’d see what I mean.
While the legacies of these icons have been further extended beyond music records through this, it is a tragic thing to note that most of those who don these clothes know little or nothing about them. The furthest their knowledge of these icons goes is something like – oh, Jimi Hendrix is supposed to have an afro hairdo and Marilyn Monroe somehow always has her hands neatly tucked in between her knees in a desperate attempt to conceal what lies beneath her skirt. That’s about it. And that, really, isn’t much at all.
I’ve attempted to uncover some of the lesser known things about 3 of my all time favorite icons in hope that after you’ve read it, these icons will no longer remain as mere pictures, portraits or words on cloth or paper.
Jimi Hendrix (1942 – 1970)
Do You Know That Jimi Hendrix was not the one who discovered or pioneered the technique of guitar feedback with overdriven amplifiers? The person who actually did was Buddy Guy – a blues guitar virtuoso whom Hendrix cited as a major influence. In fact, the influence was so great that Hendrix began to emulate Guy’s crazy stage antics and flamboyant dress sense throughout his career. Many have erroneously believed that Guy copied Hendrix, but it was really the opposite.
Do You Know That Jimi Hendrix played his guitar upside down? You see, Hendrix was left-handed and during his time, there weren’t many left-handed guitars around. To counter this, Hendrix acquired a normal right-handed Fender Stratocaster, flipped it over and restrung the guitar strings such that the 6th E string would not be at the bottom, but at the top, just as how it would be if the guitar was on the right side up. Hendrix’s friend, Eric Clapton, had planned to give him a left-handed Fender Stratocaster on his birthday, but unfortunately, Hendrix passed away one day after the guitar was purchased.
Do You Know That Jimi Hendrix belongs to a club called “The 27 Club” or “Forever 27 Club”? This club is for a group of famous and influential guitarists who passed away when they were 27 years old. Some of these notable guitarists are Jim Morrison of The Doors and Kurt Cobain of Nirvana.
Sid Vicious (1957 – 1979)
Do You Know That though Sid Vicious was the bassist of the Sex Pistols, he never actually played the bass for them? His bass was actually left unplugged during live performances and his parts in albums were recorded by another member of the Sex Pistols. All of these happened largely because Vicious could not play at all! In fact, he was so desperate to learn that he even approached the bassist of Motorhead and asked that he taught him how to play. Vicious eventually died in 1979 without ever knowing how to play the bass.
Do You Know That Sid Vicious was believed to have killed his girlfriend while he was under influence of heroin? He claimed not to have any recollection of the event after waking up to find his partner dead in the room. Though there were many conspiracy theories that surrounded this, none have ever been established as true.
Do You Know That Sid Vicious died after a heroin overdose and not during one? After obtaining heroin on the night of his death, Vicious overdosed but survived it. He subsequently fell asleep and was found dead the next morning. The coroner who reviewed his case explained that a person’s heart will slow down with every REM phase if he falls asleep after an accidental overdose on heroin. It is also interesting to note that the purity of the drug that Vicious consumed was exceptionally high. It was nearly 99% pure as opposed to the common standard of 22% or less. Again, conspiracy theories surrounded Vicious’ death and the most famous of them all was one that actually linked his death to the purported murderer - Rockets Redglare – of his former girlfriend.
Marilyn Monroe (1926 – 1962)
Do You Know That the name Marilyn Manson was derived from Marilyn Monroe? I don’t know about you, but I think it is an insult to have such a creep named after her. Personal opinion though, don’t take it to heart. Anyway, as an interesting side note, Marilyn Monroe herself was named after a famous Broadway star of the 1920s and early 1930s, Marilyn Miller. If you pay attention to all their names, their initials are actually consistent – “M.M.” Now, I wonder if that’s a winning formula to stardom...
Do You Know That Marilyn Monroe’s beauty and elegance were not exactly natural? Many have questioned the authenticity of her breasts, eyes and jaws, but no one was ever able to give any solid evidence that they were fake – well, except for her nose. In 1946 when Monroe was signed to 20th Century Fox, she was advised to undergo rhinoplasty to reduce the size of her nose in order to make it look more delicate and feminine. Some have speculated that because of Monroe, plastic surgery eventually found its way into Hollywood and became one of the most vital aspects of the industry.
Do You Know That Marilyn Monroe was the first centerfold model to appear on the very first edition of Playboy in 1953? The issue was an instant success and was sold out within a matter of weeks. Some copies of the first issue in mint condition were auctioned off for over $5000 in 2002 – that is 10,000 times the original price which stood at about $0.50 in 1953!
Posted by Scornork at Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
This is almost the 20th time that I've come to my blog's dashboard hoping to have something in mind to write about, but I just can't do it.
I think my life is too boring and uneventful. Well, it's either that or my brain's really slowing down. Oh dear, I wonder if I'm becoming a retard.
Wait, I just realized that I have actually blogged about something! HA! This is so pathetic, I can't believe that I have to resort to this just to write something.
Posted by Scornork at Friday, October 26, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
- All the good men left are either married or gay; all the good women left are either married or wasting their entire life trying to believe otherwise about the first part of this statement.
- Joy would be meaningless without sadness. Utopia is therefore a place of monotony.
- Emos are losers who pride themselves in being, uhm.. well… losers.
- What happened to Hitler?
- Wouldn’t age be more accurate if it is based on maturity instead of years?
- Physical beauty is temporal.
- John Mayer is a genius, I hope he doesn’t die early like other geniuses.
- Why do you even bother reading this?
- Why did I even bother blogging about this?
- Don’t take all these seriously, it is after all, just thoughts coming from a deranged sociopath.
- There is no Number 11.
Posted by Scornork at Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
This was probably the time when my passion for guitars and music was first ignited. It's a pity that it took me such a long time to figure that out. Oh, the lost years I could've spent perfecting my craft. Damn.
Cute huh? Say yes, please. Thank you.
But anyway, I must admit that that was then and now is now. So "cute" is effectively gone from the lexicon of words that can be used to describe me. Come to think of it, I suppose that there are only two words that can be used (and many would use it frequently and affectionately):
And no, I'm not proud of it.
Posted by Scornork at Monday, September 24, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Alas! The veil is lifted and the mystery is uncovered. It is a moment of revelation that we should rejoice in!
Then again, maybe not.
This guy gives me the creeps man. The very sight of him wiggling his body like a worm send chills down my spine. What's worse is his apparent pride in being able to dance like that.
Here's the video, squirm in disgust!
Posted by Scornork at Thursday, September 20, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
I was surfing the internet just a little while ago when I stumbled upon a rather peculiar test which claims to be able to show if you have psychopathic inclinations.
The test is pretty simple to do; all you have to do is read a short excerpt depicting a situation with a queer ending, and then you answer the question posed to you.
Here’s how it goes. You can try it out yourself.
A woman, while at the funeral of her own mother, met a guy whom she did not know. She thought the man was amazing. She believed him to be her dream hero so much so that she fell in love with him right there, but never asked for his number and could not find him. A few days later she killed her sister.
What is her motive for killing her sister?
Before I proceed to tell you the answer, I must let you know that if you happen to get the correct answer, it would mean that you could probably become a psychopath. I, for one, got it right.
Anyway, here it is.
She was hoping that the guy would turn up at the funeral again.
Posted by Scornork at Monday, September 10, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
If you didn't catch what Onka said at the end, this is how it goes:
Onka Judge (in reply to the judges' decision): "And there's only one judge.."
Simon Cowell (baffled): "Who's that...?"
Onka Judge: "That's me.. Onka Judge."
Simon Cowell: "Oh, Onka.."
Onka Judge: "Don't judge the judge please. Because there is only one judge. Because my name is Mister Onka Judge."
Posted by Scornork at Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Some say swee!
Some say eeeee!
Why grow until so messy?
Goatee ah, goatee!
With you below my lips,
Some say look I like Brad Pitt,
But others say look like China women's unshaven armpit!
Goatee ah, goatee!
Should I shave you away?
Or grow you till '08 may?
Later girl see you run away...
Cannot ah, cannot ah
Goatee ah, Goatee..
Think it's almost time for me to shave my unsightly goatee.
Posted by Scornork at Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
When farewells take a life of their own
There lays a secret yearning
For a brand new beginning
Where solemn goodbyes are embraced
Without the slightest trace of regret
So dear victim of circumstance
Paint yourself a smile
Break into a dance
The night remains young
With the concluding chapter unwritten
Just take one more breath
One more step
Behind every story
A reason lies in quiet slumber
Waiting patiently to be awaken
And unveiled at the last page
Its ultimate fate resides obediently
In the palm of your quavering hands
So dear victim of circumstance
Paint yourself a smile
Break into a dance
The night remains young
With the concluding chapter unwritten
Just take one more breath
One more step
Pick up that dusty quill
And scribble a fairy tale ending
One of flowers basking in golden sunlight
Flirting among emerald blades of grass
Where lions and rabbits retire together
Where damsels and trolls feast in joy
Oh sweet victim
Don’t you wither away
Don’t you bleed yourself dry
Posted by Scornork at Friday, August 17, 2007
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
"When you pray to God for courage, does He give it to you? No, he doesn't. Instead He gives you an opportunity to be courageous; When you pray for God to make your family closer, does He do it for you? No, He doesn't. Instead He gives you an opportunity to make your family closer." - (An excerpt from Evan Almighty that isn't quoted word for word because I have a bad memory. Oh shut up, the gist of it is still there.)
Watch Evan Almighty. It's a dumb, it's lame, it's funny and it's philosophical.
Brilliant, I say. Brilliant.
Posted by Scornork at Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Mr. Taliban has infuriated me. He's at it again; mindlessly executing who he pleases for a cause he blindly believes in.
The atrocities that Mr. Taliban has committed has made me extremely skeptical about his homosapien roots. His actions mirrors that of a animal; it lacks the level compassion and logical reasoning that a human being should possess.
I'm deeply appalled by his actions and it's difficult for me to swallow the fact that God has called us to love him.
The world friggin' hates you to the core.
I detest you.
Posted by Scornork at Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
Multi-tasking is one thing men totally suck at. Try getting them to concentrate on one thing, say fixing the lights, and then bombard them with questions about their day. You'd probably get a shit load of nonsensical and incoherent answers or they could simply go, "Wha...?". Do count yourself lucky if they do all of that instead of lashing out at you. Men are ferocious beasts and you wouldn't want to step on the toes of one, would you?
Anyway, I'm a man, so I know. And this is why I know:
Earlier today, I was trying to make a call when I entered the elevator. While I was still punching in the numbers on my phone, I had to also push the button in the lift to get to level 3. I knew I had to press 3, but somehow, my damn finger reached out for 8!
Oh, and I forgot to mention that there was another bunch of people who were in the lift too.
They were all heading to the ground level.
They were strangers.
They were laughing at me.
And according to my friend, who was with me at that point of time, someone in that group said, "Wei She Mer (giggles) Na Ge Nan De Qu An Ba Lou (giggles)?"
Well, cause I'm a freaking guy and guys can't multi-task.
This is the second time this month I've embarrassed myself. Very nice.
Posted by Scornork at Friday, July 27, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Friday, July 06, 2007
And with the cologne burning my sensitive armpits, I frantically searched for my polo-tee and wore it before styling my hair. A little bit of clay on my fingertips, a couple of brushes through my hair, a few twists and adjustments and I was set to go. I made a mental checklist as I put on my shoes:
A quick glance at the time on my mobile told me one thing - I'm running late for my 7pm appoinment at bugis; it was already 6.45pm! With that in mind, I quickened my steps, widened my strides and made my way down to the MRT.
The soft evening breeze caressed my skin softly before coming in sudden gusts. Annoyed at the fact that my hair could go totally out of shape, I felt around my head in a futile attempt to see if everything was in place. Seems to be, but I wouldn't be sure until I get to see it in a mirror. Time, however, forbade me from doing just that. I had no choice but to settle for the dark reflection of myself in the glass panes at the MRT platform.
Upon my arrival at the platform, I peered into the glass panes. My hair was alright and I thought to myself as I turned away with a narcissistic smirk, "Dang, don't I look dashing? Great polo-tee, great jeans and marvellous armpits emitting the frangant scent of Clinque Happy; how can I ever ask for more?". I couldn't resist taking another peek at my reflection to stroke my ego and when I did, I spotted an oddity in the reflection: my top had a white strip that was never there before. Peeling my eyes from the glass panes, I looked down at my top and found, to my horror, that I wore it INSIDE OUT!
Stop laughing at me.
Posted by Scornork at Friday, July 06, 2007
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Posted by Scornork at Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
Reason No.1 - They are too egoistic, narcissistic and impudent to admit they are afraid of Apple.
What a big turn off ain't it? Just look at how hard Steve Ballmer is trying to "laugh it off" and ridicule the new iPhone.
Reason No.2 - Listen to what Steve Jobs has to say about Microsoft.
I totally agree. Amen.
Reason No.3 - A father begets a son, an idiot begets an idiot, a loser begets a loser. No wonder Microsoft is what it is today. Take a look at how CEO Steve Ballmer starts a presentation and you'd understand.
Oh my gawd! Can somebody just shoot this man? A comment left for this video: "the things microsoft has to do to hype up a crowd vs. apple which just has to show an iPod" (xboxgod88)
Posted by Scornork at Monday, June 25, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
A feeling - a realization or comprehension of the essence or meaning of something or someone. An inspired understanding arising from connecting with profound insight, awareness, or enlightened truth.
A celebration -a Christian feast commemorating the revelation of Jesus to humanity, specifically the visit of the Magi
Meditation - a practice of evoking, and engaging with mindful contemplation. Breakthrough or transcendent awareness. Profound realization that seems to engage one's whole being in resonant connection with aspects of truth and insight.
A band - a group of dorks making music, or possibly, noise. Hear us live come August '07.
Posted by Scornork at Friday, June 22, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Bet many of you out there are wondering if Connie made it to the finals. She did! Sadly, she didn't win the competition. That honour went to a guy called Paul Pott who is a fabulous singer himself. Alright, enough said. Here's the video of that lovely angel singing again:
Posted by Scornork at Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Have you ever wondered how a coin-operated pool table is able to differentiate the cue ball from the others? I did, and I found out how:
Coin-operated pool tables such as those found at bars and college campuses historically have often used either a larger ("grapefruit") or denser ("rock", typically ceramic) cue ball, such that its extra weight makes it easy for the cue ball return mechanism to separate it from object balls (which are captured until the game ends and the table is paid again for another game) so that the cue ball can be returned for further play, should it be accidentally pocketed. (www.wikipedia.com)
Interesting isn't it?
Posted by Scornork at Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
0630 - the time the lights shatters the blanket of darkness that fills my cell. Having led a life comparable to that of a nocturnal creature before I was jailed, it took me awhile before I got used to falling asleep at 2200 and waking up at 0600 in the morning. Monotony is the key word to describe my stint in prison; everything's a routine. You wake up at 0600, shower and store enough water before the supply is cut off at 0630, have breakfast, and then you basically rot until the next meal and the meal after that. And when all is done and said, you go back to sleep - the only form of escape from the harsh reality that bites you each day. This routine plagues every prison, though there are slight variations to certain things such as muster checks and all. I shall not elaborate into detail about the specific routines of the 3 different prisons I was in because that's gonna take a fair bit of explaining. Pardon my laziness.
Monotony - what a far cry from the promiscuise lifestyle of all night private drug parties I once enjoyed! I'd dare say that the best way to torture is to deliver it into the realms of the mind. That's why they don't beat you unless you get violent with them; they just starve you from having what you have always taken for granted - freedom.
Ah yes, freedom - Maybe I've tipped the scale and exaggerated it a little too much with regards to how much freedom I had. There IS a certain allowance of freedom in the joint, but you be the judge and decide if I am right to say that it is as good as nothing:
- For the 1st 2 months of my incarceration, I was kept under solitary confinement. That meant that I had to spend 24 hours in my cell everyday unless I was scheduled for fornightly visits which lasts for 30 minutes or so. The months that followed got slightly better because I was allowed out to the yard for an hour. But even so, there wasn't much to do there except bathe in the sunlight and watch topless men running around.
- The Superintendent of the Prison dictates almost every aspect of your life in there, except which hand you use to clean your bum and how much soap you use to bathe. As I've said earlier, even the water supply is controlled. As such, we're forced to be innovative when our stored water runs out. What we'd do is to smuggle a plastic bag, fill it with whatever water we have left, tie a rubber band around it, pump the water in the toilet bowl down into the pipes, use the bag as a stopper, press the flush and KA-CHING! We have a mini-bathtub. Yes, I bathed using water from the toilet bowl. Of course, I made sure it was clean before using it, but even if it wasn't, I don't think I have much of a choice right? Beggars can't be choosers.
- Letters that go in and out of prison are screened before they are posted. Even your books are. Novels and magazines with too much violence or explicit content are either rejected on the whole or censored. How? They just rip the pages out or blot out the lines. These are just one of the many policies that govern the admission of items from the general public.
So what's your call?
Privacy is another troubling issue behind bars. Strip searches are nothing out of the ordinary there. We even have to open our a-holes and have a torch shone up in it to make sure there isn't any contraband items hidden there. Disgusting? Naw, don't be surprise to hear the numerous stories of people doing exactly just that. Imagine hiding a cigarette up there - it'll be like brown, soggy and erm, smelly. You must be wondering how we do our business there eh? Well, in front of many others, that's how! Yuh, fellow inmates not only get to smell your deposits, they also get to see all of it firsthand. The only way one could ever have a little privacy is to mimic what a peacock does: he just takes his towel, wraps it over his head and takes his dump. I recall this poor guy who couldn't shit with so many eyes trained on him, he had to wake up in the middle of the night to do it. No prizes for guessing, he got a dressing down the next morning. Oh, by the way, one thing I picked up from prison is this fact - if you don't shit for consecutive days, your crap will stink like mad. Don't believe me? Try it! That's why there is this unspoken rule that you should clear your stock everyday. See, in prison, your business is essentially everyone else's business. What freedom OR privacy is there?
Apart from all that I've mentioned so far, another thing of great concern to an inmate is his social life in there. Jail's definitely not a place to diss people off because there isn't any where for you to run to if you do. Got a problem? Deal with it! Either you back off or you go crying to the wardens and get labelled as a sissy. My best solution for it? Avoid the crossfires, take no sides, talk less, be diplomatic, know that violence is but a vicious cycle that solves nothing (talking it out is better) and think before you shoot your trap. That, however, isn't fool-proof, but it is the safest bet.
Well, I survived in the hole and surprisingly, my life took a 180 degrees turn for the better in the days after. The sinister walls that seperated me from the world outside did me a lot of good because all I could do within them was to reflect upon my life. I survived the ordeal not because I was street-smart or gangly. I survived it because of a Greater Someone. Chill, I won't pull some religious thingy on you, but I still believe it with all my heart that I couldn't have done it alone. What on earth am I talking about? Go figure.I have a lot more to talk about my experience there, but words are simply not enough to describe it all. As you can see, I've already written such a huge chunk of words and I've barely scratched the surface. Maybe next time I will explore a different aspect of my stay there and if you have questions, please ask and I'd try my best to answer it.
PS: Dee, as requested - my experience in prison. And also, wanted to say that I made a typo on my tagboard. Meant to say "idea" but ended up spelling it as "idiot". Sorry!
Posted by Scornork at Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
The Associated Press has reported that Paris Hilton has been sent straight back behind bars to serve the remaining of her sentence.
Yes. She needs to go back there to grow up and learn how to take responsibility for her bimbotic actions. That girl should have well thought of the consequences before taking the wheel. Well, obviously she didn't. My guess? She probably thought she could beat the law with her big fat bank accounts.
Sorry girl, you can't have your way all the time, like what we say here in Singapore - "You think what? Everyday Sunday ah?"
If wealth can catapult a person above the law, then the judicial system is nothing but a big joke. But then again, I wouldn't be surprise to see rich people buying themselves out of trouble because judicial systems are never flawless. Justice percieved by Man is blind; look at what the sheriff did - he boldly released Hilton and allowed her to serve her sentence at home. He then goes on to justify his actions by stating that she was punished too severely for a minor offence. I mean, HELLO!! You're a sheriff, not a judge. Why are you trying to revoke the sentence passed down to her by someone who has studied a subject called law, which I assume, you've never ever heard of before? This is absurd! I think you have an identity crisis.
You see? Justice percieved by Man is blind.
Anyway, I don't quite comprehend why everyone is making such a big fuss over the 45 days sentence. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe the time she has to spend in prison will be less than that because there's remission for good behaviour or something like that. Even so, 45 days is not a dreadfully long time!! Ask any ex-convict and they'd tell your 45 days in prison is nothing but a breather from all the hustle and bustle of a life filled with crime. It's only a month and a half! So what's the biggie?
Alright, alright... I know I might have stepped on the toes of you Paris Hilton fans. You might think that whatever I've just said is gibberish because I don't know the torment she has to face in serving her sentence. You know, you might just be right? Cos' I've never been sentenced to 45 days in jail before; I was sentenced to 23 months. And mind you, the 23 months did me a lot of good. It shook me up so bad I turned over a new leaf. So, please, don't even try pulling some smarty pants remark on me if you have never even smelt the stale air of prison before; it's you people who don't know nuts about prison life that are making such a big deal over this.
Paris, why don't you just do your time quietly and reflect upon your life. You'd effectively stop embarassing yourself and the world would find it a lot easier to love you.
Posted by Scornork at Monday, June 11, 2007
Sunday, June 03, 2007
This is Shaye Saint John. It is believed that she was involved in an accident which horribly disfigured her and destroyed her limbs. She now makes short films to depict real life events. For your information, these films are apparently quite well recieved by some people. I chanced upon this one called "Wire Therapy" early this morning. I freaked out. But after watching it a couple of times and reading her Livejournal entries, I began to empathize with her and the video didn't seem as creepy anymore.
Anyway, here's "Wire Therapy" for you below. Love it or hate it, you make the call.
Posted by Scornork at Sunday, June 03, 2007
I've finally gotten my passport after waiting for almost 3 years! It came as a pleasant surprise because I was supposed to only get it in like 2008. The excruciating wait is finally over! I'm overwhelmed with so much joy I've decided to forgive those inconsiderate baboons who cut my queue and incurred my wrath.
My goodness. I never expected the repercussions of drug abuse to be so severe; I've always thought that imprisonment was the worst it could get.
I still had to put up with:
1) Tiresome urine tests at a police station -3 times a week for 24 months. The officers treated me like a dog.
2) The hassle of leaving the country - I've got to get an approval from the director of CNB, head down to ICA, queue for hours, get my a Document of Identity (it's a substitute for a passport), get a visa if necessary, get bombarded with rhetoric questions ("Why are you using this for?" Cos I don't have a passport. DUH!) at checkpoints etc.
3) Getting that look - Hmmph! Junkie. Bet his urine is contaminated with so much dope you can get high if you drink it. I wish I could just let them try.
Oh man, going through this has made me tired all over again. It's terrible! Guys, if you're thinking of doing drugs, please think twice. The aftermath is intolerable. Prison will drive you mad, which I probably am right now, and whatever comes next just sticks with you the rest of your life. It's a stigma that you'd probably never gonna get rid of. The closest you can do to eliminating it is to basically use it for some greater good, but even then, it still exists somehow.
Oh well. At least I got my passport!
Posted by Scornork at Sunday, June 03, 2007
Sunday, May 27, 2007
She stands there, old and stale. Wrinkles mark every chapter of her life in a definitive way. Darting around the room, her eyes make a desperate attempt to put names to the sea of faces in front of her:
The fat one. Hmmm.. must be Jeremy.
The one with Ang Kongs. Hmmm.. Justin? Cannot be, my grandson won't so "pai" one.
There you have it. My Grandma, stricken with Dementia and Alzheimer's. Her memory fails her every now and then, but if it happens to be her day, she remembers every single thing that has happened in the past 80 over years of her life.
I love my Grandma. Though she always whacks me and forces food down my throat when I was a child. And I know she loves me too. I recall the period when her memory first deterioated. She began to forget who is who in the family, but she always remembered me. Whenever I pick up her call, she'd instantanously know it's me upon hearing my voice.
"Ahhhhh.. Justin ah? Your mother leh?"
Sometimes being the black sheep of the family in the past is not a bad thing; people tend to remember you more than they do of others.
Although Grandma has taken the back seat in managing the family, her presence is still very much felt in the decisions the uncles and aunties make. Family gatherings are, in a way, centred around her. Which makes me think: would it still be the same when she passes on? Will we still meet, feast and be jolly when the hour comes for her to go?
I have my doubts, but I have my hopes too.
My cousins and I have talked in depth about this a couple of times and we believe that the best thing to do now is to start building bonds that are based not on responsibility - think: oh this is my family, therefore I must be there to show face -, but rather on the love that we could have for one another. We tried that out within our clique and realized that, yeah, we do love one another very much, even though we don't express it in the best way. We concluded that we'd organize gatherings among the cousins and make it a point to look out for one another the way our uncles and aunties have done for decades now. I mean, we're a family after all aren't we?
Still, the thought of losing Grandma chills my spine. I'd hold my breath each time I think about it and every year, I'd wonder if it'll be her last. I know what to do when Grandma is still alive; I'd embrace her, kiss her, hug her and joke with her everytime I see her. But it is when she departs that I'm at loss. I wouldn't know what to do then.
I love my Grandma.
I love you Grandma.
Posted by Scornork at Sunday, May 27, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
I wonder if it ever struck you that despite your miniature stature, pathetic status, irresponsible attitude and strabismus, my family still chose to allow you to marry my aunt. They opted to turn a blind eye to the obvious flaws that you have, thinking that you’d make up for them by fulfilling those marriage vows you exchanged in front of the altar that fateful day.
But have you? Let’s go through some of the wonderful things you have done over the years before coming to a conclusion:
When my aunt bore you your first child and was subsequently under confinement, my frail old grandma had to attend to her needs and that of the newborn. Giving her a token of your appreciation, you generously placed a $10 bill in a red packet and handed it to her.
Along came your second and third child, and the same thing happened – you conveniently left them in my grandma’s care. This time, however, by a stroke of creativity I suppose you should have as a self-proclaimed architect, you did something different: you didn’t even show gratitude in any form, but just took it that my grandma was doing what she should be doing.
Then storm clouds gathered and my aunt was diagnosed with lymph node cancer. So valiantly, you proceeded to stretch your budget on gambling to, I reckon, earn more money for her treatment. But you know, I guess lady luck was never on your side so you end up just throwing your money down an abyss, never to see it again. Again, you strode on courageously, always looking on the bright side of things, and decided to cut back on your family’s expenditure, leaving your beloved wife with little or no money to pay for her treatments, utility bills, school fees, food etc.
What? What was it you were saying? No money, not your fault. You also don’t know what to do? You’re trying hard to make ends meet? Oh yes, I’m sorry to omit the amount of effort you put in trying to coerce my aunt into working to pay her own treatment. I’m sorry, my bad.
Alright, enough about your spouse, whom you probably love so much that you hate her. Let’s talk about your children. I’ve heard that you’ve been a great role model and teacher to them. Independence is your over arching topic in all the lessons you put them through – like having your 12 year old daughter go down to buy dinner back for you while you go on a clickerty click click rampage on gambling sites. And when she bought the wrong food up, you threw in some corporal punishment by smacking her head for the mistake. Oh, I forgot to mention that superb stunt you pulled off when you backed out from an arranged meet-the-parents session with your daughter. Now my Mum has to waddle her way down with a fractured foot, just to spoil your otherwise flawless lesson on independence by not allowing your daughter to go down alone like a fool. Wow, you’re like my all time favourite superhero - Spiderman. You could simply weave a web of lies to protect yourself from the relentless attacks of self-perceived accusations and swing away to a distant place for refuge. Maybe you should get those $1.50 Spiderman masks from a nearby Pasar Malam and hide your face because people who see you in action are bound to react, violently. Try the mask I have in the picture below, though I think it looks better on me than on you.
Amazing! I think you’ve done an amazing job as a husband-cum-father-cum-loser. You’re so good at getting it all wrong I doubt anyone can beat you to it. Maybe you didn’t dig your ears when you went through the procession of holy matrimony, that’s why you got it all mixed up. No wait, were you drunk? Because it seems every time you walk, you’re swaying from side to side and your eyes don’t look right to me. Oh, I forgot, you’re cross-eyed and that probably impaired you ability to strike a balance in life and walking. It could be a major cause of why you see right as wrong and wrong as right because you see things on the left with your right eye and things on your right with your left eye. I’m sorry, I should have known. My bad.
Uncle, you’ve never failed to make a laughing stock of yourself by your feeble attempts to be impressive. Quit it man. Seriously. Quit it. I laugh so hard I soil my Spongebob Squarepants boxers each time my family discusses you. Be genuine so we can help. Be real. Be honest about who you really are and admit your mistakes. Because he who is a respectable man shrouds himself not in fanciful decorations, but lays himself bare for all to see that he has nothing despicable or disgraceful to hide. Besides, Singapore’s so near the equator it’s insanely hot! Why on earth do you try to cover yourself with so many layers? But please! Spare my eyes and don't take me literally about baring yourself! With my current level of astigmatism and myopia, I'm already considered partially blind; I don't want to be totally blind at the sight of you in your birthday suit. Please put on you pants.
Lastly, please stop wearing those thick black rimmed or turtle shell framed glasses. Judging by your lousy acting when you cried over the phone whilst talking to my mother about your situation, you just don't have what it takes to be an emo. You sounded like you were having spasms, by the way.
Justin (the one you tried to lecture about being a good son)
Posted by Scornork at Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
I caught up with a couple of old friends during the past few weeks. It was good seeing familiar faces which were undoubtedly tinted with a slight tinge of freshness. Prior to my appointment to meet them, I was extremely excited to see how they had changed. And I sure was surprised to see stone cold faces breaking into a warm smile, scrawny dudes putting on a massive bulk, long fringes reduce to bangs. But of course, some remain more or less the same outwardly, and inwardly, none of them changed; they're still the same old playful bunch of people I know, just more mature and definitely more controlled.
And so we spoke the lingos of yester-years, cracked the same old jokes, mused about our aspirations and dreams, laughed about our past mistakes, and filled one another up about things that we missed out on. It felt like a happy reunion of long lost brothers and sisters when we went through the motion of it. It was almost like reliving moments of our fragmented past all within the confines of a simple conversation. Amazing. And the best part of it all was that we all thought it was pretty funny going through our past stupidities. We had a healthy dosage of laughter; I think I just added a few more years to my life just by going out and giggling like a fool with them.
I never knew catching up would be such a fulfilling part of life. For a moment then, I felt I was in another world - a world free of stress, pre-conceived notions, hatred, envy and what nots of the real world we live in.
Catching up was good. Let's catch up soon shall we?
Posted by Scornork at Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Monday, May 14, 2007
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
(That, in the picture, is not Carnage. Its Spider-Carnage. Check out what they wrote in the introduction too.)
Spiderman 3 has been a disappointment for me. The only consolation was that the visual effects were breathtaking and the villians' design, especially Venom's, were intricately designed and executed. I take my hat off with regards to this, but other than that, I must say that the show has gone far too off tangent. It is, at the most, a sappy-all-brawn-no-brains, 3 out of 5 stars, mediocre action film.
I honestly feel better after this episode of verbal vomit. It's a release. Phew..
Posted by Scornork at Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
My new baby is slim.
Her seductive curves make my knees go weak.
She shimmers slightly under the soft spill of moonlight.
Her body is smooth, like velvet or silk.
Oh, and she's from Japan!
She's 19 years old this year, but she sure is mature.
Can you guess who my new baby is?
Posted by Scornork at Monday, April 23, 2007
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Saturday, April 14, 2007
I find it hard to deal with goodbyes and farewells. It's exceptionally difficult for me to turn around and try to make myself believe that I've gone from one phase to another without leaving much of myself behind.
Well, that's how I felt yesterday as I bade my boss goodbye and walked out the door of my office. I smiled, knowing that this could very well be the first time I left a job on a good note. But the thought of knowing that this finally come to a closure overwhelmed me with waves upon waves of melancholy.
There're a couple of things I'd definitely miss there:
1) My boss' uncanny sense of humour. Like making prank calls to his customers. Like calling one of his workers a hippo. Like writing a fake $6000 blank cheque to me.
2) The chief cook's shrill voice and distasteful liking for vintage techno.
3) The kitchen helpers' ability to use a wide range of vulgarities and making it sound good without battering an eyelid.
4) The wide variety of character I see in every driver that walks into my office. One claims to be an ex-commando, but goes pale at the mere mention of ghosts. One has a mouth likened to that of a machine gun; he rattles on and on about everything and anything under sun. One looks like he is always high on heroin or something.
What a colourful experience isn't it? You bet it is.
There is a theory formulated by a philosopher which states that when a person enters a room and later leaves the very same room, he leaves something that belongs to him behind and takes something from the room along with him. How very true. The people that I've met in this company has left bits and pieces of themselves in my memories. I'm sure I've left something behind too and I hope the nature of it is such that it will paint a smile across their each time they think about me.
And as a conclusion, allow me to leave you a video that you may have a peek at the madness that enthralls me each time I go to work. Enjoy!
Posted by Scornork at Saturday, April 14, 2007
Saturday, April 07, 2007
I wonder if my sugar intake of late has been horrendous. Here's the list of "sugary contents" I've been consuming almost everyday since the beginning of last week:
1) 2 bottles of Pokka Green Tea
2) 1 pint of Coke (or any other aerated drink).
3) 1 big bowl of coffee flavoured ice cream.
And this excludes the occasional bites and gulps I get from other people's ice creams and drinks.. oh, I almost forgot, and also those lollipops I got for free.
Man, I better do something about it before it becomes an oh-so-very-sweet habitual routine I cannot break.
Now, where's the bottle of Green Tea I bought earlier on?
Thursday, March 29, 2007
"Goodbye to you, my beloved holidays..."
These words are at the back of my mind and on the tip of my tongue right now. Unspoken words awaiting for their destined moment to become audible ones that I'd utter in a state of despair and lethargy. I might even sprinkle some sighs on it as decorative toppings to allow myself to indulge shamelessly in self-pity. Please don't label me a fag because it is traumatic to have the holidays pass you by ever so quickly.
I think I simply hate going back to school.
But do I really? Maybe not. Because I recall saying something along the line that the semester ends too quickly and that I'm dreading the impending holidays.
Oh dear. Have I become a confused soul? Maybe not. Because the real issue is not really about how quickly holidays come and go, or how I absolutely abhor the thought of the semester ending in a blink of an eye.
I think I'm just afraid of serving in the army.
But am I really? Maybe not. Because I was clearly considering whether I should enlist earlier and forgo polytechnic just so that I can finish it up quickly. Besides, what has a Pes C recruit gotta worry about? I guess the true essence of my worry is not about national service.
It's probably about fending for myself in the future, says me, and being a real adult about it.
But is it really the case? I don't quite believe so as I know it is of my deepest desire to get the hell out and live independently on my own. I honestly covet a peaceful life that is filled with serenity.
Then I guess it's probably my fear of growing old and frail, whimpers a small part of me. Well, while that may have some truth in itself, I am also reminded of the days I spent as a child trying, and failing in my feeble attempts, to be like an adult. There was once I even took my grandmother's IC and glued a passport sized photo of myself on her's. I had some serious issues of getting lost in my world of make believe.
Then another thought crept by, Then it must the fear every elderly person has - the fear of dying. And when that time comes, I'd probably wish I was a child again. And if I become a child once more, I'd wish that I was a toddler. And as a toddler, I'd yearn to be a teenager who would then look forward to be an adult. And as an adult...
Posted by Scornork at Thursday, March 29, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Encounters with rude customers, who have no regard whatsoever for mutual respect and basic courtesy, make me feel like...
"The customer is always right" is bull. Whoever came out with that notion must be a spoilt brat who has only ever been a customer his entire life.
I shall not bow to unreasonable demands from the uncouth mouth that I hear at the end of the line.
You only get what you give and give unto others what you recieve. Respect is vital and Singaporean customers should give serious thought about attaining some. "Kudos" to those sweet ones who are pleasant enough to understand, and "shame on you" to those who think they are godlike because you are only as good as a arrogant snob can be.
The change in customer-service staff relationship culture cannot be brought forth by courtesy campaigns. Face it, nobody really gives a damn about it anymore. Singa the lion is ancient; bet the younger ones are more familiar with Pikachu and Powerpuff Gals. Change starts small. Change starts with you. Change starts with me.
So.. It shall be my resolution to be the nice customer from this day forth.
I shall smile.
I shall try my best to understand
I shall say "thank you" when necessary.
I shall make that change first and hope for it to keep on rollin'.
Be nice, my friends, or get the finger.
Posted by Scornork at Thursday, March 22, 2007
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Oh my gawd!
A couple of days ago, I got my 4GB iPod Nano at $180 from a good friend. I was blown away by its interface and its capabilities, not to mention its feather light weight and sleak design. The moment I first laid hands on my iPod, I suddenly felt that all other MP3s are simply stupid. Dull. Copycats. Unoriginal. Boring. Whatever.
And yes, I sold my old one at, listen carefully, 20 bucks. I wasn't motivated by the money; I just thought I had better get rid of it before I decide to blow it up into smithereens and injure myself in the process.
Anyway, I discovered this really cool thing when I was on the way back home from work. As always, I had my ear phones stuck firmly in my ears with the music blasting as I walked home. I was taking a longer-then-usual route back which turned out to be an unwise decision when along the way, I found two cars obstructing my path. There was this small little gap between these two parked cars which I thought was big enough for me to squeeze through. So I tried. And I made it through, but not before getting the cord of my ear phones caught by the side view mirror of the car.
The damn ear phones were literally ripped from my ears as I lunged forward victoriously, thinking I got through cleanly. My head jerked back and the cigarette in my mouth flew out. I must've looked like an idiot! Cursing and swearing in every language I could possibly mutter, I picked up my ear phones and cigarette, and continued forward. I reckoned it was the end of my ear phones when I slid the jack back into the iPod. Why? Because there wasn't any friggin' music coming out of it, that's why. But to my surprise, when I took the iPod out to turn it off, I realized it was paused. Strange, I thought, it couldn't have been pressed accidentally in anyway as it was on hold!
Oh my gawd!
My ear phones were in perfect working order and the only reason why there wasn't any music was because the iPod stopped playing it!
Oh my gawd!
It then dawned upon me that the device had a supernatural ability to shift itself into another mode when the jack of the ear phones came out. I was in awe. Let me spell that again, A-W-E. And now, I have an Apple fetish!
Oh my gawd!
(Yes..yess.. I know I'm an Apple noob; look at the title of the post. I'm working on it ya?)
Posted by Scornork at Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Have you ever felt this way?
Ever felt something stuck at the back of your throat, maybe a little further up to where your nasal cavity begins, when you sit on the bus with your headphones playing out old familiar tunes that so seamlessly match the places you pass by?
Every beat, every word, every note, every crescendo and every falsetto falls into their appropriate spots. They belong to the pavement you once threaded on, to the couch you reclined in, to the traffic lights you tried to beat and to the stairs you tried to scale. They belong to the entrances of places you waited at, to the faces you spoke to and to the words that fell on your ears then.
And then you start to conjure.
You’d conjure images that aren’t clear. Blur and fuzzy ones that have such significance you try to hold on and let go at the same time. Images that you see with your eyes closed. Images of faceless people, of whom you still recognize. Images of things that seemed unimportant then, but are of utmost importance now. Images that replay over and over again, just like how you’d sub-consciously play the same songs each time you pass the same place.
And then you begin to smell.
You’d smell something devoid of smell. Nothing fragrant, nothing pungent, but it’s a smell nevertheless. You feel it entering your nose, down your throat, pass your esophagus, through your intestines and into your guts. It churns and boils down there, and your breathing gets heavier. You wonder if you’re angry, or sad, or happy, or all three at the same time, to smell it. It’s a familiar smell, like the familiar place you pass by with the familiar song in your ear. You try to put your finger on it, to find out what it is, but you can’t. You just can’t define it.
And then comes the chills.
Tingling sensations in your spine that send shivers through your entire back. It forms from the back of your neck and slowly creeps down. The lower it goes, the faster it becomes. And when it finally dissipates, you long for it to happen again. Maybe because you like how it must have felt. Maybe because it happened before when you were excited and nervous then. Maybe, but you don’t really know.
And all these sum up to one word – memories. A phenomenon I can never quite grasp. Why do memories exist? Why do the ones that shouldn’t stay, stay, and ones that should, don’t? I guess it’s because bad as some may seem, it matters to you one way or another. So you hold on and so begin the love-hate relationship you now have with them.
Memories – they make me who I am and you who you are. Don’t fight them, embrace them with arms wide open and you might just find out who you are and where you belong.
Have you ever felt this way?
‘Cos I did.
Posted by Scornork at Thursday, March 15, 2007
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Oh, and please arm yourself with a box of tissue in case you're somehow touched the way I was. Trust me, it'll come in very handy.
Posted by Scornork at Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Friday, March 09, 2007
Oh boy, how I crave for it again.
I remember it like it was just a few moments ago. That savory taste of the stir fried worm in my mouth, coated with a sinful amount of garlic and oil. There’s only one word to describe that tantalizing moment – bliss.
Dear Lord, how I yearn for that piece of gooey lump in my mouth again.
I remember digging out the poor creature from its shell with a puny fork and putting it into my mouth, all the while anticipating the overwhelming taste to pacify my hunger (I waited for my food for almost half an hour, mind you).
And boy, did it. That little piece of chewy gooey lump served its purpose to the fullest. It was delicious beyond my wildest dreams. And if the stupid shell was edible, I would have gobbled that down too. Too bad it wasn’t, too bad it wasn’t. The oil teased my taste buds and trickled down my throat in the most seductive way no food has ever done. Bliss.
There wasn’t the slightest hint of sympathy in me when I consumed that poor fellow with my jaws of death. No, not even a tinge of it… till today…
Snails are grotesque.
Snails are freaky.
Snails are slow.
Snails are ugly.
Snails are defenseless.
Snails are edible.
Snails are fun to kill.
Snails die when you sprinkle salt on them.
Snails have stupid looking eyes that tempts you to cut them.
Snails are too big for predators (humans and animals alike) not to realize and too small to do anything.
And because they are all that, they are pitiful.
It’s sad to live a life like that. It’s downright pathetic. I can just imagine myself in a bulky shell, walking down the streets in fear of getting run over or stepped on. The stares people give would be filled with disgust. They’d snort at me, spit at me or maybe worse still, crush me. It’ll take me a month to walk from Cineleisure to HMV and probably a year or two to get back home to Toa Payoh. Nobody would like me, except for how I’d probably taste on the plate. My eyes would be an object of ridicule and my shell, well, would be just a shell. I’d excrete slime wherever I go and cleaners would be after my neck.
But thank God, I’m not a snail.
Irritating colleagues and acquaintances,
Ya-da, ya-da.. all the problems people face.. ya-da, ya-da…
All these I’d rather have then to be a snail. I’d rather suffer as a human then be a snail. What are these as compared to the fate of a snail? Nothing, in fact it’d might very well be heaven to them, wouldn’t it? The thought of getting killed, stir fried and eaten in garlic would be, as a human, the last thing on my mind. But for a snail, it’d be the first thing on its mind. If it has one, that is.
Thank God, I’m not a snail. And neither are you.
Today, I’ve resolved that if I feel down or swing into one of my depressive state again, I’d remember that I'm far better off than snails...
Posted by Scornork at Friday, March 09, 2007
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Posted by Scornork at Saturday, March 03, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Just a couple of hours ago, I was attending a practical lesson for motorcycle at a driving centre. It was 12.45pm when I got there and the sun was scorching hot. When I wore my helmet and rode around the circuit a few times, it felt like my whole head was being mircowaved. For a moment there, I thought it would have been rather amusing to try and fry an egg on the top of the oil tank of my bike, but of course I didn't. I had to focus on more important things like passing the damn lesson.
The intial part of the lesson was rather smooth. There weren't many cars going around in the circuit, but when I enter the 45th minute of the lesson, lo and behold! The cars started to pop up from nowhere. There were cars in front, cars at the back and cars on my sides. It's not that I have anything against people who drive cars, but with the heat coming in waves, I got easily irritated when I had to wait for a pretty long period for car to make a turn. I was so tired of holding the clutch while waiting for a car to turn that I released it unknowingly a couple of times, causing my bike to either stall or jerk. This occurred over and over again at every single turning in the circuit. I was so pissed at one point I decided to speed down the road, overtake the car in front (something I'm not supposed to do yet at this stage...) and make the turn before it does. Well, I got screwed for that, but I noticed something - the driver was a lady. Then I asked myself, could it be true when they say that all ladies are bad drivers? I wasn't sure, so I decided to find out for myself. Each time a car takes a gazillion years to turn, it's a lady. Each time a car hogs the whole lane, it's a lady.
I guess they're right when they say that.
I got home later and while I was bathing, I realized that there are many things that guys don't like about girls. Here are some to name a few:
1. They make use of their mensus as an excuse for their unjustified tantrums.
2. Eating out is a problem. Too much oil? No. Too hot? No. Arrgh!!!
3. We have to make the decisions most of the time. If it turns out to be a bad one, it's our fault. If it's a good one, it's hard to get a 'Thank You'.
4. They're almost always late.
5. The list goes on...
But that being said, I don't hate women. I still want to marry one, live with one, love one, die for one. Every straight guy does right?
Well, I mean... They may have their shortcomings. So do we. They make mistakes. So do we. They piss us off in unimaginable ways. We piss them off too - like when we forget important dates or like when we forget we're not supposed to gawk at another girl. Come to think of it, men and women are so different they're actually similiar.
Oxymoronic? You might want to think about it again. Another way I could say it is that men and women are equal. Yes, there're things men can do better than women, but there're also things women can do better than men! In fact, there're times when women do better than men in an area where men are expected to fare better.
So next time, if you're a guy and you see a lady, don't look at her as someone of low calibre; she's very much as capable as you are, just in different areas. Beyond the physical traits of her body, she just like you. We all stand on levelled ground.
There's no room for MCPs in this world. Every straight guy needs a woman as much as every straight woman needs a guy. We compliment one another in different ways.
Posted by Scornork at Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
He gets his steak and asks as matter of factly, "Well done?"
"Yes sir," nods the waiter who carries on to add the toppings on his baked potato after he cuts it open with his fork and knife.
The man looks at his dish for a moment or two before sinking the fork and knife into the piece of meat
Squish, squish... He sawed away at his steak, seperating them in little cubes small enough to fit into his mouth. When the whole piece was cut up, he proceeded to take away the fatty parts with a slight tinge of disgust on his face.
He worked away at his steak for about 10 minutes before putting down his knife and pausing to admire his work.
Squish... The fork sank into a small cube of the steak. He casually lifted it into his mouth and chewed it. While he chewed it, he stared blankly to the left.
Chomp chomp chomp... The muscles on his cheeks tensed and relaxed as his mouth did the work like as if it had a mind of it's own. He only snapped out of his "suspended animation" mode when there was nothing left to chew.
Gulp... He swallows it down and continues to choose another piece to eat. Picking one up, he puts it into his mouth and chewed again but spat it out after a few bites. Fatty portions, it seemed. He face contorted in disgust as he searched for a better piece. Found one, put it into his mouth, stared blankly to his left again and swallowed it.
I wonder what went through his mind as he stared into blank space. Was he thinking of the fight he had with his wife earlier on? Possible. Was he worrying about his rent? Could be. Was he thinking about which EPL match to bet on? Maybe. Was he considering where he is going to sleep tonight? Might be. Or was he simply lonely? I wouldn't know for sure, but most probably. The man sat there for about an hour straight - alone. For the few times he did not look to his left, he allowed his eyes to wander around. Sometimes he looked longingly at the table across where a happy family sat eating and talking. Sometimes his eyes searched frantically around the eatery as if he was looking out for a familiar face to call out to.
But I wouldn't know, would I?
What I do know is this: no man can be an island. A lonely person is as good as a person with one foot in the grave. Moments of solitude can no doubt be good at times, but not all the time. I realised that we can never survive on our own in this world no matter how independent we are. Somehow or another, we would still have to depend on someone or something. We're inter-dependent on one another. No man is an island.
The man paid his bill with a $50 dollar note, got up, put a cigarette into his mouth and walked away. As I saw him from his rear, I recounted the horrible times I had to eat alone. I'd either skip that entire meal or call somebody out to accompany me. It's never a pleasant feeling to have to eat alone, much less be alone in the world. I pondered also about the countless people I've seen sleeping alone on the streets at my district. You'd never get a wave of euphoria sleeping alone, much less being alone in the world.
I realised how fortunate I am to have a family who cares enough to cook my food, friends who bother to come out to accompany me, mentors who're generous enough to lend a listening ear. They might not know it consciously, but I think they understand one thing I do: Nobody deserves to be alone.
Two is better than one for when one falls, the other is there to pick him up and set him right. When both fall, well, at least they fall together and not alone.
"If we hold on together
I know our dreams will never die
Dreams see us through to forever
As high as souls can fly
The clouds roll by
For you and I" - If We Hold On Together by Diana Ross
Posted by Scornork at Thursday, February 22, 2007
Troy was a fairly good looking young lad. He didn't have chiseled features of any kind, nor did he have an impressive body frame. In fact, he was a little inclined towards the scrawny side, but he looked pleasant enough to be considered slightly above average.
Borned and raised into a wealthy, close-knitted family, he grew up in a environment full of warmth and love. As the only child, he was given undivided attention by both of his parents; they gave him anything he asked for.
When Troy transited into his adolescent years, he became increasingly aware of his "slightly above average" physical assets and features. His awareness began as passing thoughts that came and go, but as he started to dwell in them, they escalated into becoming a "real problem" for him. He began to feel hideous on the outside and lousy on the inside. And as such, his self esteem took a nosedive to a point he decided to go for an extensive plastic surgery.
Troy followed through with the surgery after discussing it with his parents, who were initially quite apprehensive, but nevertheless granted him what he wanted.
He went through rhinoplasty, sillicon chest implants, face lifts etc. He even got the surgeon to surgically break some bones to make him a couple of centimetres taller. The surgery was intensive and gruelling. It took him almost 2 whole years to complete it and allow the wounds to heal. Within that 2 years, Troy spent most of his time in a private hospital. He was bandaged up and drifted in and out of consciousness because of the amount of painkillers they pumped into him to ease the excruciating pain. He felt like giving up the whole idea a couple of times, but looking like a totally different person spurred him to perservere. He wanted to be someone new. He hated his old self.
When the time finally came for Troy to emerge from his bandages, he was pleased with what he saw in the mirrors. Finally, he thought, I am no longer that hideous monster, but someone new now.
But the happiness was short-lived.
It was barely 6 months after the operations that Troy began to be dissatisfied with his looks again. He realised that there were still others who look better than him. It wasn't long that he felt the need to be someone new once more; he was sick and tired of looking at the same old face in the mirror everyday knowing that there were better looking people than him.
So back to the operating table he went and he spent another 2 years under the watchful eyes of nurses and doctors alike.
This cycle went on for almost 10 years: Troy would go under the knife to have himself altered, but each time he did, he'd get disgusted at what he'd see in the mirror after 6 months.
There came a time when Troy's health began deteriorate rapidly. He did not know what was causing it and didn't think much about it till he was bed-ridden. It was only when he was hospitalized that the doctors told him a silicon implant in him broke and caused an internal infection. The doctors tried to save his life by administering antibiotics, but it did not help (Troy had already built up a strong resistance to antibiotics because he never finished the course of antibiotics prescribed to him after each operation; he was too distracted about looking like someone new.)
Troy slowly faded away. As he laid dying in the hospital with his parents by his side, it dawned upon him that he had no friends at all. All the years he spent chasing his dream of looking like someone new robbed him of the opportunity of making true friends. He also noticed that his parents did not look one bit sad at all, in fact they look like they had difficulty trying to recognize their beloved son. It was there and then that Troy began to see that he did not recognize himself either.
He took a mirror on the side of his bed and stared into it.
Who is that dying? The "someone new" I always wanted to be or the "real me"? Who is it that is already dead? The "real me" or that "someone new" I always wanted to be?
Putting the mirror aside, Troy turned to his side with his back facing his parents. Tears flowed from his eyes as the truth slowly settled into him:
Everything he has done revolved around himself but he didn't seem to exist at all now. Nobody seems to know who he really is, even himself.
He has no friends.
He never took the time to appreciate what he had. Even when he became a new person after an operation, he never took the time to truly appreciate what had been given to him. He simply gave it up by going for another operation, expecting even better results.
He always wanted more, but ended up with nothing.
Picking up the mirror, he decided to, for once, be contented with who he is and what he has. He smiled at himself in the mirror, held on to his parents hands and died.
His parents finally cried when he went, for it was the first time Troy ever smiled at himself in the mirror.
"Satisfied, what a priceless treasure it is to be content. To wish for nothing more than what I have right now..." - Lee "Scratch" Perry
Posted by Scornork at Thursday, February 22, 2007