"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...
Thursday, March 29, 2007
"Goodbye to you, my beloved holidays..."
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