she had bullets in her eyes.

Fifty-three candles.

2010-09-01T12:25:00.002+08:00

31st August 2010 started with a miserable display of fireworks at Genting.

The downhill ride was misty, dark and winding - a mockery of what lies ahead of us. Our visions as unobstructed as Vision 2020, we sped anyway. Because every car that goes slower than ours is an idiot, and every car that goes faster than ours is a maniac. And avoiding speedtraps is just another modern gauntlet we need to survive.

We found ourselves at Mist two hours later. Because the current leading political party is Booze Party and because we had good company. Everything else sucked like a vacuum - void and empty. The air smelt of testosterones and balls bounced off-beat to songs from the last century. Filling up the podium were whorrible dancers dressed for Halloween and Gay Pride 2010. These are happy people - in the moment, on the edge, over the top, above cloud nine and under the influence of alcohol.

I had a good night's sleep.

What about you, Malaysia?

How to write a Chinese essay.

2010-05-11T02:24:00.005+08:00

I spent five years of my childhood in a Chinese vernacular primary school. That means that I have collected approximately 5400 Coca-cola tin cans and 753kg of newspapers for the school. But that also means that I have memorized at least 12,367 essays, which justifies the reason why I should teach you how to write a Chinese essay.

Before I go any further, allow me to remind you that the only names permitted to be used in your essays are 小明 for a male character and 小丽 for a female character. 小强 and 小慧 may be used if there is a need for extra characters. I once wrote a letter to 杰伦. My teacher circled the name and wrote 'do not use your idol's name in your essays!' in red ink. She said it would reflect badly on me when the UPSR examiner marks it. Twelve years have passed and I still do not understand what harm would it do to write a letter to Jay Chou telling him about Malaysian local fruits.

The easier essay topics are always about your family and yourself. When writing about your family, remember to use the phrase "我来自一个小康之家". When writing about your ambitions, please start your essay with "每个人都有自愿，我也不例外". If you are a boy, your ambition should be to be a cop; if you are a girl, your ambition is to be a teacher. Do not forget to describe it as 人类灵魂工程师.

My favourite essay topic has to be 野餐记. "在一个风和日丽的早晨，爸爸心血来潮提议带我们一家人到波德申海边野餐。我们听了，高兴得手舞足蹈。一路上，我们有说有笑，不一会儿就抵达了目的地。我们在一棵阴凉的大树下铺了草席。我和弟弟迫不及待地换上泳装，投入大自然的怀抱里。爸爸在岸上看报纸，而妈妈便准备食物。" Remember, your mother should be preparing lunch under the tree so that you can then use the phrases "狼吞虎咽" and "津津有味" in the next paragraph. Your father should be reading the newspapers so that he can later on save a drowning boy and give him CPR before the boy's parents thank him gratefully. Remember to end your essay with "夕阳西下，我们带着依依不舍的心情踏上归途。我希望有朝一日还能再重游此地".

Another popular type of essay question is the kind where they give you a sentence and ask you to complete the essay. "一天晚上，爸爸和妈妈去出席了王伯伯举办的晚宴，我一个人留在家里温习功课。忽然..." There are only two ways to complete this essay. The first one is where you hear a noise and then find out that someone is trying to break into your neighbour's house and you call the police. The second one is where you hear "救命啊，救命啊!" and then realise that your neighbour's house is on fire and then you call the firefighters. No matter which is your preferred choice, the essay will always end with your parents praising you and your neighbours thanking you.

Sometimes, they give you a daytime question. "一天中午，爸爸和妈妈在外上班，我一个人留在家里温习功课。忽然，门铃响了..." In this case, there are also two possible solutions. The first possible solution is that a salesman appears and tries to sell you a magic stone that helps you to pass your exams. You either buy it or you don't. If you don't, the essay ends with your parents praising you; if you do, the essay ends with a lecture from your parents. Another possible situation is that two masked robbers enter and tie you up and one of them will hold a machete to your neck. If you do not know how to end the essay, just end it with "原来这只是一场恶梦".

I don't know how to end this blogpost.

这只是一场恶梦.

Year of the Tiger Woods.

2010-02-13T01:09:00.005+08:00

What a beautiful night.

The content of this blogpost has nothing to do with its title.

What a beautiful night. My bathroom light is fixed. Fixed. After all these months. From the world's anticipation for the emergence of America's first Black President until the world's confusion over what has changed after voting for change. Ladies and gentlemen, my bathroom light is fixed.

Once upon a time a rat decided to bite on some cables (wires. something. don't know.)on the ceiling of my bathroom. I shall name him Bob. I'm certain it's a him because females are not that stupid. So the cable broke. And my bathroom light died. And Bob died. I had to rely on the my ventilation light+fan (very clueless about lights. I don't know what do you call one of these things.) instead. But Bob's body remained there. And when I on the ventilation fan, my whole room smells of Bob. So I chose to bathe in the darkness. Shit in darkness. Pee in darkness. See the world in darkness.

The only reason why my light is finally fixed is because of the Chinese New Year. Chinese dads think they can fix everything. Apparently not. Mine finally gave in and called for help. So the God of Prosperity visited my bathroom. And God said, let there be light: and there was light. Then the God of Prosperity left Bukit Jelutong RM160 richer. But all was good. Because God divided the light from darkness.

Anyway. I'm so happy. Because I can finally see the colour of my shit. I took a 30 minute shower just now because I wanted to appreciate the light. A piece of heaven has fallen and landed in my bathroom. I have found refuge in my bathroom. I am now a devoted Bathroomist. We all leave this world the way we have entered it - empty and naked. As a Bathroomist, my bathroom is, of course, my world.

Braceface Beauty

2010-01-17T02:35:00.005+08:00

There are three people that I can never understand. Edward Cullen, Miley Cyrus, and my dentist. They have only one thing in common. They remind me of teeth. One needs fangs, one needs braces, and one can make fangs and braces happen.

I had a 2PM dental appointment. I reached at 1.50PM. The rule is to not let your dentist wait. Don't provoke a lady whose fingers have more authority than your mouth. No matter how much you love tools in your mouth.

I had with me my Turpin and Tomkins and my iPod. They complement each other very well. One puts me to sleep, the other one wakes me up. But I decided not to use the iPod because I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to hear when my name is called. But that also means I cannot read Turpin and Tomkins because I can't possibly hear my name being called when I'm asleep. So I waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally. My name. at 4PM. Went into the surgery room. Fell asleep on the dental chair. Woke up. Wasn't my turn yet (one dentist attends to three surgery rooms). Chose the colour for my rubber band. Counted the number of tiles. Stared at dental certificates. Observed the brands of dental equipments. Looked at bottles of unknown chemicals. Marked the cracks on the wall. Memorized every inch of the surgery room.

Lying down on the dental chair made me feel like a deathrow inmate waiting to be prosecuted. Without the straps. Less kinky, but nevertheless erotic.

My turn finally came in 2020. Wawasan 2020 was a success. Bendera berkibar di angkasa, lambang negara jaya; rakyat sepakat sehati sejiwa, tiada lagi bakar gereja.

She is a lethal injection of her own class. In 2020, our lips are made of rubber. Our mouths are very stretchable. Our teeth are made of steel. We kiss and kill.

She was done in ten minutes. It was 5.40PM.

I spent almost four hours waiting for something that lasted for ten minutes.

I am not too sure if I will want to marry a dentist.

I prefer to wait for ten minutes. And do something that lasts for four hours.

Because I can.

One Week.

2010-01-15T23:24:00.003+08:00

有时候我觉得自己像一只小小鸟
想要飞却怎么样也飞不高

First week at the lakeside campus. I don't know why is it called a lakeside campus. The lake is in the campus. So why is it called a lakeside campus? The lake is green. Like Camp Green Lake. Without holes and yellow spotted lizards. I am your residential Stanley Yelnats. Someone asked if there are any fishes in there. Lecturer said 'if I were a fish, even if this is the last lake in the world, I wouldn't want to stay in there. I would rather die.' I am not too sure why do we need a lake. Lecturer said 'I don't think it qualifies as a lake.' I think they shouldn't have dug a lake. I think they should have built a ten storey carpark. Then we wouldn't need to fight over red stickers and green stickers. Like Taiwanese politics. With the lake, acrophobic law students have an alternative method of committing suicide. Instead of jumping from the 8th floor, we can now drown ourselves. With the lake, engineering students can build boats and row (no pun intended) their boats to college everyday. Then we will have more parking bays. With the lake, hospitality and tourism students can.. clean them for us. I am sure freshmen like Qingyin will be more than willing to do this for everyone.

The library has no books. Tables look like lamps and chairs look like sex toys. Law students use Dell computers. Art students use iMacs. The iMac has a screen too big for private porn viewing. Art students probably don't need porn because their assignments fuck them all the time. Law students don't need porn because we are the porn. Loved by most, envied by many.

Cafeteria is named Recezz. We are famous for being creative with names. Roasted chicken rice costs RM4.80 and 16 litres of water and 57 trips to the washroom.

也许有一天我栖上了枝头却成为猎人的目标
我飞上了青天才发现自己从此无依无靠

Unmotivated. Uninspired. Unhealthy. Tutorials and assessed work. Lost. Difficult. Not trying hard enough. Not trying hard enough. Not trying hard enough.

每次到了夜深人静的时候我总是睡不着
我怀疑是不是只有我的明天没有变得更好

Dead cats in the band room. Maggots and faggots. Faggots cleaning up maggots. Maggots cleaning up faggots. Superior. Inferior. Winner. Loser.

未来会怎样究竟有谁会知道
幸福是否只是一种传说我永远都找不到

Priorities. Family. Friends. Law. Band. Don't know. Must know. 'There is nothing you should do. There are only things you want to do.' Most inspiring and revolutionary 16year old.

我是一只小小小小鸟
想要飞呀飞却飞也飞不高

You must learn how to live with yourself. You must learn how to live by yourself. You have a lot to learn. You must learn how to learn. Unlearn. Relearn. Unlearn. Relearn. Positive reinforcement. Negative reinforcement. Punishment. Classical conditioning. Pavlov's dogs.

我寻寻觅觅寻寻觅觅一个温暖的怀抱
这样的要求算不算太高

Everytime I hear your name, I salivate like Pavlov's dogs.

所有知道我的名字的人啊你们好不好
世界是如此的小,我们注定无处可逃

I am turning 19 in three months. 2010. Ten years ago. 2000. PTS. One of the best things that ever happened. This year, I want to do something worth remembering ten years down the road.

当我尝尽人情冷暖,当你决定为了你的理想燃烧
生活的压力与生命的尊严那一个重要

Awesome song.

Monsters of 2009.

2009-12-31T19:19:00.006+08:00

2009.
failed. lost.
NEW. good people.
bad people. sick. GAMBLE.
devastation. rejection. warnings.

flamed. ill. weak-hearted. disappointment.

DISAPPOINT. places. money. EMPTY. suicide.

near death experiences. falling. dreams. DREAMT.

PAIN. let go. RECLAIMED. old. massacre.

DEATHS. numbers. words. WEAPONS.

WON. tagged. LIVED. late. waited.

bruised. jumped. DROVE.

discovered. LEARNT.

goodbye.

2010.

LT7

2009-10-22T22:34:00.005+08:00

It has been about three weeks since Year Two started ~~like a Salvador Dali artwork~~. We now attend lectures and tutorials at Lecture Theatre 7, situated one metre away from the Orange Room. Talk about effective proxemics. When you're lucky you see your old SAM lecturers walking in and out. But I guess I'm very unlucky since both my favourite ESL and Legal Studies lecturers have left Taylor's. Really.

Anyway. LT7 has blue benches. I like blue benches. They look a little like bleachers. I like bleachers. Because she's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers. The thing is, the seats are so hard they turn butts into chapatis. And the distance between the desk and the bench is so small I can't cross my legs when I sit. The drawers (I don't think they are called drawers since they are undrawable, indrawable, disdrawable, non-drawable, whatever.) are so.. humble my textbooks can't fit into them. Suet Mei please bring this up during the student and staff meeting.

I usually take the last row in the room. Left or right, I don't know - directions are subjective. I take up the innermost space so I can lean against the wall. I can experience REMs during my power naps. And when I feel antisocial (96.78% of the time) I can simply place my legs on the bench. Parallel. So my seat is a good seat.

But they say nothing is perfect in this world.

My seat is situated next to the back door of LT7. The door is magic. Magic door can only be opened from the inside. Magic door requires manpower.

If a classmate pays me RM1 everytime I open the door for him or her, I make an average of RM17.50 per day. 50cents if you leave when I open the door. I counted. Because I am pretty good in math. Math is my best high school subject. I tear out my calculator all the time.

I have a problem. I am turning into a dog. Not because of frisbees. And not any dog. Pavlov's dog. I am classical conditioned to sounds at the door. I open the door everytime I hear sounds. This is getting out of control because I respond to non-knocking sounds. So now I am little Albert.

I think this is God's way of opening up alternative career possibilities for me. I can be a lawyer in the day, a porter by night, and a lab mice on public holidays.

Sometimes, I scare myself more than I scare you.

2009-10-19T21:28:00.003+08:00

海鸟跟鱼相爱,只是一场意外。

All the Single Ladies

2009-09-25T04:45:00.003+08:00

There are many reasons why I am single.

Let’s start with a statistical approach. I derived this mathematical formula from an intellectual blog. I am number-blind.

According to the the Central Intelligence Agency, Malaysia has an estimated population of 25,715,819, as of July 2009. 63.6% are aged between 15-64 years old, of which 8,210,373 are male, neglecting the fact that I am not really into 64 year olds. Ignoring the criticisms of the 1948 Kinsey research and applying the ‘myth’ that 10% of the general male population is gay, my selection pool shrinks to 7,389,335. Assuming that I am a traditional Chinese who is only interested in males of the same ethnicity, my pool reduces to 1,751, 272. Further assuming that I prefer a partner who shares the same religion, my candidate pool shrinks to 336, 244. If you think that this is a large number and that if each of them gives me RM1, I will have more than enough money to read law and live in the UK for three years (and pay for my own resit examinations), please allow me to continue.

Should we assume that I expect my boyfriend to have at least, enrolled for a secondary school education (note: mere enrolment, not graduation), my pool of candidates decreases to 228, 309. Considering the fact that I would prefer a partner who stays at a place with water and electricity supply, thank you very much, the number of my potential boyfriends shrink to 159,816. If I expect him to have access to the Internet, my pool diminishes to 86,300. I like people who read, so this further slashes my candidate pool down to 38,835. I want a man who actually exercises, so I guess there are only 10,097 of them left. Look, now I wouldn’t even have enough money to pay the tuition fees for one semester at Taylor’s. I seek for a guy who is verbally confident, one who can talk the talk and walk the walk – 7067 left (probably lesser than this, really). Considering the fact that my candidate pool consists of men aged 15-64 years old, it should be noted that a lot of them are already married, hence my pool zooms down to 3533.Taking into account those who are engaged and those who are in steady, committed relationships, there are probably 1766 men left. What a beautiful number for a lottery ticket. Now, eliminating those who are possibly overweight, I have about 635 candidates left.

I may not be a neat-freak, but I certainly am a clean-freak, which also means that I can’t stand a man who leaves his dirty socks on the couch (clean ones are okay, seriously), or one who wets the washroom floor every time he washes his hands at the sink. Ladies and gentlemen, 127 men. Now I don’t even have enough money to pay for a Contract Law resit paper. I need a man who loves flat chests – 12 left (and 10% is still an understatement). He cannot be a diehard football fan – 7 left. He must be proficient in English and hopefully Mandarin. He needs to know that facial hair is disgusting when one is not Hugh Jackman. He must be able to leave home without styling his hair. He must not camwhore using DSLRs. He must not be into Mafia Wars and Restaurant City; and must not live his life asking Fortune Teller Genius questions. He must know that it is unnecessary to Twit about where he is and what he is eating – the Spicy Chicken McDeluxe or the Big Mac.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am pretty convinced that I will stay single for the rest of my life.

Anyway, that was just the appetizer. I can’t imagine using numbers for a main course. The statistics attained and my application methods are, honestly, highly doubtful and hence my previous conclusion may be flawed. Never mind that. It isn’t the only reason anyway.

I am not stylish but I am selective. And stereotypically, you have no right to be selective when you are not stylish. I wear glasses but don’t pull off the fuck-me-I-am-your-secretary look. When I was 10, our Assistant Head of School praised the way I wore my hair in front of a big group of peers. I was so proud of my hairdo I refuse to change it ever since. No, seriously. And don’t get me started on my braces. The biggest consolation is that a lot of people need them more than I do. I like sneakers. I like t shirts and jeans. They are cheap. And your friends’ mums will find you decent. But anyway, the fact is, I am not stylish, but I am still very selective. Trust me. Oh I just remembered that I forgot to include my height requirements while calculating the numbers earlier. What a vital physical attribute.

I am very stubborn. I am mean and sarcastic. I say the wrongest things at the wrongest times. I take criticism badly. I give bad impressions. I swear too often. I have a duck fetish. My Ellen marathons can last for hours. I am very afraid of lizards. I whine a lot. I live in denial. I ask myself ‘what is wrong with him’, and not ‘what is wrong with me’. I delete blog posts. I am lazy. I failed Contract Law. I am kind of tall. I put only one song in my playlist on repeat – I listen to it over and over again. I like to read about massacres and suicides, but I hate horror movies. I scratch myself when I’m upset. I play a few musical instruments, but I am a master of none. I am indecisive. I judge people silently. I know a lot of people who dislike me. I am a boring person. I talked about blowjobs during my first Tort lesson.

I got gloss on my lips, a man on my hips.

Haha, thank you Beyonce. You lit hope in Sydney, but drown mine right here. Thank you Beyonce, thank you very much.

The Heal

2009-09-11T17:22:00.006+08:00

12 year olds in school uniforms huddled past, dirty backpacks slung over their shoulders, giggling as they made their entrance into the overrated local shopping mall, ignorant of the fact that their escape from the wrath of examinations was merely temporary – the UPSR was just an appetizer. High school girls in heavy make-up constructed their strut while struggling to balance on four-inched stilettos, carrying clutches a tad too small to hide their desperate attempt to seek for attention. Ladies peered through oversized sunglasses to look at price tags in a fully air conditioned mall. Couples glued at the hips, male species turned into bag growing trees, children stained their tops with donut icing. I joined the social process in a pair of t-shirt and jeans.

A teenager, with the words ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ printed across the back of his t-shirt strode past me to the other side of the concourse to meet a group of peers sporting the same hairstyle. One of them was wearing a Manchester United jersey.

You’ll never learn how to walk alone.

I made my way to the bookstore, quietly secluded at one end of the crowded shopping mall. Quiet, because Malaysians are too busy beating traffic jams to find time to read. Though on the verge of dropping out from the University of Reading, I, ironically, am a frequent refugee of the ivory tower. Book hunting requires a lot of discipline. The challenge is to find a book that will not sit on your racks forever to build an empire out of dust. A good book is like a trophy. Gold.

I paid for my trophies and left two hours later.

Happy patrons strolled along the atria carrying booties in plastic bags, depicting the failure of the mall’s efforts in promoting environmental conservation. ‘Bring Your Own Bag’ posters were placed all over the place - on walls, pillars and anywhere with a vertical flat surface. They chopped down a forest to instill awareness among shoppers. Walking alone, I saw the world. Defined, but not refined.

An enthusiastic promoter of a newly opened Japanese restaurant approached me and started to give me a lecture on the art of eating salmon. I gave in (to my growling stomach, not her) and followed her into the restaurant while waiters and waitresses threw me peculiar gazes before exchanging glances, forgetting the customary Japanese greet they were trained to deliver. It seemed to be an unspoken rule that you have to go to the food court if you want to eat alone. I was an awkward phenomenon.

I dismissed the impolite glances, picked a table designed for four, and placed my order. Being alone gives you the chance of observing your surroundings. A happy Malay couple took self shots using a cell phone at a table full of tempting, yet forbidden, untouched food. It was barely seven. A Caucasian lady bit on her chopsticks and mouthed the lyrics to a Lady Gaga song, ineptly being aired in the Asian restaurant. Two Chinese girls shared a drink. Two girls, one cup, one bad economy, and a flu outbreak. The food was bad. I filled up the comment form with my Shooklin & Bok logo emblazoned pen, folded it and gave it to the cashier, as instructed. He unfolded my comment form and read it. Too much folding to do for such lowly protected anonymity.

I spent money.

At 8pm, I queued up for a movie ticket.

‘8.15pm, Up.’
‘How many tickets, miss?’
‘One, thank you.’
‘One ticket? So lonely.’

We are too egoistic to be found doing things alone. We have lost the ability to do things on our own. Being alone is different from being lonely. You don’t need to be alone to be lonely.

The theatre was chilly. Couples cuddled. I sat on my seat and watched trailers and commercials that did not make much sense. The only thing I love about cinemas is that commercials don’t come in every fifteen minutes when you watch a movie there. Television commercials are getting more airtime than TV shows nowadays. And I hate how they give you a preview of what’s coming next after the commercial before the commercial, and how they recap on what was happening before the commercial after the commercial. I dislike everything else that has to do with the cinema.

Inconsiderate movie goers stealing my elbow space, the old man behind who coughs louder than a a scene of dogs barking, the tall dude sitting in front who wouldn’t remove his fedora, kids watching the movie for the second time announcing the next line before the character does, overly-enthusiastic movie fans repeating the lines in the movie, the sound of fingers exploring the wet vagina coming from the next seat…

‘Good afternoon, my name is Russell and I am a Wilderness Explorer in Tribe 54, Sweat Lodge 12.’

She sure was panting as he explored the wilderness in the darkness of Theatre 1.

The credits rolled and people shuffled out of the theatre, showing no interest and appreciation at all to the masterminds behind the film.

I left for home, poorer in the wallet, richer in the mind. I owned myself for a day, and I want to do it again.