Once upon a time, a kid was bored out of his mind as he had nothing to do in his mother's office except spinning on the chair which earned him glares from his mother.
He had just finished the Spongebob Squarepants movie's novel and then a thought came into his mind. He could write his own Spongebob Squarepants' movie! Evidently, he didn't know about things such as copyright. Yeah, those were the good times.
That day was the first time he remembered that he like writing and also spinning while sitting on a chair. He wrote a page long of the story and printed it out to present it to his mom with a proud smile. He created the magnificent adventure that Spongebob and Patrick was going on and it felt like he was with them, tagging along. His mom smiled and the rest was history.
Years later, he found himself sitting on a chair nearby a hospital bed, staring at this grandpa lying on the bed. It was a bit hot and humid and truthfully he preferred to stay at home but he knew that he had to be here, not only because his parents told him to. He knew he was going to stay there for quite a long time before his aunt or uncle came to take the next shift. Holding only a pencil and a pad of foolscap, he was set. That was all he needed and the rest depended on his imagination. He composed a story that was since long forgotten but the act wasn't.
It was around that time he figured that he liked writing. He wasn't talented nor did he fully grasp the grammar skill needed for it but he felt good so he kept on.
During his teenage years, he found out that penning his frustration and angst of his daily life actually helped so he did it. Words wouldn't judge him like the world did, he was the puppet master and the words were his puppet for the show, a show of his true feelings and no one could take that away.
Writing was for him and is still is until now.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Monday, August 19, 2013
Hurts so good?
I was at the bookstore the other day and the reviews on the back of a book caught my eye. It was along the lines that guaranteed a heart wrenching experience. No doubt the reader of this book would need to brace themselves for an emotional wallop.
I was very hesitant on buying this book although the synopsis rendered me interested. With time to kill, I decided to flip a few pages to note the writing style and see if I could decipher the plot-line. I couldn't focus on reading it since I was looking around and feeling guilty that I'm reading this book like I would in a library, it felt illegal somehow. After a couple of brief glances, I flip to the final pages of the book and then it came.
The feels came back with a vengeance after I read a letter that the main male character wrote to the female before he died after insisting that he be pulled off the life supporting machine. I immediately closed the book before it got too much like the time I read the ending of Marley and me in the school bus. It wasn't a pretty sight.
It was that kind of book that hurts but in a good way. I don't know how to explain it in more detail than that. I've read books with tear inducing endings and boy does it pack an emotional punch. You'll feel like a soulless husk and wander around at least for the remaining day. At night, you'll look up on the ceiling, illuminated by the faint glow of the moonlight, thinking about how you would feel if you were the one being left alone like in the book.
I have a hate love relationship with these kinds of stories and for now, I'll stay away from them and gravitates towards the funny, fluffy ones. Maybe one day I'll return to them. One day...
I was very hesitant on buying this book although the synopsis rendered me interested. With time to kill, I decided to flip a few pages to note the writing style and see if I could decipher the plot-line. I couldn't focus on reading it since I was looking around and feeling guilty that I'm reading this book like I would in a library, it felt illegal somehow. After a couple of brief glances, I flip to the final pages of the book and then it came.
The feels came back with a vengeance after I read a letter that the main male character wrote to the female before he died after insisting that he be pulled off the life supporting machine. I immediately closed the book before it got too much like the time I read the ending of Marley and me in the school bus. It wasn't a pretty sight.
It was that kind of book that hurts but in a good way. I don't know how to explain it in more detail than that. I've read books with tear inducing endings and boy does it pack an emotional punch. You'll feel like a soulless husk and wander around at least for the remaining day. At night, you'll look up on the ceiling, illuminated by the faint glow of the moonlight, thinking about how you would feel if you were the one being left alone like in the book.
I have a hate love relationship with these kinds of stories and for now, I'll stay away from them and gravitates towards the funny, fluffy ones. Maybe one day I'll return to them. One day...
Monday, August 12, 2013
Regret?
The production of the documentary about the Vet school in Murdoch is now showing on ABC1 in Australia.
I won't lie, my felt like a soft punch in the gut when I saw the pictures, sneak-peaks and news about it. Was that regret? In 4 years that could be me. It is not that I wanted to be in that documentary but I wonder what my life would be as a veterinarian.
And that's how I remember why I chose to pull out of that awesome school.
To put it simply, it just wasn't for me.
I've been so sick of explaining to people, seeing pity and confusion on their faces. I know it is not their fault but it still hurts when I was reminded of what I had.
I was in one of the best vet school in Australia and I gave it all up... Sometimes I wonder about my choices. I want to feel that I made the right choice without an ounce of doubt but I can't.
Uugh!! Stop it! Stupid feelings.
I won't lie, my felt like a soft punch in the gut when I saw the pictures, sneak-peaks and news about it. Was that regret? In 4 years that could be me. It is not that I wanted to be in that documentary but I wonder what my life would be as a veterinarian.
And that's how I remember why I chose to pull out of that awesome school.
To put it simply, it just wasn't for me.
I've been so sick of explaining to people, seeing pity and confusion on their faces. I know it is not their fault but it still hurts when I was reminded of what I had.
I was in one of the best vet school in Australia and I gave it all up... Sometimes I wonder about my choices. I want to feel that I made the right choice without an ounce of doubt but I can't.
Uugh!! Stop it! Stupid feelings.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Friends from ages 4-9
I was at my neighbour's house during the Raya when I noticed two children who just met playing harmoniously together. They didn't utter any words but when one walked up to the other, with a wave of his tiny hands, she was his friend. It was that easy.
This cute scene motivated me to walk down memory lane and think of the friends that I made when I was just a kid with proportionally large ears.
In kindergarten, I remember sitting beside a boy with immaculately gelled hair. I forgot what his name was but I knew it started with a B (Benedict, Brendan?). I don't remember much about interacting with anyone else except him so I think he was my closest friend there.
Then came primary school and my memory capacity increased (well I like to think it did) so I remembered quite a lot about the friends that I made.
When I was in Year 1-Year 3, I was best friends with a boy named Michael and a girl named Adeline. We weren't the three musketeers. They hung out with different groups (the boys and girls were very segregated back then, mostly hung out with the same sexes) and I fleeted between their groups. I remember Michael and I would play in the classroom during recesses whereas Adeline and I were co-class monitors so we interacted quite frequently and got on superbly. However, I can't for the life of me remember any distinct memories, just snippets of us hanging together.
Outside the classroom, my closest friend was Victor. Both of our moms were good friends and our houses were close to each other so play dates were often. He had a better game console so more often than not, we were at his house. I remember more about our time together because we talked for hours on end. Sometimes my mom would even send me to his parent's workplace (a garage of some sort)so that we could play together. I considered him my best friend and I thought I was his.
Then came that one fateful night that changed me. I know it sounds very dramatic but it's true. That night changed about my perception of what the word 'friend' meant and the distinction between 'friends' and 'acquaintance'.
It was his birthday party and he had a party at his house. I was so excited because play time with my best friends combined with cake and chicken wings, what boy wouldn't? I think he started playing badminton a while before this and he had a badminton practice that day so he was late (or I was early, I'm not really that sure).
I waited eagerly for his arrival so we could go play on his game console and munch on unhealthy fried foods. I remember I saw him approaching his house (I was on the sofa and the front door was open)and some of his badminton buddies was with him. The next part was a bit fuzzy but I remembered that he didn't stop to talk to me and just went into the room with the game console.
My mom urged me to go inside and join them but I was a bit apprehensive because I didn't know anyone else except Victor. But then I thought about it. I was his best friend so it would be fine right? So I fidget my way into the room and found most of them engrossed in the game even though only two could play at a time. My unexpected entrance earned a few brief glances and nothing else. No introductions or other acknowledgement of my existence. I just sat on the side and watched them play, feeling a funny feeling in my gut. I didn't like that feeling. Needless to say, I went out of the room after a few minutes.
I went outside and sat with my parents, thinking to myself 'What just happened?'. I think that was the first moment that remembered of ever feeling like I was growing up, like someone shove me onto a step towards the cold hard truth of real life.
That night handed me a revelation that friends don't last forever and friendships need mutual efforts to stay afloat.
Then after that...
This cute scene motivated me to walk down memory lane and think of the friends that I made when I was just a kid with proportionally large ears.
In kindergarten, I remember sitting beside a boy with immaculately gelled hair. I forgot what his name was but I knew it started with a B (Benedict, Brendan?). I don't remember much about interacting with anyone else except him so I think he was my closest friend there.
Then came primary school and my memory capacity increased (well I like to think it did) so I remembered quite a lot about the friends that I made.
When I was in Year 1-Year 3, I was best friends with a boy named Michael and a girl named Adeline. We weren't the three musketeers. They hung out with different groups (the boys and girls were very segregated back then, mostly hung out with the same sexes) and I fleeted between their groups. I remember Michael and I would play in the classroom during recesses whereas Adeline and I were co-class monitors so we interacted quite frequently and got on superbly. However, I can't for the life of me remember any distinct memories, just snippets of us hanging together.
Outside the classroom, my closest friend was Victor. Both of our moms were good friends and our houses were close to each other so play dates were often. He had a better game console so more often than not, we were at his house. I remember more about our time together because we talked for hours on end. Sometimes my mom would even send me to his parent's workplace (a garage of some sort)so that we could play together. I considered him my best friend and I thought I was his.
Then came that one fateful night that changed me. I know it sounds very dramatic but it's true. That night changed about my perception of what the word 'friend' meant and the distinction between 'friends' and 'acquaintance'.
It was his birthday party and he had a party at his house. I was so excited because play time with my best friends combined with cake and chicken wings, what boy wouldn't? I think he started playing badminton a while before this and he had a badminton practice that day so he was late (or I was early, I'm not really that sure).
I waited eagerly for his arrival so we could go play on his game console and munch on unhealthy fried foods. I remember I saw him approaching his house (I was on the sofa and the front door was open)and some of his badminton buddies was with him. The next part was a bit fuzzy but I remembered that he didn't stop to talk to me and just went into the room with the game console.
My mom urged me to go inside and join them but I was a bit apprehensive because I didn't know anyone else except Victor. But then I thought about it. I was his best friend so it would be fine right? So I fidget my way into the room and found most of them engrossed in the game even though only two could play at a time. My unexpected entrance earned a few brief glances and nothing else. No introductions or other acknowledgement of my existence. I just sat on the side and watched them play, feeling a funny feeling in my gut. I didn't like that feeling. Needless to say, I went out of the room after a few minutes.
I went outside and sat with my parents, thinking to myself 'What just happened?'. I think that was the first moment that remembered of ever feeling like I was growing up, like someone shove me onto a step towards the cold hard truth of real life.
That night handed me a revelation that friends don't last forever and friendships need mutual efforts to stay afloat.
Then after that...
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
It's my birthday! Yeah?
20 years ago, a pregnant woman was wheeled into a ward, screaming and shouting for someone to get the freaking baby out of her. That woman even signed her own papers instead of waiting for her husband because the baby was kicking violently inside and she wanted the baby out. That woman was my mine and the baby that was kicking before it met synthetic light was me.
Fun fact, my dad said that I look like ET when I was young. Well, at least it was fun for you. Thanks dad for telling me I look like an alien with my disproportionately large ears, it helped a lot with my self confidence that I looked weird since I was young. Then again, don't all babies look weird and what's with the soft spot on top of the head, it is like a self-destruct button.
I used to make a big deal about my birthday. On my birthday I was the prince, adored by my subjects and no one is allowed to go against my wishes. It was law, deal with it. I still remember that my mom would wake my brother and I early on our birthdays and make us a special western breakfast and a lighted candle made it so much more special. The western breakfast wasn't the greatest but to me it was so special. My mom cared enough to wake up an hour earlier just to cook that for us and seeing all of their smiling faces lighted by the faint candle was more than any birthday present that I could wish for. Well, unless they took me for a weekend in Disneyland, that would have been more awesome. Hey, just telling the truth.
My dad would give me an additional 5 dollars pocket money on my special day so I could buy anything I want.However, in one occasion, he accompanied to the canteen and bought me candies himself instead and that was to me, a more special and memorable gesture.
My mom would brought a cake home, just a simple one with lots of white frosting and maybe a generic cartoon character that was suppose to appeal to every kid. I would sit in front of the cake and wearing my metaphorical crown-of-the-day, I would listen to my family singing the happy birthday song. After that, I'll open the present and then go back to bed with a wide grin plastered on my face. It was my day and they made it special.
However, as I grew up, birthdays became less special. I forgot since which birthday that my mom stopped making the western breakfast and my dad stopped giving me extra pocket money. I distinctly remembered that I was so sad that my special day wasn't special anymore just because I'm older. I was no longer a prince and the happy birthday song didn't make me blush and giggle like it used to. However, I think my parents sensed that as I grew up, my friend played a more prominent part in celebrating my birthday. They would let me go out with them and celebrate my day and although I was immensely grateful for my friends, I still wished that my parents would make more a big deal on my birthday like they used too.
My friends gave me some of the most memorable birthdays that I could ever had. Frosting on my face, hidden birthday presents, choruses of the happy birthday song and most of all, their presence was the best gift. I actually liked cards or hand-made gifts more, I just feel warm and fuzzy looking at those happy wishes just for me on my special day.
Tomorrow I am going to turn 20. I hope I never forget how special one's birthday is. Please Ricky, remember to make your future children a special western breakfast with candle lights in the morning until you can no longer cook. Continue on the tradition and brighten some days.
Happy Birthday to me. XD
Fun fact, my dad said that I look like ET when I was young. Well, at least it was fun for you. Thanks dad for telling me I look like an alien with my disproportionately large ears, it helped a lot with my self confidence that I looked weird since I was young. Then again, don't all babies look weird and what's with the soft spot on top of the head, it is like a self-destruct button.
I used to make a big deal about my birthday. On my birthday I was the prince, adored by my subjects and no one is allowed to go against my wishes. It was law, deal with it. I still remember that my mom would wake my brother and I early on our birthdays and make us a special western breakfast and a lighted candle made it so much more special. The western breakfast wasn't the greatest but to me it was so special. My mom cared enough to wake up an hour earlier just to cook that for us and seeing all of their smiling faces lighted by the faint candle was more than any birthday present that I could wish for. Well, unless they took me for a weekend in Disneyland, that would have been more awesome. Hey, just telling the truth.
My dad would give me an additional 5 dollars pocket money on my special day so I could buy anything I want.However, in one occasion, he accompanied to the canteen and bought me candies himself instead and that was to me, a more special and memorable gesture.
My mom would brought a cake home, just a simple one with lots of white frosting and maybe a generic cartoon character that was suppose to appeal to every kid. I would sit in front of the cake and wearing my metaphorical crown-of-the-day, I would listen to my family singing the happy birthday song. After that, I'll open the present and then go back to bed with a wide grin plastered on my face. It was my day and they made it special.
However, as I grew up, birthdays became less special. I forgot since which birthday that my mom stopped making the western breakfast and my dad stopped giving me extra pocket money. I distinctly remembered that I was so sad that my special day wasn't special anymore just because I'm older. I was no longer a prince and the happy birthday song didn't make me blush and giggle like it used to. However, I think my parents sensed that as I grew up, my friend played a more prominent part in celebrating my birthday. They would let me go out with them and celebrate my day and although I was immensely grateful for my friends, I still wished that my parents would make more a big deal on my birthday like they used too.
My friends gave me some of the most memorable birthdays that I could ever had. Frosting on my face, hidden birthday presents, choruses of the happy birthday song and most of all, their presence was the best gift. I actually liked cards or hand-made gifts more, I just feel warm and fuzzy looking at those happy wishes just for me on my special day.
Tomorrow I am going to turn 20. I hope I never forget how special one's birthday is. Please Ricky, remember to make your future children a special western breakfast with candle lights in the morning until you can no longer cook. Continue on the tradition and brighten some days.
Happy Birthday to me. XD
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Not a good day
Today was not a good day.
It started off fine in the morning which was expected because I had no assignments or assessments waiting for me to finish. I had my breakfast and watched some tv and this was how time went by a normal Saturday morning.
Then it all came spiraling down just before lunch. I won't divulge what exactly happened but in short, my dad and I had a heated argument over lunch. He can be so stubborn and hot headed sometimes that I just want to scream on the top of my lungs before exiting dramatically. You know what the worst part is, I'm like him in that perspective.
I can be annoyingly stubborn that I enrage myself sometimes because that is exactly what I didn't want to pick up from dad. Don't even let me started when I get angry. When that happens I spew out venom fast and you bet it stings. When I am angry, my brain automatically sources all the information on the person that made me piss and I strike hard. It worsens if the person fights back and if not, my furry multiples. It is a scary sight even for me.
He did something that enraged me and I said something that enraged him. It ended with me giving him the cold shoulder and slamming the door for a dramatic effect.
It gets worse. Today is Father's day in Miri or so I was told by my mom. I got in an argument with my dad on Father's day and neither of us can be the bigger man and apologize. I know, fun right?
We went out for a slightly upscale dinner at a fancy restaurant eating western food which happened to be my favorite. But being the stubborn mule that I am I feign disinterest and scan the menu like it was nothing but a day old newspaper.
During dinner time my mom updated us on one of my cousin's life. He went to Taiwan recently to explore any job opportunities and before he went, he gave his parents each an angpao with RM 500 and wrote notes for them. He didn't take any of his parents money for this trip and the ones that gave him money, he gave them back the money, just keeping the angpao as a sentiment. My parents all commented on how mature he was and here I was, the angry teenager trying to understand how to use a fork and knife simultaneously while giving his dad a cold shoulder on Father's day.
Needless to say, my appetite was ruin and I held my head a little lower. In between my cousin who is a doctor, one who is a genius studying in Oxford and the one that I mentioned, I feel like the title of a Grade A douche bag son is close upon me.
*Sigh*
It started off fine in the morning which was expected because I had no assignments or assessments waiting for me to finish. I had my breakfast and watched some tv and this was how time went by a normal Saturday morning.
Then it all came spiraling down just before lunch. I won't divulge what exactly happened but in short, my dad and I had a heated argument over lunch. He can be so stubborn and hot headed sometimes that I just want to scream on the top of my lungs before exiting dramatically. You know what the worst part is, I'm like him in that perspective.
I can be annoyingly stubborn that I enrage myself sometimes because that is exactly what I didn't want to pick up from dad. Don't even let me started when I get angry. When that happens I spew out venom fast and you bet it stings. When I am angry, my brain automatically sources all the information on the person that made me piss and I strike hard. It worsens if the person fights back and if not, my furry multiples. It is a scary sight even for me.
He did something that enraged me and I said something that enraged him. It ended with me giving him the cold shoulder and slamming the door for a dramatic effect.
It gets worse. Today is Father's day in Miri or so I was told by my mom. I got in an argument with my dad on Father's day and neither of us can be the bigger man and apologize. I know, fun right?
We went out for a slightly upscale dinner at a fancy restaurant eating western food which happened to be my favorite. But being the stubborn mule that I am I feign disinterest and scan the menu like it was nothing but a day old newspaper.
During dinner time my mom updated us on one of my cousin's life. He went to Taiwan recently to explore any job opportunities and before he went, he gave his parents each an angpao with RM 500 and wrote notes for them. He didn't take any of his parents money for this trip and the ones that gave him money, he gave them back the money, just keeping the angpao as a sentiment. My parents all commented on how mature he was and here I was, the angry teenager trying to understand how to use a fork and knife simultaneously while giving his dad a cold shoulder on Father's day.
Needless to say, my appetite was ruin and I held my head a little lower. In between my cousin who is a doctor, one who is a genius studying in Oxford and the one that I mentioned, I feel like the title of a Grade A douche bag son is close upon me.
*Sigh*
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Decision
Like a shadow of my former self,
I roam around the earth.
Stacked up all that I had on a shelf,
With nothing left that is of worth.
I whispered no lies or tales,
Pretending became a way of life.
Couldn't care less about life's details,
Just wanted to forget the strife.
Sometimes life moves by too fast,
No time to think and reflect.
Or was I the last,
To know what was incorrect?
I understand now how despair could eat,
Bit by bit until it becomes you.
Raising up the white flag and accepting defeat,
Instead of fighting on like which you once knew.
Nothing that anyone says is of use,
To put you back among the stars.
They can listen to your blues,
But only you can decide how to deal with the scars.
I roam around the earth.
Stacked up all that I had on a shelf,
With nothing left that is of worth.
I whispered no lies or tales,
Pretending became a way of life.
Couldn't care less about life's details,
Just wanted to forget the strife.
Sometimes life moves by too fast,
No time to think and reflect.
Or was I the last,
To know what was incorrect?
I understand now how despair could eat,
Bit by bit until it becomes you.
Raising up the white flag and accepting defeat,
Instead of fighting on like which you once knew.
Nothing that anyone says is of use,
To put you back among the stars.
They can listen to your blues,
But only you can decide how to deal with the scars.
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