We’ve come a long way. You were a muse, a personal whim of mine, and we just got better at knowing each other as time goes by.

I wrote you love poems and you shared my sorrow. And I thank you for that.

But alas, like all good things on Earth, it was meant to be ended. Call me heartless, call me a cheating scum, but I’ve found a new partner – www.Whyismyblogat.wordpress.com

She’s my new apple of the eye, my new fawn. You probably know me better than others, and you do know that I like fresh things, that I like change.

I know it’s hard for you to take, so I’m going to stop excessive buttering aimed at coaxing away the pain.

I bid you farewell.
The Charmer

I actually started out with a film called Burn After Reading. I kinda liked it, so I did a search on the directors and found out that they would directed this masterpiece too. At first, the title of the show didn’t sound too convincing. But the reviews were good so I thought I’d give it a try. Now one habit of mine is, whenever I watch a film, I would often like to start it without knowing anything about the plot. I would just wiki it and look at the reviews. If it’s good then it’s worth watching. So when the show starts rolling in the back of my mind I was guessing this was a comedy film about an old folks home. Boy was I in for a surprise.

The premise is established straight away near the start of the film. A man picks up two million dollars, and he is subsequently hunted. The hunter and the hunted. A structure retold time and time again. Yet why is No Country For Old Men one of the best films made in the decade?

Visual

I know it sounds quite simple. But having a visual feel in a film is by no means an easy feat. Why? Because it’s not easy to explain with pictures. Which is why most directors often opt the easy way out, using dialogues or narratives. That doesn’t mean they are not important aspects of the story-telling part, but they are being used excessively to be of liking. Like the master of slow sensuous & stylized films, Wong Kar Wai, once said of his art – A form of physicalized memory that can be experienced again and again, or recorded over, or screened until it literally falls apart, until it pixilates right in front of you. This film had a different sensation, a slow seemingly degenerative burn that moves towards the impending finale. The actors don’t speak much, they do what they do best – portraying it out.

Suspense

Suspense in itself is the essence to a thriller. Combine that with the structure and it’s enough to keep the viewers on their toes. Throughout the film the lighting further enhance the anticipation lying ahead. It’s dark in the room, the footsteps out in the corridor inches closer and louder. The shadow falls upon the door….. and then walks away. However, the knot in the viewer’s stomach doesn’t go away. We are aching to find out what happens next. A well crafted scene littered with just the right amount of suspense goes a long way. And one that is sustained and stretched throughout the movie, growing thinner and thinner till it snaps, yet at the same time keeping the quality constant, is a gift to the viewer to savour.

Gore

Why does gore play such an important part in this story? Because it reminds us that despite the facts that they are all efficient killers, they are still human. Their greatest achilles heel is being of flesh and blood. And we are constantly reminded of that. As the film goes on, the death tow jumps higher. More and more people are caught into this intricate web, and most often the only way out is to go on another journey to meet the grim reaper himself. And those who are dealing out the punishments are not being unpunished as well, the characters start to bleed, like an indication of the progress of the film, the deeper it advances, the more damage they suffer. It’s like a slow lead up to the climax. We all know somebody’s gonna die, the question is who – is it the hunter or the hunted.

Subtle themes

I like the way the film offers another perspective, in the form of the character Sheriff Bell. It’s like adding another dimension away from all that fast paced action.

Sheriff Bell takes on the role of the bystander in the film, having witness the events that eventually leads to the climax, and the death of one of the characters. To him, it’s just another passing case that he’s had to undertake, but which he still does with the utmost seriousness and professionalism, albeit without the sharpness that he once had, having been worn out and disillusioned with crime and it’s violent face. I like films that have underlying meanings to be interpreted, rather than just offering a linear window of thought. Some of the questions he brought in really got me thinking. He opens the prologue of the film with the first few opening lines, as follows -

I was sheriff of this county when I was twenty-five years old. Hard to believe. My grandfather was a lawman; father too. Me and him was sheriffs at the same time; him up in Plano and me out here. I think he’s pretty proud of that. I know I was. Some of the old time sheriffs never even wore a gun. A lotta folks find that hard to believe. Jim Scarborough’d never carry one; that’s the younger Jim. Gaston Boykins wouldn’t wear one up in Camanche County. I always liked to hear about the oldtimers. Never missed a chance to do so. You can’t help but compare yourself against the oldtimers. Can’t help but wonder how they’d have operated these times. There was this boy I sent to the electric chair at Huntsville Hill here a while back. My arrest and my testimony. He killed a fourteen-year-old girl. Papers said it was a crime of passion but he told me there wasn’t any passion to it. Told me that he’d been planning to kill somebody for about as long as he could remember. Said that if they turned him out he’d do it again. Said he knew he was going to hell. “Be there in about fifteen minutes”. I don’t know what to make of that. I sure don’t. The crime you see now, it’s hard to even take its measure. It’s not that I’m afraid of it. I always knew you had to be willing to die to even do this job. But, I don’t want to push my chips forward and go out and meet something I don’t understand. A man would have to put his soul at hazard. He’d have to say, “O.K, I’ll be part of this world.”

The questions that he wanted answered were simple. Is society moving forward or degenerating backwards? Age and experience were beginning to hint the latter. He’s the kind of person that seems to have seen so much, that he doesn’t want to see anymore. And I like it that the film was set in Wild West’ Texas. There’s a sort of sleepy and time weary feel to it, as does the character governing there – Sheriff Bell himself.

I think a good movie doesn’t just end after credits, it asks questions, it leaves an aftertaste in the viewer. No Country For Old Men has managed to balance them all in that aspect, and even gone to achieve more. Some might not like the ending, but I think it’s meant to be interpreted, the directors (Coen Brothers) seemingly giving that option of penning the last chapter to the viewer. What’s my say and the stroke of my pen?

I would say - O.K, I’ll be part of this world.

You only live twice.
Once when you are born,
And once when you look death in the face.

- Ian Fleming

Outside this 7-11 I saw this lovey dovey couple snuggling in the winter chill of Christmas. She was wearing his jacket, slightly oversized for her. He was putting his nose in her hair, a kissing/smelling gesture, whispering sweet nothings. It was so mushy onlookers could have felt another chill down their spine. But of course, it was heartwarming to see such love being affectionately displayed on the streets.

So I went inside 7-11, got my stuffs, and out I came and what do I see.

A full blown war.

She was sobbing. You could see she was holding it back but the tears were swelling in her eyes. The guy was aloof and indifferent. Maybe slightly annoyed that she couldn’t keep a grip in public. The tension was intense, you could almost smell it in the air. Another pull on the string and it might snap. Then she stomped away in the opposite direction, with his jacket still on, and along the way she cast a few fleeting halfway glances back, as if to see if he would give chase. I was kinda surprised that he didn’t. He just sat there, with an expression that seems to say – Grow up.

Love is a funny thing.

I guess it’s been some time since I last went to Genting Highlands. Probably been years. So naturally, I grabbed the first chance I could for a holiday in the City of Entertainment. I could really do with one. There’s been so much on my mind lately. Besides, the things there are dirt cheap! It would rather seems that I embarked on a food rampage trip. I also did a lot of writing there. Below are excerpts from The Traveller’s Log. I had written seventeen pages in that two days which I can only describe with one word – Overkill!!

I was scheduled to leave Singapore at 5am this morning. I only fell asleep at 3am. What a good start. I just couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in bed. I guess it’s the anticipation and excitement buildup that leads to the energy overdrive.

I always like to travel at night. I think this trip further augmented that peculiar liking of mine. Somehow everything just felt so perfect in the canvas of darkness under the nightsky. The stars. There were no clouds, offering a magnificent view of the sparkles. That stretch of emptiness all around. The road was quiet. I always hate it when I sling my head on the window, fell asleep, and wake up to find the hot babe in the car beside gaping at me salivating all over my shirt. The view. What a view. We were traveling across lush greeneries – Plantations, fields, forests, farms. But of course, you couldn’t make out the green in that blanket of darkness, and I guess that’s what makes it so sexy. It seems to add another dimension to it, shedding it’s natural color in the twilight, as if it were a sacrifice to the gods, the day up and their freedom enjoyed, subdued in the dark and retreating to the slumbers of the shadows. I love the tranquility it offers. I love the unobstructed view. I love my iPod blasting in the background. I can die happy now. (Note: I lied at the last part)

The first time in my life I’ve seen the sky and the mountain seemingly kissing each other.
A view to kill for.

Managed to catch some sleep during the journey, which was hellish long, and I find myself escaping from one hell to the other. Now it’s the waiting time at the checkin counter that’s ridiculous. I’m 200 numbers away from the one displayed at the switchboard. That means 200 people in front of me waiting for their rooms. There are around 30 counters. It’s 12.45pm now. Let’s see how efficient the First World Hotel staffs are. (Note: Checkin around 2.30pm and was told room service is still cleaning up the room. I was abit pissed there, but I would find out that they have over 6000 rooms and is currently one of the world biggest hotels. Yet they charge around RM80/SGD33 per night for the cheapest room, so I really should shutup and wait next time. Besides, I can’t help but feel abit sympathetic for that poor auntie who’s had to clean up the room every morning, especially with people like me who likes to practise kungfu and make a mess out of the room before leaving.)

First stop – Flying Coaster! I have never taken this ride before. They charge separately from the theme park itself. Somehow it looks more comedic than intimidating. It’s basically like a roller coaster, and you gotta lie down on your belly with arms out like Superman. My robotic analysis tells me that the initial lunge and the 360 degree spins to be the exciting part. (Note: It wasn’t that fun! Other than the adrenaline surge from the initial lunge the rest made me feel like vomiting when I got to the ground)

Was tempted by the rides, and therefore bought the outdoor pass for unlimited rides at RM$44. Almost regretted the moment I went in. The crowd is terrible. It’s the school holidays period for both M’sia and Singapore. I only managed to try two rides. Spaceshot and another stupid indoor space simulation ride which I totally wasted my time on. I’ve walked into a trap because I thought the queue was short. Now I know it was short for a reason. It was around five pm because Spaceshot took me an hour to queue and I wasted like ten minutes of my life in that lame ride. I didn’t even understand what the hell was going on the audio was so soft and there was a bunch of annoying kids behind me. What’s make that worse is that the queue at Corkscrew closed at five, to be reopen at seven pm. I was so freakin’ angry that I swore to bring a rocket on the next trip and blow the bloody lame ride up. It has cost me ten minutes of my life, my corkscrew ride and nearly took my sanity away. The queues at the rest of the stations is disgusting so I came out for a breather, sipping tea and venting my anger through words now. I will decide whether to go back later. (Note: I took the picture at the Go-Kart station. The queue goes longer inside, it isn’t straight as it seems, it’s zig zagged like a bloody maze, and around 8 person go on 2 laps each time. Rolling thunder had a long queue that could equal this also. Most fun rides had around an estimated one hour wait, and even those kiddy rides like the haunted house had an amazingly long queue.)
You have to literally combat your way though from point A to B

I’m really gonna miss the food here. Even the fast food is.. zomg!! It might sound lame to go to Genting for fastfood, but trust me, it’s not! It’s cheap and on the go. They’ve got this cheese wedges at KFC, which I’m really into right now. I initially thought the cheese was the same as the one they used for the cheese fries in Singapore, but no, it’s very much nicer. It’s like combining the cheese at KFC and LJS and the result – Finger Lickin’ Good cheese. They’ve also got this popular fast food chain called Marrybrown, and I’m addicted to the curly fries. Which reminds me of A&W’s curly fries as well. I don’t think there’s A&W here at Genting, but I do remember seeing one on the journey here. It was early in the morning and A&W wasn’t open yet. I’ll be sure to drop by on the return trip. Hasta la vista, baby. (Note: Had A&W on the return trip. Rootbeer with a scoop of vanilla, curly fries and a space waffle. Bring back A&W to Singapore man!)

Back at the room

It is actually possible to travel to Genting on a SGD$150 budget, travel, expenses, and accommodation included. But you will find it extremely hard. And I will tell you why. I was walking at this factory outlet shop looking at the clothes, when I saw this extremely nice leather jacket. Normally, I would just walk away, but it’s Genting right? So I took it down for a look. The price tag says RM$269/SGD$112. I still wasn’t convince to bring home this eye candy. Until I saw the brand. It’s from ZARA!!! They’re probably selling that at 3-5 times the price in Singapore! They tried to cover out the name but you could still make out the words faintly. I wouldn’t want to know where they got it. Maybe they robbed the warehouse. It ain’t my business. I also found a shirt with an Armani Exchange label going for RM$50, and bought three other t-shirts. Come to think of it I’m kinda impulsive at times. If it wasn’t for that hot salesgirl they put there I probably won’t start a spree. The jacket was a bargain, the AX tee was forgivable, but I don’t need those shirts. This is where guys are bad at shopping. They lose out to a miniskirt. I’m gonna head down and maybe grab a coffee at starbucks, then I’ve got a movie to catch.

Tony Leung’s got one (Infernal Affairs), Brad Pitt’s got one (Benjamin Buttons), and now.
I’ve got one.

I always like to travel. I have a sort of a wanderer’s blood in me. I like to roam around, without commitments, as a visitor and not a dweller. I hate to stay stagnant. I like change. I like to move forward. I don’t like too much baggage, and I mean more than it being physical. Emotionally, that’s been my weak point as well. But I believe that there’s a girl out there somewhere who will eventually clip my wings, and I will begin writing a new chapter in my life at that point. But until then, I’m enjoying days as it goes by. I will miss this place. And I’m looking forward to the places I’ve yet to visit.

There’s so much to do.. So little time to act.

Signing off,
The Traveller

I guess that about sums it. The rest are not for publication, including a rather lengthy prologue describing a perfect stranger sitting opposite me. No, this time you don’t get access to that, it’s private!

The trip was a blast. I guess the festive period brings the mood up as well. The whole place is decorated with Christmas themed lightings, and people all around are dressed up for the season, Santa hats on happy faces can be seen everywhere. It makes one feel more homely. I enjoyed myself there. The view was magnificent too. Check them out.

The room.

The view from the room.

The view from the room.

The view from the room.

I took this at around 2am. It’s just so busy everywhere and there never is a dull moment.

Sometimes I hear people say – that place? Oh c’mon, I’ve been there umpteen times already, it’s gotten boring. I think for people like me, we find satisfaction when we travel because we want to escape from something. It could be your wife. It could be your boss. It could be the daily mundane cycle that’s settling in and you want to get rid of that sinking boredom.

True, another three or four times to Genting and I’ll probably know the way like the area around my house. But I’ll continue to go there, because I can find something there I can’t find here. An experience, a mood that I can get into. I can’t pack my bags and go to Orchard Road looking for the same enjoyment. And Sentosa proximity is too close for a traveller looking for an adventure.

We adopt another way of thinking when we leave the country. Basic things like culture and currency affect that thinking. It’s a mindset. I get excited looking at RM$6 cigarettes, even though I don’t buy them. It fits me into that traveling mood. I go to Sentosa and I see all the same things I’ve been trying to escape from – high prices, the climate, maybe I bump into a friend who is a friend of the person I’m trying to forget, and reminds me of her.

A traveller’s one and only job, is to escape that giant web of complication. You can’t really call it a job also because there is no pressure to deliver. Granted, there are bigger things in the picture, so we can’t keep playing the role of the traveller. There’s a mortgage to pay and a family to feed. But know this, whenever you’re feeling empty and you need to recharge your batteries, the mantle of the traveller is waiting for you at the corner. Pick it up and you will find an experience waiting for you at the end. For you’re a traveller. I’m a traveller.

We are all a part of the face that belongs to The Traveller.

那就是，如果用华语来写博客，还能不能把自己所想表达的心事写下来呢？也好奇是能不能够把程度写得跟英语一样，是不是算个双种语言都在掌握之中的一个人？

所以这么一疯， 就给我疯到底吧，我的读客们，请忍着我的烂透的华语程度吧，谢谢！

但不妨告诉你们，有时候我就是喜欢这种不可预测的感觉，这种疯狂。 不管明日会发生什么天大的事，我只要求隐藏好给我个惊喜。惊喜就是一种礼物，想想看， 如果知道明天会发生什么，那活着好没意思阿. 从来没想过用华语来写博客的阿荣, 这可是第一次, 所以有一点兴奋, 也在享受着一个经验。。

最近我发觉现在自己也很少用到华语, 也最少有三年没写了。 自从中学毕业后就没动到词语, 想起来真遗憾,亏小时候整天怕听写会不及格(后果是屁股吃藤条!), 长大一点屁用都没有!

但是真的没用, 还是我错了?

小时候的阿荣, 可帅呆了!

对我而言, 因为从小长大的环境都是属于比较华文派的, 所以我对学华语来说起初没有什么兴趣, 都会讲了嘛。 况且比起写英文字, 华语难多咯! 我相信会有很多年轻人同意这个看法。。 自己身旁就有几个朋友, 不用说写, 连讲华语都不喜欢。

对我来说，现在连找讲华语的朋友都难找。本身看法，语言是一种沟通的方式，可以伸出和接触更多人。虽然英文现在可以说是属于个国际语言，但我们也不能单单靠它。

身为个福建人, 一样丢脸的事, 我从小就不会讲福建话。。 因此阿荣和奶奶很难沟通, 因为她只会讲这个语言. 这就产生了一个代沟。 子孙虽然满堂, 但少过一半会时常回去探望她。

奶奶过世也有三年了。

我对事情的印象还是很深刻。还记得那时是办葬礼的最后一天了。站在后面的阿荣，看了和尚念经后，大家的眼泪都留下来。

在那时，我发现到了两样东西。

我的身旁的人全部都哭了。有一些还哭得很厉害。我心想，在这些人里面，有几个，一辈子跟奶奶除了问候，讲了少过二十句的话。看着他们哭得连鼻涕都流出来了，阿荣当时只感觉到一阵冷幽默。但也有可能它们真的是感到悲痛，因为身前没好好把握机会和奶奶在一起，所以眼泪触发自遗憾才会哭得那么厉害。人就是那么可悲。不到失去一个人后才会发觉没有它是不行的。

看着它们伤心的面孔，我才发现到另一个冷库的事实。

阿荣竟然在办葬礼的七天里面，一滴眼泪也没流。脑里第一时间想的是，你的心跑到哪里去了！还是人吗？

我虽然和奶奶有个代沟，但我不可以说我不认识她, 不爱她。小时候的阿荣，跟表哥的感情很要好，而表哥和奶奶一起住，所以时常会有接触。在那里住的时候，奶奶都很照顾我，烧菜给时常肚子饿的荣荣吃，连最喜欢吃的食物她都了如指掌。但因为福建的程度很差，总是和奶奶有问题沟通。有时还要表哥来替我翻译。奶奶也不埋怨，她似乎了如到，这个世界已经不属于她的，那个简单沟通的方式已经不纯在了，地球旋转得那么快，今世的人都有不同的生活方式，讲的都是个不同的语言。福建在也不是一个能在街上听到年轻人所讲的语言。

虽然心里满怀着悲哀, 但阿荣在当时的场面真的哭不出来。在那哭声的背景下, 阿荣了如道, 伤痛不一定是要用眼泪而写下来的, 我在那天学到, 原来也是有另外一种方法来表达你的悲痛。

那就是用我们的心。

这个经验是触发我学福建的理由。对我来说, 它是一个很特别的记忆, 因为它代表了一个美丽生命的结束, 也代表了我学一门新知识的开始。

三年后, 现在的阿荣, 福建语也会讲到七七八八了。学会了一个语言, 似乎很像把一道门开了起来, 在门后面发现到全部会讲那种语言的人。当然, 顽皮的阿荣学会了福建语后, 也代表说如果你惹我的话, 准备死吧!! 我会用流利的福建把你骂道像个臭头猪八戒! 想自杀就来试试看吧!

咳咳咳。。

人生就是一条走不完的学习道路嘛。如果可以学的话, 为什么不敢去尝试呢?

对亲爱的奶奶来说, 也许世界把她抛弃在后头, 当作是被遗忘的时光。

但对我来说, 这只是一个开始而已。。 瞧着看吧。

Those eyes. Damn. I’ve been lovestruck and how did this even happen?

I guess it starts with a where, when and how.

I’ll start with the when. It was after a long day. And normally journeys home are the point where we unwind. Where we think of the events that happened on that day. And where we are the most vulnerable and unprepared. And so the Perfect Stranger strikes.

Next up is the where. It was a bus. My hair was all messed up and I had a dishevelled look. I was tired and worn out, my shirt was hanging out in one place. I was about to alight when I felt a pair of eyes on me, searching, gazing, probing.

Now, the how is something that I cannot quite fully comprehend. It could be her beautiful eyes. It was partially covered by her hair, as if it was a shield, a barrier to avoid direct confrontation with my piercing glance. It could be her submissive posture. I knew I dominated that moment, but still I’ve lost the battle. She stole my heart. It could be that she carried an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired. And for that moment I gave it to her.

What makes her stand out from the rest of the women?

Perhaps it’s because of the fact that I’ll never be able to see her again. A fleeting encounter with a stranger, albeit one that is perfect. It could only happen this way. If the scenario were to change and I did befriend her on the spot, then things will not be the same. She will not be the Perfect Stranger and I won’t grow to love her like I did now. The reason I was dealt a blow was because my mind knows that I’ll never be able to get her, and the heart can’t accept that. We can never accept the fact that there are certain things that’s outta our reach.

But for now she still remained the Perfect Stranger. I didn’t know her, but yet at that moment I felt the warmth we shared was that of lovers. It seems to me that for that seconds or so the world was ours, and that the people around us didn’t mattered, and even if the sky were to fall I would bear it with one hand and took her with the other.

But a pity, it only lasted a few seconds.

我们华人有个谶语 -不在乎天长地久,只在乎曾经拥有. 有可能就是因为它是那么的短的一次相逢, 才会引人恋恋不忘。

看来我可不像自己想象中的那么无情。最后还是逃不过女人的魔法。

At other times I would continue around with my own business, but this time something caught my attention. It was not the fact that she got an extreme makeover, or that her friend beside in the profile picture was looking ridiculously gorgeous. No, rather, it was her name. And I will tell you why before you say I’m not a sexually healthy male adolescent.

It was in french.

She was perfectly chinese. Or at least that’s what I remembered, but you can’t just turn french overnight can you?

Unless you are an egg or something. (ha, ha, ha.)

And the problem is, I kinda like her old name better. It was one of the nicer chinese names for girls, even though I agree that there are a lot of other fucked up chinese names out there trying to screw newborn babies and trying to be born with a nice and epic sounding one is like trying your luck with 4D. But I think hers was genuinely unique and feminine.

And it seems to me that she renamed herself because she wants to be inferred of a higher standing. Just like how everyone seems to take on a new christened name upon graduating to poly. Hell, society seems to have caught up even on me and invited me to join in the blast. I would choose not to have one if I could, but honestly speaking it inconveniences me and sometimes having to repeat your chinese name twice or thrice during an introduction is no fun at all. Not to mention of course other benefits like making your name easier to remember, and easier to pronounce as well. But when to draw the line?

Right now I have probably three of four friends who’s had a complete overhaul of their names, including one that seems to have taken on the persona of a Japanese ninja. Having a name that goes Hayabusa Mokosochi in Maplestory is cool, just don’t bring it out to your real life.

I guess I could understand if somebody wants to have a name to be easier remembered, but why change it when it’s impactful enough already? Besides there is definitely more depth in chinese names as compared to Jane or Peter, and I believe that one should learn to appreciate his/her own chinese name more.  I could almost say the same to myself, if only my name didn’t sound so Way Wrong. (re-read it)

This is where I quote Travis Bickle – You talkin’ to me? But I’m the only one here.

Sighs.

This is where I console myself by saying it can’t be that bad. But seriously, it can’t be that bad, can it?

It’s not that I don’t like my name and is thinking of renaming myself french, it’s just that I kinda preferred if my name was cooler like 歐陽鋒 or 周杰倫.

Well, at least I still got a cool sounding “Rong” in my name. Ron just came out when I tried to introduced myself as Rong and that guy couldn’t pronounce it, and I thought it would be good if I use it for non chinese friends and other formal places.

I think that what matters in a name is that it serves as a purpose of a tag, to label, to connect. I also believe that if your parents named you after something, it was because they believed that you will grow up having the attributes or virtues of it. What’s the meaning then if you destroyed something they believed in just to make yourself more presentable?

I’m still kinda curious if Hayabusa Mokosochi will turn his head around if I call out to him at Orchard Road. I hope he doesn’t read my blog.

The name(s) used have been altered to protect the safety of the author.

I guess for every movie the story has got to have an engaging lead character, someone who’s able to charm the viewers. And in 2046 you’ve got one who’s such a natural, he ends up charming the women in the film itself as well. In comes our lead character, Chow Mo-wan.

In the first film, In The Mood For Love, he first appears as a man who’s bounded by society in the 60s, unable to love the woman of his life because of the taboos that was associated back then. But what I really like was his transformation in the sequel, 2046. In 2046, he has turned into a ladies men, thriving on female company, but still unable to recover from his heartbreak since the first film.

In my opinion, he’s gotta be the best movie character ever created. He’s carefully thought out, and the character has depth. I felt myself immense in his character, and I can’t see why not, because he represents a vulnerable part in every guy, where if inflicted with a wave of romantic destruction how our masculinity will struggle to uphold the fragile side of us.

Similarly he likes to write, and often seeks the higher purpose in any underlying meaning he is presented with. Love is now presented to him sarcastically, he no longer believes in long and everlasting, he looks for passionate short flings for satisfaction. And one can see that all this is compounded because of the heartbreak he suffered.

And so he writes. A warped and twisted love story, about a man, androids, a bullet train, and a place known as 2046.

In the story he writes, 2046 is described as a place where lonely souls travel via a train to recapture lost loves. Chow slowly discovers that the protagonist he is writing about is actually himself, drawing inspirations from his own adventures. Unable to get over his heartache, the train in the story the protagonist is on seems to mirror his sorrow, traveling for a seemingly uncertain and long time. The female androids aboard the train seems to mirror the female companionship Chow enjoys, where his promiscuity only serves to satisfy his sexual gratification, and nothing more. However by the end of the story, when the protagonist gets off the train, that also serves as the healing point where Chow recovers from his heartache as well. In that aspect the two inter-weave closely and that’s another thing I like about the film itself. Using a second story to tell the first.

Underneath that cool demeanor is a man anguished and rejected by the woman he loved, and so sought to bury it by keeping himself in the company of other women. In the end he decides that it’s not working as well as he thought, and finally realises that he’s got to let her go.

Did Chow Mo-wan entered my life? He certainly did. What’s made the whole story and him so intricating then?

Perhaps it is not the person you have loved that is lost, but the moment itself, and the loser is condemned to relive it forever.

We think about sex all the time

Research has shown that the area in our brain connected to sex is two times larger in volume and cells than women. It probably explains why we want to get intimate every single time we see you. We are just wired this way, love. You can’t ask us to stop saving mankind from extinction, can you?

We don’t lace our words with sugar all the time

Occasionally, you ask us how you look with that dress on. When we say you look nice, we mean it. Stop busting our balls just because we didn’t use fanciful words, we are just too lazy tired at times. You should basically understand one thing, that you are our own personal goddess, and you look fantastic in anything, even our shirts, and I mean just the shirt.

We love football

They are part of our growing up process, we guys grow up in the mud. Throw in a ball and you complete the picture. We’ll fight for the ball, but that’s how football started, isn’t it? 1 guy decides that him fighting alone isn’t enough, so he runs along and finds 10 other guys. Pretty soon, they realise they gotta keep their hands off the ball so they can throw punches on the opposing team. In the end, the game is created. Also, we’ll appreciate if you keep your hands off the remote when the game is on.

We hate long talks

Why? Because we don’t know what to say for god sake. We know you didn’t ask for us to say anything, and that’s where it starts to confuse us. It’s like asking a question and not expecting an answer. We just don’t understand why you have to tell someone about your problems and know he’s not going to solve it. That’s like going to the bank when you are hungry. It doesn’t help.

A part of us still can’t grow up

We still love our toys. They just got bigger in the process. We love cars, we love our guns, we love our gadgets. Don’t blame us if we spend more on them than on you. Just think of it this way, its a long term investment. They keep us happy, and we’ll keep you happy by buying you diamonds. (Like real)

We sometimes brag

Note I used the word sometimes. We like it when you go aweshock and your eyes enlarge with amazement. It makes us feel like there is someone looking up to us, admiring our manhood. We all like to be your closet superhero, rescuing you from monstrous villains and lecherous creatures, holding our great sword of justice and punishing the weaked, protecting you from your nightmares, and you can always, without fail, count on us to save the gorgeous damsel in distress in the hour of extreme urgency. (Only the front bit is true)

We don’t understand your six sense, and it scares the crap out of us

Let’s admit it, women sense more things than guys. I don’t know how you girls do it, but it’s unsettling for us. It’s like you sniff things out from us, and that’s not all. You sniff the things we want to hide from you out of us. I don’t know how you girls do it, but right now my comrades are working on developing a solution that will save the male population by making us immune. It will put a mental block to the psychic powers that female possess, because they will get nothing out of us except unconcious mumbles and jibberish, thus putting an end to their evil plot to take over the world. The solution is actually alcohol.

We don’t want to spend all our time with you

Sometimes we like to hit the bar with our buddies, or just go fishing alone, and we’ll appreciate if you get the hint that we don’t want you to tag along. It’s not that we don’t love you anymore, it’s just that we don’t want to go to every four corners and have your face popping out like a Mas Selamat poster everywhere. Basically we need some time alone to think about stuffs (nothing is considered stuffs as well), and enjoy a little bit of freedom to venture into our own area of interests without you having an input in it.

Don’t expect us to sense it if you like us as well

Your hints are not getting their way to us. Either they get blown away halfway while flying through the wind to us, or they fly to the wrong target beacon, because half the time, we don’t know if you like us or not. As a result, we forgo lots of opportunities unless you are one that we’ll regret deeply if we didn’t approach you. We are not asking you to make a first move, give us more hints than just glancing back at us, and we’ll do the rest.

We are not heartless, we just have more serotonin

If we don’t get all teary when we see the neighbour’s dog get hit by a car, it doesn’t mean we are cruel. It’s proven that men produce 52% more serotonin than women, something which influence mood, making us feel upbeat all the time. Lost our job? It’s okay. We don’t sink into depression, we look forward to the 16-hour-a-day xbox sessions before starting to find a new one.

To end everything on a clearer note, here’s what we guys have been thinking all along.

How many times have we dangle with the idea of reaching the top. It all seems harder to achieve than just dreaming about it. Without motivation, one can get nowhere. Which is why I’m always amazed when I see the finest people in a particular group, excelling in their hobby, their profession.

From young I used to admire the cream of the crop, the people at the top whom almost perfected their skills in that particular area. We’ll never be perfect, or to perfect something, but for those who try, we’ll be as close to it as it ever gets. And to be the closest, to nearly grasp perfection in one’s hand and conquer it, that will be the greatest satisfaction one could ever get. I wanted to be a daring cyclist, but the closest I could get was a crappy neighbourhood bike with no gears to slap me in the face and bring me back to reality.

That doesn’t stop me from daydreaming, because admiration for the love of life is what makes me tick. I like to live in depth, I think many people nowadays are wasting their lives away in mindless self indulgence, following the trend, directionless people who are always thinking of having more fun, thinking of the clubbings and parties the next moment. That doesn’t mean I don’t indulge in this kind of activities, just not excessively. I seek enjoyment, to let my hair down, de-stress and for the perfect stranger. I’m not walking into the club thinking I’m definitely gonna get laid tonight, thinking to grab the next hot chick butt, and thinking of going there every other day. I think there’s gotta be more to life than that. The comparison is clear, it’s like fine dining and binge eating, and yes, there’s a difference. There too, is a difference between people. People are the same, just like a specific activity. But ultimately how we choose to live our life – or complicate it is different, just like how different we indulge in that specific activity.

I anticipate encounters with people that has depth. In my entire life I think I’ve probably met 2, both girls, and not exactly the prettiest thing. I’m not being rude, but those 2 sometimes start me thinking, is it really because they are ugly, and therefore they seek further in the purpose of life?
I mean, I’m not gonna go into a whole lot of shit in spiritual living, that’s not the point, but somehow I just feel, they probably thought to themselves, Do I really need to be beautiful to be able to live life to the fullest?
In this bias world, somehow I think I’ll never be able to live long enough to find out.  Another thing I realised, they are both loners. Well not exactly those type with no fucking friends at all, those are extreme, they still show up for birthday parties and such, and are darlings to talk with, pretty sociable, but loners as in, they like to spend time alone. They don’t crave attention, they seek other forms of spotlights which they can still feel happy without having to show their faces, musical talents for example. You can be behind a curtain and still get an applause from the audience. They enjoy capturing moments, photography, and one thing I noticed, photography with life in it. Be it a butterfly at work, or the highest point of the world. Not necessary lifeform, but things created by life, things that are dynamic, full of energy, full of color. They remain optimistic in life, and they rarely indulge in love. I think maybe to them it’s a bonus, never an obligation. And their knowledge is immense. I thought I had a good grasp on history, but someone corrected me on the life of Adolf Hitler. I thought I would understand politics, but someone taught me to look at the civilians, and not the officials. On a long enough timeline, you start to appreciate people for their character, and not their good looks. With that admiration of life and the people, I’ll start into the next level of life, the profession that we man manifest into.

Some people are good in what they do, they excel in their hobbies, their profession. They dedicate every minute to improving themselves, even though they might already be the best. Here’s a few classes of people that I appreciate on the highest esteem.

Anglers

I admire anglers, because fishing is something which really require skills. Either you master it, or you go home with an empty catch. It’s as simple as that. And the profundity that comes with it is immense, it’s techniques require patience to master. Fishing wants you to live and breathe it, to know the different types of hook that gives different leverage over the catch, to know the kind of fishing line, to know how to put the bait on the hook, a bait that is hastily tied will only result in it coming loose and eventually drop, to know the different types of rod and the number of categories they have.
In the past I often looked at the old birds- ah pehs wearing singlets and slippers, riding a bicycle, with their equipments; often cheap but effective products, and I wonder, would I someday be able to learn all their knowledge on the game itself. It isn’t that hard, but to reach the top of the game, you have to dedicate. Thats also one thing I love about fishing. The people. I think there is a mutual respect among anglers, and often there is this boredom when waiting for the catch, and we end up chatting with the whole 30-40 people on the jetty. By the end of the day, we’re all freakin’ best friends. They gather if someone has a big catch, and the more experienced ones often render help on how to reel it in. Even those reclusive and quiet ones at the corner will throw you smiles as compliments, elevating your sense of achievement for that particular catch.

Directors

I admire directors. It’s not easy directing a movie, and alot of people do not know that. I swear that when I first tried my hand on directing a short film, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. On top of that you have budget issues, unruly actors, and sometimes you even have production crew doubting whether the whole thing would work. You have to edit your footage after in post production, which is equally hellish. The next time you watch a movie or drama serials, look at the angles carefully. Every time there’s a change in the angle, it means it was a different shot as either the camera was shifted or there was two different cameras running. It was just editted in to make it look seamless as if it was one continuous shot, but behind the scenes a normal dialogue scene in a restaurant could take days to complete. Now you know why a two hour movie can take a year or two to complete.
But there too is a great accomplishment in this profession.
Nowadays, the films are easier to direct, most of them action films which relies more on their story itself. Just try watching In The Mood For Love by Wong Kar-Wai or any Tarantino/Scorsese old films. They rely more on the directing than a car which can transform into a talking robot. Film appreciation is slowly becoming a lost art, with many moviegoers looking when they go into a cinema for the storyline solely, love stories/comedies etc, which is why some of the best movies are not big box office performers. While the storyline is an important aspect of the movie, the emphasis is way more than just that, the actors, the directing, all contributes in part to making a movie enjoyable. Don’t believe me? Try watching Brian De Palma’s Scarface. While the movie itself was nothing impressive, Al Pacino performance made it a movie worth watching. It’s like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean, nothing impressive with the movie, but the actor makes it magical.

Hunters

I admire Hunters. I used to watch documentaries showing the Big Five Game, coined by professionals as the toughest five animals to hunt. That somehow sparked my early interest in this sport. Man still retains a primal hunger, to prove our superiority, to be the fittest of the fittest, and I believe Hunting is the most conventional way we indulge in.
However, due to the volatile nature of the sport, with the increased satisfaction often brings higher downsides as well. I once read a story(read previous post), there once lived a very good hunter. There comes a point where he felt appalled with the sport. Why? Because he was perfect (Self perceived perfection in my opinion, you can come close, but you’ll never be god). He’s reach the top of the game, and he has never contemplate that before. Suddenly hes thrown to the point where he does not know what to do. Until one day, he would start capturing prostitutes and release them in the wild, proceed to stalk them and kill them. Sadly, this story is real. Remember Count Zaroff? He’s perfect, but he’s fiction. This Count Zaroff copycat self perceived himself to be perfect, and this perception eventually led to his arrest when one of his victims escaped. In the past I only find disgust for people like him, people like the Zodiac killer in the 1960s,  but now, I probably find a little bit of sympathy and understanding. I’m not saying I support their actions, I see beyond just a side of things, there is a greater impact, its not just killing one person, its killing one person and hurting his wife, his daughter, his son, his family. I’m saying, when you come close to being perfect, there’s this scary thought that to achieve mastery would mean to devoid all satisfaction you can get from that hobby, and it drives people to act, to prevent themselves from being perfect, because then, there would be nothing left to be worth fighting for. If everytime I throw a hook into the water, I know that I’m gonna catch a fish, I would probably give up fishing, because then there is no fun in it. If everytime I pull that trigger, I know I would never miss, I would probably stop hunting. If each time one looks in a mirror, and is already perfect in beauty, she would probably stop putting makeup. That’s the irony I see, we strive to be perfect, but we never want to attain it.
That doesn’t mean I don’t love the game, Hunting is probably one of the best sports I love, the profession, but I’d never be a hunter, because I don’t have the chance. I’ll never reach the top of the game, because there is nothing to hunt in Singapore. I would have wished to be born in New Zealand, to live a cowboy life on a cattle ranch, fall in love, and lead a simple life. In Singapore, I’m already born with responsibilities, but since I can’t change my fate, I might as well recreate it. Someday I would probably go to New Zealand, and stay in the wild for 25 days, at a place devoid of civilization, with a gun and other basic amenities. There, I would write everyday about my experiences on a blog, about the difference of life in a city and in the wild, of survival in a harsh environment. I would love to hunt a wild boar tooth, which symbolises pure strength, raw power and manhood in tribal cultures.

Religious Followers

I admire people with faith, I really do. People with faith are overall better persons, because most religion offers to bring out the best of people, to correct them from the path of wrongdoings, to lead them to the right way. Most, I won’t say all, religious followers are better morally and spiritually, they ain’t confused, they practise the teachings of the religion, and they adhere to the set of ethics. But somehow, despite the admiration, I can’t quite wrap my lips around it to say that I am a religious follower. I am an agnostic atheist, and I’m not going to express my views on whether there is a supreme one, or the different types of religion, because I think I would offend a hell lot of people. Religion is a sensitive topic. And there is nothing that will diffuse this situation so far- it’s like a fence, on one side you have people claiming to have found the truth, inviting you over to join their spiritual journey, while on the other side you have people who reject all thoughts of the idea, claiming it to be a fake scam, choosing to carry on with their life as it is. For me? I think I would probably be sitting on the fence, observing the situation on both sides. I still don’t believe in one, but show me proof and I’ll change my mind. I’m more of a man of science, and so far science is proving to me that there is no god, or at least our opinion of god is flawed.  I once read an interesting article, which states that our opinion of god may be flawed. Put simply our gods might just be a race of pure humans who’s put us here on Earth for us to evolve, a civilization with no illness or death. The concept is fresh, and offers a new take on this debate that has been ongoing for hundred of years. And it seems like it will carry on for a long time as well.

Magicians

I admire magicians. They are probably the most secretive types of people, and they have a good reason for it. Most magicians form guilds and clubs, inner circles where they discuss and share skills of the trade, and I’ve always wanted to join one of this someday and learn all of their tricks. I believe this is one of the hardest profession to master as well, not to mention being at the top. Magicians are simply wonderful entertainers, that perform feats that is seemingly impossible to the human eye, and I love them for that.

A scene from The Prestige detailing their act.

And the man whom I admired the most in trickery, the great magician Harry Houdini. He was well known for his daring acts, which on a few occasions he nearly paid for with his life. He was considered a pioneer in acts which required him to escape from confined areas, from being buried in the sand to trapped underwater. Here’s a man who is so dedicated to his profession, he has inspired countless of people into the profession for generations after his death. Some of his best tricks still remain a mystery today, and the secrets were never uncovered as to how he did it.
Isn’t it wonderful if we all had a few magic tricks up our sleeves to surprise our loved ones on bad days? The best magic trick I’ve seen was one where a magician starts folding a piece of paper into a rose, then with a flick of his wrist makes the whole thing erupts in fire, and hola, a real rose appears. Talk about real guys like me working hard to win a woman’s heart, magicians are cheats compared to us okay. So if there’s any magicians reading this please feel free to contact me to impart a thing or two to keep things in equilibrium!

Musicians

I admire musicians. I think music is probably one of the things that could never go wrong with people. We may come from all walks of life, but we all have a passion for tapping along with the tune. I’m a sucker for music, I think it adds flavour to life. I have a weird brand of music though, I think it’s kinda influenced by my peers when I was growing up. I like oldies, and a handful of bands from present. I do listen to other types of music, just not a diehard fan of those genres.  Alot of my friends are fans of house, trance, R&B, because they go clubbing. I think it’s kinda common, like following the trend, but well, to each his own I guess. I’ve always wanted to create my own band, but it’s harder because it’s more of a group thing. In fact my first attempt in creating a band ended quite badly, and it was not just the band that disbanded, the friendship we had kind of disappeared after that as well. I hate to lose my friends, and it’s always sad that such things do happen, but some things are just part and parcel of life. I would love to go back to music someday just for the fun of it. Some people say I daydream too much, but I think having dreams, even though some might be silly, is part of my life as well. You can’t ask me to stop breathing, can you?
Maybe, just maybe, I could be on that stage someday, to give a performance, and to receive an applause.

Skydivers

I admire Skydivers. Skydivers have guts. They don’t chicken out 50,000 feet in the air, and they reap the rewards of that experience from making the leap. I once had a phobia for heights, you know. Back in my primary school days I didn’t dare to try rock climbing or standing on poles during adventure camps. I’ve long overcame it, which I partly attribute towards having an admiration for sky-diving. Some people can’t conquer their fears, because they always fear when there are risks involved- what if my parachute don’t open up? what if i faint halfway? You don’t want to look back in your life when you are 60 years old and go, how I wish I’d have made that jump. I say, just make that leap of faith, and you’ll find yourself an experience of a lifetime.

Artists

I admire artists. I used to be fascinated with the golden age renaissance of art, wondering why pieces of art from that era can be sold for millions of dollars today. Art used to elude me, I couldn’t seek the beauty of it, and the more I look at it, the more ordinary it seems to me. But ordinary is a form of art itself, it is to express, to convey, thoughts manifesting into color and paint. I’ve since gone a long way when it comes to appreciating art, just like I’ve found out that many things in life have about the same concept. Unpolished diamonds are diamonds nonetheless, they just need that someone to bring that shine out of them, and they will be the most dazzling pretty little things one can see with the naked eye. Why have we eluded so many raw gems in life? For they are visible to only the strongest of people, and I aim to find all the treasures of life. I’ve found a few, and they can be everywhere. It’s like a bottle of red wine, you need to take your time to savour it to bring out the true flavour.
I admire the man in the picture. Vincent van Gogh. He was a troubled man, a man who was denied love, a man who relied on his brother, a man who was outcast by society, a man who could not get medical attention, a man who finally shot himself in a wheat field. He died a nobody, but today he’s widely regarded as one of the world best artists. One could see that towards the end, he was suffering and was tormented, his paintings devoid of life, morbid and gloomy. Strangely I think that his last few artworks were masterpieces, drawn by a man who was looking at death in the face. A man so tortured by life, so understood by few, he chose the ultimate way out. This is a direct contrast to the life I wanted, if my outlook of life was white, then his was black. The only thing we had in common was that we both wanted to find ways to express oneself. Vincent van Gogh used painting to express himself, while I chose literature. It’s a strange coincidence that I had interest and took art when I was 8, but despite undergoing training my doodles look like crap (literally). They would probably be at it’s best lying somewhere on the table in a nursery classroom.

Actors

I admire Actors. Beneath that mask, you’ll never really know who they are. They might even be acting their way through life for all I know. But thats the thing, isn’t it? Who isn’t performing an act in life? We act in front of people to get them to like us. Have you ever had different people giving different accounts describing you? We don’t treat every single person the same way, and we all have a way of telling that person how we feel towards them, you can be hostile to a person you dislike, or be quiet around him, or just act friendly.  Some people say I’m a sociable and outgoing person, while others say I’m softspoken and mysterious, and they’re not lying. We put up fake faces and throw plastic smiles. The question is, who is the better actor? For them, they are the best in the business, and I admire them for that.
Like the great poet William Shakespeare once wrote in a play of his-

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.

How shockingly accurate this line is, mirroring the life which we are all a part of. We are all performers, for audiences we might not even recognise. We change our faces so fast, we probably have 5-6 different personality. One for your boss, one for your family, one for your perfect stranger. It’s like setting up different shields to protect the real you, and the closer one gets in any kind of relationship, the more shields one penetrate. Funny how guys always mention, that their wife seems to change the moment they got married. Lazy, don’t do the dishes, likes to eat, etc. I guess girls could almost say the same for guys as well. Dirty, leave clothes lying about, likes to game, etc. Funny how this habits seem to “pop” up from nowhere after marriage. The best actors can cheat their way through, while the lousy ones get their acts exposed halfway through. Acting is presentation, like how women put makeup, our generation is one where we no longer dress for comfort and warmth, we dress to look good, to look smart, to look sexy. That’s not a bad thing because our generation is one that’s bold, but I’m just amazed by how fast the world turns and changes.

Howard Hughes

The last admiration on the list is not a profession, nor a hobby, he is a man. He was an inventor, an adventurer, an aviator, an industrialist, an engineer, a multi-billionaire, a movie director, a philanthropist and a womanizer. Some of you may not know him. He was the Bill Gates of our time, appearing annually in the world richest list of Forbes, a colorful man who was sensationalise by the media. Even as a kid he showed talent in certain areas, creating his own radio transmitter at 11 and taking flying lessons at 14. Howard Hughes inherited his father fortune upon his death at the age of 19, and was already a millionaire due to his father efforts in pioneering tools in oil drilling. Here’s the first part that I admire about him. He didn’t take the money and go, – I’m a rich fuck now, there is nothing I can’t get. He didn’t choose to slack and sustain his life off on the money, which he could. Instead, he took the money, and made more money with it. Now here’s the second part I like about him. He made money in his areas of interests, with his hobbies. In 1927, at the age of 21, he directed his first theatrical film. He then went on to direct 6 films, which include famous films like Scarface, The Outlaw and Hell’s Angels, the most expensive film being made at that time. Hughes later started on his adventures in aviation, setting several records at that time, for airspeed (flying at 566km/h in the H-1), and completing a flight around the world in just 3 days and 19 hours and setting a record for flying non-stop from Los Angeles to New York in 7 hours 30 mins. He was a pioneer in both making air flights commercial to public, stating that it was safe and reliable, and in aviation itself, setting up Hughes Aircraft and becoming a major shareholder in TWA, one of the largest airline company at that time. However, towards the latter part of his life, he grew extremely reclusive, and his eccentric behaviour only sought to increase the public inquisitive eye. He finally died from kidney failure, having suffered from malnutrition despite being among the richest men in the world. Funny how the men I admire always have an unglamourous end. Despite this he was one of the most colorful men of that century to ever lived, and his brilliance in fields like aviation, films and investing was undoubted. His playboy image and finance wizardry stays on in the hearts of those who remembered him, and those who did not will come to know of a loss of a man named Howard Hughes who lived his life on adventures and chased the things he desired in life.

I believe we can all be men like Howard Hughes, with the capability to change the world, and making history for our own.

What will your legacy be?

]]> http://revolutiontonight.wordpress.com/2009/10/25/this-is-the-end-results-of-all-the-bright-lights-the-eye-in-the-sky-is-watching-us-all/feed/ 0 ratherdeaththandisgrace 800px-Military_cyclists_in_pace_line The World Is Yours Anglers-open-the-salmon-f-001 Photo0073 Lucas-with-Camera travel-film-in-the-mood-for-love cattle7 duck_hunt_wideweb__470x299,0 brokeback-mountain-9 new-zealand-cove Pillar2-Supernatural-GodCreates-Man-Sistine-Chapel bioshock-no-gods-or-kings-only-man magician 250px-Houdini_performing_Water_Torture_Cell 00f/43/arve/g2496/058 nbm 487 SunsetTandem Jimhd2 vincent-van-gogh-paintings-from-paris-5 van-gogh-vincent-starry-night 800px-Vincent_van_Gogh_(1853-1890)_-_Wheat_Field_with_Crows_(1890) austrialia-hugh-jackman-nicole-kidman Daysofbeingwild_cheung howardhughes howard_hughes_film_hells_angels hughes 3 http://revolutiontonight.wordpress.com/2009/09/27/the-most-dangerous-game/ http://revolutiontonight.wordpress.com/2009/09/27/the-most-dangerous-game/#comments Sun, 27 Sep 2009 17:02:09 +0000 ratherdeaththandisgrace http://revolutiontonight.wordpress.com/?p=626 ]]> The best short story ever written.

“OFF THERE to the right–somewhere–is a large island,” said Whitney.” It’s rather a mystery–”

“What island is it?” Rainsford asked.

“The old charts call it `Ship-Trap Island,”‘ Whitney replied.” A suggestive name, isn’t it? Sailors have a curious dread of the place. I don’t know why. Some superstition–”

“Can’t see it,” remarked Rainsford, trying to peer through the dank tropical night that was palpable as it pressed its thick warm blackness in upon the yacht.

“You’ve good eyes,” said Whitney, with a laugh,” and I’ve seen you pick off a moose moving in the brown fall bush at four hundred yards, but even you can’t see four miles or so through a moonless Caribbean night.”

“Nor four yards,” admitted Rainsford. “Ugh! It’s like moist black velvet.”

“It will be light enough in Rio,” promised Whitney. “We should make it in a few days. I hope the jaguar guns have come from Purdey’s. We should have some good hunting up the Amazon. Great sport, hunting.”

“The best sport in the world,” agreed Rainsford.

“For the hunter,” amended Whitney. “Not for the jaguar.”

“Don’t talk rot, Whitney,” said Rainsford. “You’re a big-game hunter, not a philosopher. Who cares how a jaguar feels?”

“Perhaps the jaguar does,” observed Whitney.

“Bah! They’ve no understanding.”

“Even so, I rather think they understand one thing–fear. The fear of pain and the fear of death.”

“Nonsense,” laughed Rainsford. “This hot weather is making you soft, Whitney. Be a realist. The world is made up of two classes–the hunters and the huntees. Luckily, you and I are hunters. Do you think we’ve passed that island yet?”

“I can’t tell in the dark. I hope so.”

“Why? ” asked Rainsford.

“The place has a reputation–a bad one.”

“Cannibals?” suggested Rainsford.

“Hardly. Even cannibals wouldn’t live in such a God-forsaken place. But it’s gotten into sailor lore, somehow. Didn’t you notice that the crew’s nerves seemed a bit jumpy today?”

“They were a bit strange, now you mention it. Even Captain Nielsen–”

“Yes, even that tough-minded old Swede, who’d go up to the devil himself and ask him for a light. Those fishy blue eyes held a look I never saw there before. All I could get out of him was `This place has an evil name among seafaring men, sir.’ Then he said to me, very gravely, `Don’t you feel anything?’–as if the air about us was actually poisonous. Now, you mustn’t laugh when I tell you this–I did feel something like a sudden chill.

“There was no breeze. The sea was as flat as a plate-glass window. We were drawing near the island then. What I felt was a–a mental chill; a sort of sudden dread.”

“Pure imagination,” said Rainsford.

“One superstitious sailor can taint the whole ship’s company with his fear.”

“Maybe. But sometimes I think sailors have an extra sense that tells them when they are in danger. Sometimes I think evil is a tangible thing–with wave lengths, just as sound and light have. An evil place can, so to speak, broadcast vibrations of evil. Anyhow, I’m glad we’re getting out of this zone. Well, I think I’ll turn in now, Rainsford.”

“I’m not sleepy,” said Rainsford. “I’m going to smoke another pipe up on the afterdeck.”

“Good night, then, Rainsford. See you at breakfast.”

“Right. Good night, Whitney.”

There was no sound in the night as Rainsford sat there but the muffled throb of the engine that drove the yacht swiftly through the darkness, and the swish and ripple of the wash of the propeller.

Rainsford, reclining in a steamer chair, indolently puffed on his favorite brier. The sensuous drowsiness of the night was on him.” It’s so dark,” he thought, “that I could sleep without closing my eyes; the night would be my eyelids–”

An abrupt sound startled him. Off to the right he heard it, and his ears, expert in such matters, could not be mistaken. Again he heard the sound, and again. Somewhere, off in the blackness, someone had fired a gun three times.

Rainsford sprang up and moved quickly to the rail, mystified. He strained his eyes in the direction from which the reports had come, but it was like trying to see through a blanket. He leaped upon the rail and balanced himself there, to get greater elevation; his pipe, striking a rope, was knocked from his mouth. He lunged for it; a short, hoarse cry came from his lips as he realized he had reached too far and had lost his balance. The cry was pinched off short as the blood-warm waters of the Caribbean Sea dosed over his head.

He struggled up to the surface and tried to cry out, but the wash from the speeding yacht slapped him in the face and the salt water in his open mouth made him gag and strangle. Desperately he struck out with strong strokes after the receding lights of the yacht, but he stopped before he had swum fifty feet. A certain coolheadedness had come to him; it was not the first time he had been in a tight place. There was a chance that his cries could be heard by someone aboard the yacht, but that chance was slender and grew more slender as the yacht raced on. He wrestled himself out of his clothes and shouted with all his power. The lights of the yacht became faint and ever-vanishing fireflies; then they were blotted out entirely by the night.

Rainsford remembered the shots. They had come from the right, and doggedly he swam in that direction, swimming with slow, deliberate strokes, conserving his strength. For a seemingly endless time he fought the sea. He began to count his strokes; he could do possibly a hundred more and then–

Rainsford heard a sound. It came out of the darkness, a high screaming sound, the sound of an animal in an extremity of anguish and terror.

He did not recognize the animal that made the sound; he did not try to; with fresh vitality he swam toward the sound. He heard it again; then it was cut short by another noise, crisp, staccato.

“Pistol shot,” muttered Rainsford, swimming on.

Ten minutes of determined effort brought another sound to his ears–the most welcome he had ever heard–the muttering and growling of the sea breaking on a rocky shore. He was almost on the rocks before he saw them; on a night less calm he would have been shattered against them. With his remaining strength he dragged himself from the swirling waters. Jagged crags appeared to jut up into the opaqueness; he forced himself upward, hand over hand. Gasping, his hands raw, he reached a flat place at the top. Dense jungle came down to the very edge of the cliffs. What perils that tangle of trees and underbrush might hold for him did not concern Rainsford just then. All he knew was that he was safe from his enemy, the sea, and that utter weariness was on him. He flung himself down at the jungle edge and tumbled headlong into the deepest sleep of his life.

When he opened his eyes he knew from the position of the sun that it was late in the afternoon. Sleep had given him new vigor; a sharp hunger was picking at him. He looked about him, almost cheerfully.

“Where there are pistol shots, there are men. Where there are men, there is food,” he thought. But what kind of men, he wondered, in so forbidding a place? An unbroken front of snarled and ragged jungle fringed the shore.

He saw no sign of a trail through the closely knit web of weeds and trees; it was easier to go along the shore, and Rainsford floundered along by the water. Not far from where he landed, he stopped.

Some wounded thing–by the evidence, a large animal–had thrashed about in the underbrush; the jungle weeds were crushed down and the moss was lacerated; one patch of weeds was stained crimson. A small, glittering object not far away caught Rainsford’s eye and he picked it up. It was an empty cartridge.

“A twenty-two,” he remarked. “That’s odd. It must have been a fairly large animal too. The hunter had his nerve with him to tackle it with a light gun. It’s clear that the brute put up a fight. I suppose the first three shots I heard was when the hunter flushed his quarry and wounded it. The last shot was when he trailed it here and finished it.”

He examined the ground closely and found what he had hoped to find–the print of hunting boots. They pointed along the cliff in the direction he had been going. Eagerly he hurried along, now slipping on a rotten log or a loose stone, but making headway; night was beginning to settle down on the island.

Bleak darkness was blacking out the sea and jungle when Rainsford sighted the lights. He came upon them as he turned a crook in the coast line; and his first thought was that be had come upon a village, for there were many lights. But as he forged along he saw to his great astonishment that all the lights were in one enormous building–a lofty structure with pointed towers plunging upward into the gloom. His eyes made out the shadowy outlines of a palatial chateau; it was set on a high bluff, and on three sides of it cliffs dived down to where the sea licked greedy lips in the shadows.

“Mirage,” thought Rainsford. But it was no mirage, he found, when he opened the tall spiked iron gate. The stone steps were real enough; the massive door with a leering gargoyle for a knocker was real enough; yet above it all hung an air of unreality.

He lifted the knocker, and it creaked up stiffly, as if it had never before been used. He let it fall, and it startled him with its booming loudness. He thought he heard steps within; the door remained closed. Again Rainsford lifted the heavy knocker, and let it fall. The door opened then–opened as suddenly as if it were on a spring–and Rainsford stood blinking in the river of glaring gold light that poured out. The first thing Rainsford’s eyes discerned was the largest man Rainsford had ever seen–a gigantic creature, solidly made and black bearded to the waist. In his hand the man held a long-barreled revolver, and he was pointing it straight at Rainsford’s heart.

Out of the snarl of beard two small eyes regarded Rainsford.

“Don’t be alarmed,” said Rainsford, with a smile which he hoped was disarming. “I’m no robber. I fell off a yacht. My name is Sanger Rainsford of New York City.”

The menacing look in the eyes did not change. The revolver pointing as rigidly as if the giant were a statue. He gave no sign that he understood Rainsford’s words, or that he had even heard them. He was dressed in uniform–a black uniform trimmed with gray astrakhan.

“I’m Sanger Rainsford of New York,” Rainsford began again. “I fell off a yacht. I am hungry.”

The man’s only answer was to raise with his thumb the hammer of his revolver. Then Rainsford saw the man’s free hand go to his forehead in a military salute, and he saw him click his heels together and stand at attention. Another man was coming down the broad marble steps, an erect, slender man in evening clothes. He advanced to Rainsford and held out his hand.

In a cultivated voice marked by a slight accent that gave it added precision and deliberateness, he said, “It is a very great pleasure and honor to welcome Mr. Sanger Rainsford, the celebrated hunter, to my home.”

Automatically Rainsford shook the man’s hand.

“I’ve read your book about hunting snow leopards in Tibet, you see,” explained the man. “I am General Zaroff.”

Rainsford’s first impression was that the man was singularly handsome; his second was that there was an original, almost bizarre quality about the general’s face. He was a tall man past middle age, for his hair was a vivid white; but his thick eyebrows and pointed military mustache were as black as the night from which Rainsford had come. His eyes, too, were black and very bright. He had high cheekbones, a sharpcut nose, a spare, dark face–the face of a man used to giving orders, the face of an aristocrat. Turning to the giant in uniform, the general made a sign. The giant put away his pistol, saluted, withdrew.

“Ivan is an incredibly strong fellow,” remarked the general, “but he has the misfortune to be deaf and dumb. A simple fellow, but, I’m afraid, like all his race, a bit of a savage.”

“Is he Russian?”

“He is a Cossack,” said the general, and his smile showed red lips and pointed teeth. “So am I.”

“Come,” he said, “we shouldn’t be chatting here. We can talk later. Now you want clothes, food, rest. You shall have them. This is a most-restful spot.”

Ivan had reappeared, and the general spoke to him with lips that moved but gave forth no sound.

“Follow Ivan, if you please, Mr. Rainsford,” said the general. “I was about to have my dinner when you came. I’ll wait for you. You’ll find that my clothes will fit you, I think.”

It was to a huge, beam-ceilinged bedroom with a canopied bed big enough for six men that Rainsford followed the silent giant. Ivan laid out an evening suit, and Rainsford, as he put it on, noticed that it came from a London tailor who ordinarily cut and sewed for none below the rank of duke.

The dining room to which Ivan conducted him was in many ways remarkable. There was a medieval magnificence about it; it suggested a baronial hall of feudal times with its oaken panels, its high ceiling, its vast refectory tables where twoscore men could sit down to eat. About the hall were mounted heads of many animals–lions, tigers, elephants, moose, bears; larger or more perfect specimens Rainsford had never seen. At the great table the general was sitting, alone.

“You’ll have a cocktail, Mr. Rainsford,” he suggested. The cocktail was surpassingly good; and, Rainsford noted, the table apointments were of the finest–the linen, the crystal, the silver, the china.

They were eating borsch, the rich, red soup with whipped cream so dear to Russian palates. Half apologetically General Zaroff said, “We do our best to preserve the amenities of civilization here. Please forgive any lapses. We are well off the beaten track, you know. Do you think the champagne has suffered from its long ocean trip?”

“Not in the least,” declared Rainsford. He was finding the general a most thoughtful and affable host, a true cosmopolite. But there was one small trait of .the general’s that made Rainsford uncomfortable. Whenever he looked up from his plate he found the general studying him, appraising him narrowly.

“Perhaps,” said General Zaroff, “you were surprised that I recognized your name. You see, I read all books on hunting published in English, French, and Russian. I have but one passion in my life, Mr. Rainsford, and it is the hunt.”

“You have some wonderful heads here,” said Rainsford as he ate a particularly well-cooked filet mignon. ” That Cape buffalo is the largest I ever saw.”

“Oh, that fellow. Yes, he was a monster.”

“Did he charge you?”

“Hurled me against a tree,” said the general. “Fractured my skull. But I got the brute.”

“I’ve always thought,” said Rainsford, “that the Cape buffalo is the most dangerous of all big game.”

For a moment the general did not reply; he was smiling his curious red-lipped smile. Then he said slowly, “No. You are wrong, sir. The Cape buffalo is not the most dangerous big game.” He sipped his wine. “Here in my preserve on this island,” he said in the same slow tone, “I hunt more dangerous game.”

Rainsford expressed his surprise. “Is there big game on this island?”

The general nodded. “The biggest.”

“Really?”

“Oh, it isn’t here naturally, of course. I have to stock the island.”

“What have you imported, general?” Rainsford asked. “Tigers?”

The general smiled. “No,” he said. “Hunting tigers ceased to interest me some years ago. I exhausted their possibilities, you see. No thrill left in tigers, no real danger. I live for danger, Mr. Rainsford.”

The general took from his pocket a gold cigarette case and offered his guest a long black cigarette with a silver tip; it was perfumed and gave off a smell like incense.

“We will have some capital hunting, you and I,” said the general. “I shall be most glad to have your society.”

“But what game–” began Rainsford.

“I’ll tell you,” said the general. “You will be amused, I know. I think I may say, in all modesty, that I have done a rare thing. I have invented a new sensation. May I pour you another glass of port?”

“Thank you, general.”

The general filled both glasses, and said, “God makes some men poets. Some He makes kings, some beggars. Me He made a hunter. My hand was made for the trigger, my father said. He was a very rich man with a quarter of a million acres in the Crimea, and he was an ardent sportsman. When I was only five years old he gave me a little gun, specially made in Moscow for me, to shoot sparrows with. When I shot some of his prize turkeys with it, he did not punish me; he complimented me on my marksmanship. I killed my first bear in the Caucasus when I was ten. My whole life has been one prolonged hunt. I went into the army–it was expected of noblemen’s sons–and for a time commanded a division of Cossack cavalry, but my real interest was always the hunt. I have hunted every kind of game in every land. It would be impossible for me to tell you how many animals I have killed.”

The general puffed at his cigarette.

“After the debacle in Russia I left the country, for it was imprudent for an officer of the Czar to stay there. Many noble Russians lost everything. I, luckily, had invested heavily in American securities, so I shall never have to open a tearoom in Monte Carlo or drive a taxi in Paris. Naturally, I continued to hunt–grizzliest in your Rockies, crocodiles in the Ganges, rhinoceroses in East Africa. It was in Africa that the Cape buffalo hit me and laid me up for six months. As soon as I recovered I started for the Amazon to hunt jaguars, for I had heard they were unusually cunning. They weren’t.” The Cossack sighed. “They were no match at all for a hunter with his wits about him, and a high-powered rifle. I was bitterly disappointed. I was lying in my tent with a splitting headache one night when a terrible thought pushed its way into my mind. Hunting was beginning to bore me! And hunting, remember, had been my life. I have heard that in America businessmen often go to pieces when they give up the business that has been their life.”

“Yes, that’s so,” said Rainsford.

The general smiled. “I had no wish to go to pieces,” he said. “I must do something. Now, mine is an analytical mind, Mr. Rainsford. Doubtless that is why I enjoy the problems of the chase.”

“No doubt, General Zaroff.”

“So,” continued the general, “I asked myself why the hunt no longer fascinated me. You are much younger than I am, Mr. Rainsford, and have not hunted as much, but you perhaps can guess the answer.”

“What was it?”

“Simply this: hunting had ceased to be what you call `a sporting proposition.’ It had become too easy. I always got my quarry. Always. There is no greater bore than perfection.”

The general lit a fresh cigarette.

“No animal had a chance with me any more. That is no boast; it is a mathematical certainty. The animal had nothing but his legs and his instinct. Instinct is no match for reason. When I thought of this it was a tragic moment for me, I can tell you.”

Rainsford leaned across the table, absorbed in what his host was saying.

“It came to me as an inspiration what I must do,” the general went on.

“And that was?”

The general smiled the quiet smile of one who has faced an obstacle and surmounted it with success. “I had to invent a new animal to hunt,” he said.

“A new animal? You’re joking.” “Not at all,” said the general. “I never joke about hunting. I needed a new animal. I found one. So I bought this island built this house, and here I do my hunting. The island is perfect for my purposes–there are jungles with a maze of traits in them, hills, swamps–”

“But the animal, General Zaroff?”

“Oh,” said the general, “it supplies me with the most exciting hunting in the world. No other hunting compares with it for an instant. Every day I hunt, and I never grow bored now, for I have a quarry with which I can match my wits.”

Rainsford’s bewilderment showed in his face.

“I wanted the ideal animal to hunt,” explained the general. “So I said, `What are the attributes of an ideal quarry?’ And the answer was, of course, `It must have courage, cunning, and, above all, it must be able to reason.”‘

“But no animal can reason,” objected Rainsford.

“My dear fellow,” said the general, “there is one that can.”

“But you can’t mean–” gasped Rainsford.

“And why not?”

“I can’t believe you are serious, General Zaroff. This is a grisly joke.”

“Why should I not be serious? I am speaking of hunting.”

“Hunting? Great Guns, General Zaroff, what you speak of is murder.”

The general laughed with entire good nature. He regarded Rainsford quizzically. “I refuse to believe that so modern and civilized a young man as you seem to be harbors romantic ideas about the value of human life. Surely your experiences in the war–”

“Did not make me condone cold-blooded murder,” finished Rainsford stiffly.

Laughter shook the general. “How extraordinarily droll you are!” he said. “One does not expect nowadays to find a young man of the educated class, even in America, with such a naive, and, if I may say so, mid-Victorian point of view. It’s like finding a snuffbox in a limousine. Ah, well, doubtless you had Puritan ancestors. So many Americans appear to have had. I’ll wager you’ll forget your notions when you go hunting with me. You’ve a genuine new thrill in store for you, Mr. Rainsford.”

“Thank you, I’m a hunter, not a murderer.”

“Dear me,” said the general, quite unruffled, “again that unpleasant word. But I think I can show you that your scruples are quite ill founded.”

“Yes?”

“Life is for the strong, to be lived by the strong, and, if needs be, taken by the strong. The weak of the world were put here to give the strong pleasure. I am strong. Why should I not use my gift? If I wish to hunt, why should I not? I hunt the scum of the earth: sailors from tramp ships–lassars, blacks, Chinese, whites, mongrels–a thoroughbred horse or hound is worth more than a score of them.”

“But they are men,” said Rainsford hotly.

“Precisely,” said the general. “That is why I use them. It gives me pleasure. They can reason, after a fashion. So they are dangerous.”

“But where do you get them?”

The general’s left eyelid fluttered down in a wink. “This island is called Ship Trap,” he answered. “Sometimes an angry god of the high seas sends them to me. Sometimes, when Providence is not so kind, I help Providence a bit. Come to the window with me.”

Rainsford went to the window and looked out toward the sea.

“Watch! Out there!” exclaimed the general, pointing into the night. Rainsford’s eyes saw only blackness, and then, as the general pressed a button, far out to sea Rainsford saw the flash of lights.

The general chuckled. “They indicate a channel,” he said, “where there’s none; giant rocks with razor edges crouch like a sea monster with wide-open jaws. They can crush a ship as easily as I crush this nut.” He dropped a walnut on the hardwood floor and brought his heel grinding down on it. “Oh, yes,” he said, casually, as if in answer to a question, “I have electricity. We try to be civilized here.”

“Civilized? And you shoot down men?”

A trace of anger was in the general’s black eyes, but it was there for but a second; and he said, in his most pleasant manner, “Dear me, what a righteous young man you are! I assure you I do not do the thing you suggest. That would be barbarous. I treat these visitors with every consideration. They get plenty of good food and exercise. They get into splendid physical condition. You shall see for yourself tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ll visit my training school,” smiled the general. “It’s in the cellar. I have about a dozen pupils down there now. They’re from the Spanish bark San Lucar that had the bad luck to go on the rocks out there. A very inferior lot, I regret to say. Poor specimens and more accustomed to the deck than to the jungle.” He raised his hand, and Ivan, who served as waiter, brought thick Turkish coffee. Rainsford, with an effort, held his tongue in check.

“It’s a game, you see,” pursued the general blandly. “I suggest to one of them that we go hunting. I give him a supply of food and an excellent hunting knife. I give him three hours’ start. I am to follow, armed only with a pistol of the smallest caliber and range. If my quarry eludes me for three whole days, he wins the game. If I find him “–the general smiled–” he loses.”

“Suppose he refuses to be hunted?”

“Oh,” said the general, “I give him his option, of course. He need not play that game if he doesn’t wish to. If he does not wish to hunt, I turn him over to Ivan. Ivan once had the honor of serving as official knouter to the Great White Czar, and he has his own ideas of sport. Invariably, Mr. Rainsford, invariably they choose the hunt.”

“And if they win?”

The smile on the general’s face widened. “To date I have not lost,” he said. Then he added, hastily: “I don’t wish you to think me a braggart, Mr. Rainsford. Many of them afford only the most elementary sort of problem. Occasionally I strike a tartar. One almost did win. I eventually had to use the dogs.”

“The dogs?”

“This way, please. I’ll show you.”

The general steered Rainsford to a window. The lights from the windows sent a flickering illumination that made grotesque patterns on the courtyard below, and Rainsford could see moving about there a dozen or so huge black shapes; as they turned toward him, their eyes glittered greenly.

“A rather good lot, I think,” observed the general. “They are let out at seven every night. If anyone should try to get into my house–or out of it–something extremely regrettable would occur to him.” He hummed a snatch of song from the Folies Bergere.

“And now,” said the general, “I want to show you my new collection of heads. Will you come with me to the library?”

“I hope,” said Rainsford, “that you will excuse me tonight, General Zaroff. I’m really not feeling well.”

“Ah, indeed?” the general inquired solicitously. “Well, I suppose that’s only natural, after your long swim. You need a good, restful night’s sleep. Tomorrow you’ll feel like a new man, I’ll wager. Then we’ll hunt, eh? I’ve one rather promising prospect–” Rainsford was hurrying from the room.

“Sorry you can’t go with me tonight,” called the general. “I expect rather fair sport–a big, strong, black. He looks resourceful–Well, good night, Mr. Rainsford; I hope you have a good night’s rest.”

The bed was good, and the pajamas of the softest silk, and he was tired in every fiber of his being, but nevertheless Rainsford could not quiet his brain with the opiate of sleep. He lay, eyes wide open. Once he thought he heard stealthy steps in the corridor outside his room. He sought to throw open the door; it would not open. He went to the window and looked out. His room was high up in one of the towers. The lights of the chateau were out now, and it was dark and silent; but there was a fragment of sallow moon, and by its wan light he could see, dimly, the courtyard. There, weaving in and out in the pattern of shadow, were black, noiseless forms; the hounds heard him at the window and looked up, expectantly, with their green eyes. Rainsford went back to the bed and lay down. By many methods he tried to put himself to sleep. He had achieved a doze when, just as morning began to come, he heard, far off in the jungle, the faint report of a pistol.

General Zaroff did not appear until luncheon. He was dressed faultlessly in the tweeds of a country squire. He was solicitous about the state of Rainsford’s health.

“As for me,” sighed the general, “I do not feel so well. I am worried, Mr. Rainsford. Last night I detected traces of my old complaint.”

To Rainsford’s questioning glance the general said, “Ennui. Boredom.”

Then, taking a second helping of crêpes Suzette, the general explained: “The hunting was not good last night. The fellow lost his head. He made a straight trail that offered no problems at all. That’s the trouble with these sailors; they have dull brains to begin with, and they do not know how to get about in the woods. They do excessively stupid and obvious things. It’s most annoying. Will you have another glass of Chablis, Mr. Rainsford?”

“General,” said Rainsford firmly, “I wish to leave this island at once.”

The general raised his thickets of eyebrows; he seemed hurt. “But, my dear fellow,” the general protested, “you’ve only just come. You’ve had no hunting–”

“I wish to go today,” said Rainsford. He saw the dead black eyes of the general on him, studying him. General Zaroff’s face suddenly brightened.

He filled Rainsford’s glass with venerable Chablis from a dusty bottle.

“Tonight,” said the general, “we will hunt–you and I.”

Rainsford shook his head. “No, general,” he said. “I will not hunt.”

The general shrugged his shoulders and delicately ate a hothouse grape. “As you wish, my friend,” he said. “The choice rests entirely with you. But may I not venture to suggest that you will find my idea of sport more diverting than Ivan’s?”

He nodded toward the corner to where the giant stood, scowling, his thick arms crossed on his hogshead of chest.

“You don’t mean–” cried Rainsford.

“My dear fellow,” said the general, “have I not told you I always mean what I say about hunting? This is really an inspiration. I drink to a foeman worthy of my steel–at last.” The general raised his glass, but Rainsford sat staring at him.

“You’ll find this game worth playing,” the general said enthusiastically.” Your brain against mine. Your woodcraft against mine. Your strength and stamina against mine. Outdoor chess! And the stake is not without value, eh?”

“And if I win–” began Rainsford huskily.

“I’ll cheerfully acknowledge myself defeat if I do not find you by midnight of the third day,” said General Zaroff. “My sloop will place you on the mainland near a town.” The general read what Rainsford was thinking.

“Oh, you can trust me,” said the Cossack. “I will give you my word as a gentleman and a sportsman. Of course you, in turn, must agree to say nothing of your visit here.”

“I’ll agree to nothing of the kind,” said Rainsford.

“Oh,” said the general, “in that case–But why discuss that now? Three days hence we can discuss it over a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, unless–”

The general sipped his wine.

Then a businesslike air animated him. “Ivan,” he said to Rainsford, “will supply you with hunting clothes, food, a knife. I suggest you wear moccasins; they leave a poorer trail. I suggest, too, that you avoid the big swamp in the southeast corner of the island. We call it Death Swamp. There’s quicksand there. One foolish fellow tried it. The deplorable part of it was that Lazarus followed him. You can imagine my feelings, Mr. Rainsford. I loved Lazarus; he was the finest hound in my pack. Well, I must beg you to excuse me now. I always’ take a siesta after lunch. You’ll hardly have time for a nap, I fear. You’ll want to start, no doubt. I shall not follow till dusk. Hunting at night is so much more exciting than by day, don’t you think? Au revoir, Mr. Rainsford, au revoir.” General Zaroff, with a deep, courtly bow, strolled from the room.

From another door came Ivan. Under one arm he carried khaki hunting clothes, a haversack of food, a leather sheath containing a long-bladed hunting knife; his right hand rested on a cocked revolver thrust in the crimson sash about his waist.

Rainsford had fought his way through the bush for two hours. “I must keep my nerve. I must keep my nerve,” he said through tight teeth.

He had not been entirely clearheaded when the chateau gates snapped shut behind him. His whole idea at first was to put distance between himself and General Zaroff; and, to this end, he had plunged along, spurred on by the sharp rowers of something very like panic. Now he had got a grip on himself, had stopped, and was taking stock of himself and the situation. He saw that straight flight was futile; inevitably it would bring him face to face with the sea. He was in a picture with a frame of water, and his operations, clearly, must take place within that frame.

“I’ll give him a trail to follow,” muttered Rainsford, and he struck off from the rude path he had been following into the trackless wilderness. He executed a series of intricate loops; he doubled on his trail again and again, recalling all the lore of the fox hunt, and all the dodges of the fox. Night found him leg-weary, with hands and face lashed by the branches, on a thickly wooded ridge. He knew it would be insane to blunder on through the dark, even if he had the strength. His need for rest was imperative and he thought, “I have played the fox, now I must play the cat of the fable.” A big tree with a thick trunk and outspread branches was near by, and, taking care to leave not the slightest mark, he climbed up into the crotch, and, stretching out on one of the broad limbs, after a fashion, rested. Rest brought him new confidence and almost a feeling of security. Even so zealous a hunter as General Zaroff could not trace him there, he told himself; only the devil himself could follow that complicated trail through the jungle after dark. But perhaps the general was a devil–

An apprehensive night crawled slowly by like a wounded snake and sleep did not visit Rainsford, although the silence of a dead world was on the jungle. Toward morning when a dingy gray was varnishing the sky, the cry of some startled bird focused Rainsford’s attention in that direction. Something was coming through the bush, coming slowly, carefully, coming by the same winding way Rainsford had come. He flattened himself down on the limb and, through a screen of leaves almost as thick as tapestry, he watched. . . . That which was approaching was a man.

It was General Zaroff. He made his way along with his eyes fixed in utmost concentration on the ground before him. He paused, almost beneath the tree, dropped to his knees and studied the ground. Rainsford’s impulse was to hurl himself down like a panther, but he saw that the general’s right hand held something metallic–a small automatic pistol.

The hunter shook his head several times, as if he were puzzled. Then he straightened up and took from his case one of his black cigarettes; its pungent incenselike smoke floated up to Rainsford’s nostrils.

Rainsford held his breath. The general’s eyes had left the ground and were traveling inch by inch up the tree. Rainsford froze there, every muscle tensed for a spring. But the sharp eyes of the hunter stopped before they reached the limb where Rainsford lay; a smile spread over his brown face. Very deliberately he blew a smoke ring into the air; then he turned his back on the tree and walked carelessly away, back along the trail he had come. The swish of the underbrush against his hunting boots grew fainter and fainter.

The pent-up air burst hotly from Rainsford’s lungs. His first thought made him feel sick and numb. The general could follow a trail through the woods at night; he could follow an extremely difficult trail; he must have uncanny powers; only by the merest chance had the Cossack failed to see his quarry.

Rainsford’s second thought was even more terrible. It sent a shudder of cold horror through his whole being. Why had the general smiled? Why had he turned back?

Rainsford did not want to believe what his reason told him was true, but the truth was as evident as the sun that had by now pushed through the morning mists. The general was playing with him! The general was saving him for another day’s sport! The Cossack was the cat; he was the mouse. Then it was that Rainsford knew the full meaning of terror.

“I will not lose my nerve. I will not.”

He slid down from the tree, and struck off again into the woods. His face was set and he forced the machinery of his mind to function. Three hundred yards from his hiding place he stopped where a huge dead tree leaned precariously on a smaller, living one. Throwing off his sack of food, Rainsford took his knife from its sheath and began to work with all his energy.

The job was finished at last, and he threw himself down behind a fallen log a hundred feet away. He did not have to wait long. The cat was coming again to play with the mouse.

Following the trail with the sureness of a bloodhound came General Zaroff. Nothing escaped those searching black eyes, no crushed blade of grass, no bent twig, no mark, no matter how faint, in the moss. So intent was the Cossack on his stalking that he was upon the thing Rainsford had made before he saw it. His foot touched the protruding bough that was the trigger. Even as he touched it, the general sensed his danger and leaped back with the agility of an ape. But he was not quite quick enough; the dead tree, delicately adjusted to rest on the cut living one, crashed down and struck the general a glancing blow on the shoulder as it fell; but for his alertness, he must have been smashed beneath it. He staggered, but he did not fall; nor did he drop his revolver. He stood there, rubbing his injured shoulder, and Rainsford, with fear again gripping his heart, heard the general’s mocking laugh ring through the jungle.

“Rainsford,” called the general, “if you are within sound of my voice, as I suppose you are, let me congratulate you. Not many men know how to make a Malay mancatcher. Luckily for me I, too, have hunted in Malacca. You are proving interesting, Mr. Rainsford. I am going now to have my wound dressed; it’s only a slight one. But I shall be back. I shall be back.”

When the general, nursing his bruised shoulder, had gone, Rainsford took up his flight again. It was flight now, a desperate, hopeless flight, that carried him on for some hours. Dusk came, then darkness, and still he pressed on. The ground grew softer under his moccasins; the vegetation grew ranker, denser; insects bit him savagely.

Then, as he stepped forward, his foot sank into the ooze. He tried to wrench it back, but the muck sucked viciously at his foot as if it were a giant leech. With a violent effort, he tore his feet loose. He knew where he was now. Death Swamp and its quicksand.

His hands were tight closed as if his nerve were something tangible that someone in the darkness was trying to tear from his grip. The softness of the earth had given him an idea. He stepped back from the quicksand a dozen feet or so and, like some huge prehistoric beaver, he began to dig.

Rainsford had dug himself in in France when a second’s delay meant death. That had been a placid pastime compared to his digging now. The pit grew deeper; when it was above his shoulders, he climbed out and from some hard saplings cut stakes and sharpened them to a fine point. These stakes he planted in the bottom of the pit with the points sticking up. With flying fingers he wove a rough carpet of weeds and branches and with it he covered the mouth of the pit. Then, wet with sweat and aching with tiredness, he crouched behind the stump of a lightning-charred tree.

He knew his pursuer was coming; he heard the padding sound of feet on the soft earth, and the night breeze brought him the perfume of the general’s cigarette. It seemed to Rainsford that the general was coming with unusual swiftness; he was not feeling his way along, foot by foot. Rainsford, crouching there, could not see the general, nor could he see the pit. He lived a year in a minute. Then he felt an impulse to cry aloud with joy, for he heard the sharp crackle of the breaking branches as the cover of the pit gave way; he heard the sharp scream of pain as the pointed stakes found their mark. He leaped up from his place of concealment. Then he cowered back. Three feet from the pit a man was standing, with an electric torch in his hand.

“You’ve done well, Rainsford,” the voice of the general called. “Your Burmese tiger pit has claimed one of my best dogs. Again you score. I think, Mr. Rainsford, Ill see what you can do against my whole pack. I’m going home for a rest now. Thank you for a most amusing evening.”

At daybreak Rainsford, lying near the swamp, was awakened by a sound that made him know that he had new things to learn about fear. It was a distant sound, faint and wavering, but he knew it. It was the baying of a pack of hounds.

Rainsford knew he could do one of two things. He could stay where he was and wait. That was suicide. He could flee. That was postponing the inevitable. For a moment he stood there, thinking. An idea that held a wild chance came to him, and, tightening his belt, he headed away from the swamp.

The baying of the hounds drew nearer, then still nearer, nearer, ever nearer. On a ridge Rainsford climbed a tree. Down a watercourse, not a quarter of a mile away, he could see the bush moving. Straining his eyes, he saw the lean figure of General Zaroff; just ahead of him Rainsford made out another figure whose wide shoulders surged through the tall jungle weeds; it was the giant Ivan, and he seemed pulled forward by some unseen force; Rainsford knew that Ivan must be holding the pack in leash.

They would be on him any minute now. His mind worked frantically. He thought of a native trick he had learned in Uganda. He slid down the tree. He caught hold of a springy young sapling and to it he fastened his hunting knife, with the blade pointing down the trail; with a bit of wild grapevine he tied back the sapling. Then he ran for his life. The hounds raised their voices as they hit the fresh scent. Rainsford knew now how an animal at bay feels.

He had to stop to get his breath. The baying of the hounds stopped abruptly, and Rainsford’s heart stopped too. They must have reached the knife.

He shinned excitedly up a tree and looked back. His pursuers had stopped. But the hope that was in Rainsford’s brain when he climbed died, for he saw in the shallow valley that General Zaroff was still on his feet. But Ivan was not. The knife, driven by the recoil of the springing tree, had not wholly failed.

Rainsford had hardly tumbled to the ground when the pack took up the cry again.

“Nerve, nerve, nerve!” he panted, as he dashed along. A blue gap showed between the trees dead ahead. Ever nearer drew the hounds. Rainsford forced himself on toward that gap. He reached it. It was the shore of the sea. Across a cove he could see the gloomy gray stone of the chateau. Twenty feet below him the sea rumbled and hissed. Rainsford hesitated. He heard the hounds. Then he leaped far out into the sea. . . .

When the general and his pack reached the place by the sea, the Cossack stopped. For some minutes he stood regarding the blue-green expanse of water. He shrugged his shoulders. Then be sat down, took a drink of brandy from a silver flask, lit a cigarette, and hummed a bit from Madame Butterfly.

General Zaroff had an exceedingly good dinner in his great paneled dining hall that evening. With it he had a bottle of Pol Roger and half a bottle of Chambertin. Two slight annoyances kept him from perfect enjoyment. One was the thought that it would be difficult to replace Ivan; the other was that his quarry had escaped him; of course, the American hadn’t played the game–so thought the general as he tasted his after-dinner liqueur. In his library he read, to soothe himself, from the works of Marcus Aurelius. At ten he went up to his bedroom. He was deliciously tired, he said to himself, as he locked himself in. There was a little moonlight, so, before turning on his light, he went to the window and looked down at the courtyard. He could see the great hounds, and he called, “Better luck another time,” to them. Then he switched on the light.

A man, who had been hiding in the curtains of the bed, was standing there.

“Rainsford!” screamed the general. “How in God’s name did you get here?”

“Swam,” said Rainsford. “I found it quicker than walking through the jungle.”

The general sucked in his breath and smiled. “I congratulate you,” he said. “You have won the game.”

Rainsford did not smile. “I am still a beast at bay,” he said, in a low, hoarse voice. “Get ready, General Zaroff.”

The general made one of his deepest bows. “I see,” he said. “Splendid! One of us is to furnish a repast for the hounds. The other will sleep in this very excellent bed. On guard, Rainsford.” . . .

He had never slept in a better bed, Rainsford decided.

- John Herbert Dillinger

I’m quite pleased with it, really.

In case you start wondering, no, I didn’t get myself a new iPhone 3GS. I know all the hype surrounding it, and not without basis of course, with all the critical acclaim thrown at it ever since it was launched a few days ago. It’s being praised for style and substance, and for redefining the world of mobile phones. I’m a fan of an iPhone too, with my company’s background, but financially, getting one is out of the question.

So what am I talking about?

Is it the Nokia 5800?

Nope.

Or perhaps LG, they make good phones too.

Nah, apparently the case here is slightly special. All the guesses were good, but they were based on the opinion that I was at the other end. I’m not using a phone that’s getting better with time, I’m going back in time and using something that was once just as good as well.

The Nokia 8210. Princess says it’s the 8250 with the butterfly wings. EVEN GENIUS COCK UP OKAY.

Yes, I’m using a phone released ten years ago. Yes, I’m using a phone without cameras and GPS, without msn, and no, you can’t update your facebook status with it.

How I eventually even got to using one was a long story, but was just a series of quirky events following one another. I felt that it was quite refreshing to have something new for a change too.

I was right.

Initially, it was quite difficult. There were always moments when my hand will move towards my phone when something caught my eye, wanting to capture it in digital print, but then realise that I wasn’t using my old phone anymore.

But somewhere along I’ve learn that it is quite adequate enough for me. It’s like being handed a check on my reliance on technology. And it’s really something that I wasn’t able to see in the past.

After a few days of living with a phone that has practically no useful functions other than calling and sending messages, with probably the sole exception of Snake (yeah!!!), I’ve learnt to let go.

It started me thinking about technology. True, we’ll always benefit from technology no matter what.

But when to stop?

If someday something apocalyptical were to happen (touch wood), will man be able to survive through it without our handy tools? War? Natural disaster? Invasion? Will the day come when man leaves everything for the machine to do? What if our machines turn on us? Distant possibilities but nevertheless not impossible.

We have advance a long way in terms of technology. But it wasn’t long ago when your grandfather were still plying his trade with his hands instead of operating a machine. And the situation in future doesn’t seem likely to change as well. The comparison will always be clear, machines win, man lose.

If given the chance, will you trade your phone and comfy bed for a gun and a night in the wild plains of Australia?

I will.

I know I will be switching back to my old phone in a couple more days, but I’m game for a change like this again anytime.

It’s like taking a delve occasionally into the wild from this technology-aided world. And it’s as good as it lasted, but boy did it lasted well.

Goodbye 8250.

I’ll be seeing you again.

We all work wonders in our days;
to find a different view each day.
Hold true to your beliefs my dear;
and fly far far away.

Wings of everlast we dream each day;
to bring us from this deluded facade.
Good people slog hard each day;
while the rest have nothing to say.

From far you seemed like my salvation;
and to rise further the harder the break.
Things will be alright the heart says;
pull out and flutter the mind says.

Perhaps the aftermath is written;
and our life is planned for us to take.
But I do not believe in god, destiny or fate.
The gunslinger advances on a new path each day.

Like cartoons.

Part of growing up was all about the cartoons, Looney Tunes and Popeye. I used to believe that spinach was a sacred powerup until I tried it for the first time.

I sworn to never watch Popeye after that. That old cheat.

Now then, what do I mean by learning to appreciate things that are part and parcel of life? Especially on the subject of cartoons. Is it just Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck, Snow White and the many other famous characters?

It’s just like learning to see beyond it’s main allure, and start to appreciate the little other things it offers as well. When you look on it as a whole, you might be surprised.

Let me show you what I mean. Here’s a little twist to a commonly heard story.

Haha. Didn’t really expect that did ya.

Another of my favourite, The Tell-Tale Heart.

There’s this strangely disturbing and dark theme encircling the animation and yet there is this enticement that attracts me to it. Good narration and visual themes added on to the suspense. And there is alot of subtext involved, little things that you have to see through and pick up along the way.

The story is told through
the eyes of a madman…….
Who, like all of us, believed
that he was sane.

-Read through the lines, and you find that something else about the viewers is hinted as well.

It takes a delve through the mind of a lunatic, and I think it gave a pretty good effort of what he was thinking through the direction of the animation. It plays around with the concept of time, which was shown by the many visual references of clocks, and made used of animation to give that discomfort of what the lunatic felt to the viewer. For example, the scene where the eye diversify into something like snow flakes was pretty uncomfortable, as if I was able to feel from the lunatic’s angle how disturbing the eye was, the eye ever-seeing and penetrating.

I am not insane or psycho (I think), but I felt in that 7 minutes I was standing in the shoes of the madman.

It’s just the strange feeling of changing one’s perspective to find that something so ordinary and mundane, with a switch of the mind, has now turned into a depth of bottomless delights, waiting to be explored and vivid till the far corners. It’s like going the extra effort to turn the kaleidoscope, and to find that what was previously thought as definitive and exact are now to be infinite and incomprehensible.

It does seems like in the eyes of the beholder, beauty is not the only subject with more than one viewpoint.

When I was small, I wanted to be an artist because I love to draw, however I never really pursue that as an option, to think of it as a career as my mum discouraged and did not approve of drawing as a professional career. As a society we are bred to think that all male breadwinners should be capable lawyers or doctors so that their family would be content with life. Stereotypes being fed to generations and generations. Malays are poor. Indian beat their wives. We begin to live a life in repetition.

What happened to my dream of becoming an artist at 8? Down the drain. I would probably be Disney and I would probably create characters which would be embrace by millions of people, but sadly I did not walk down that career. When I was young I saw my father working hard for the family, holding a nine to five job with two kids and one more on the way. I told myself I didn’t wanted this kind of life.

Now I see myself walking down the path that my father took.

I’ve always been fascinated by hunting and I thought why wasn’t I born in Australia or New Zealand where the plains loom in an infinite manner towards the horizon and where a man can survive with a gun and his kit for weeks. But I’m not going to shirk responsibility and since I was born into another world, a different dimension, I will strive to become only the best, and I’m going to earn money and provide for my kids just like what my father did.

I think that in our world people are beginning to lose track of their purposes.

What is your goal in life? What is your purpose? Is it to get that managerial promotion you have been aiming so long for? Is it to study 3 years for that certificate? Is your dream to become a financial consultant?

There’s this story of a video I heard today. A boy, aged 7, is looking outside of his classroom at a kite in the sky. He dreams of being able to fly the kite, but his attention is cut back to his teacher when he finished writing the equation and turns back to face the class. Cut forward and he is 23 this year. He just graduated from University and he wants to join the Red Cross and follow them on their overseas campaign to countries in need of humanitarian aid. His dad speaks with him and he decides to join an accounting company. He is 30 this year. He keeps away the soccer ball from childhood in a closet and in his arms there is no longer a ball but a baby has taken it’s place. He is 48 this year. He is fishing and when he cast the lines it resembles the jagged lines that show the stock market rise and fall. He has dabbled in stocks and has just lost his job and money. He is on his deathbed. There are tears in his eyes. His memory fades to him, as if they were going backwards in time, and he realise there is nothing memorable in them. The final scene shows a gravestone with his name and date of decease on them, and as it zooms out his family are kneeling on the floor and crying. A boy wanders away from the group, and he looks at a kite in the distance in awe. The cycle goes on.

Some people call it the rat race. We chase for the superficials in life. Money. Women. Luxuries your mind could ever wanted, and they wanted it everyday. The rich breaks out of the cycle. The poor gets suck deeper into it. So is the main cause really money? I beg to differ, because money does not dictate how you are going to live your life.

However, that doesn’t mean we ain’t slaves to money. Everyone needs money. But even rich people are still lacking things in their life. They search their souls and to finite the infinite, to try and understand, but they don’t see it. The most basic and simple purpose they were being born for, right in front of their eyes, yet they can’t grasp.

They lose the ability to dream.

Dreams are wonderful things. They keep my life going, because I have dreams and I want to fulfill them. Do you remember what you always dreamed for when you were 9? It can be something stupid. Probably a doll. Perhaps that limited edition Hot Wheels racetrack. You probably dreamed you were a police officer when you grew up.

That feeling is amazing. It’s like that bolted door in your mind where all the wonders are in it, and everytime you unlock it you find something new and fresh, a source of motivation. When the rich have everything they ever wanted in their life, they begin to lose that ability, because then they will perceive everything as finite and within their grasp. Build that house for me. Buy that newest car. Travel around the world. They get complacent because then, they feel that there is no longer things they can’t get. They forget that memory of being young and having your nose pressup against the wall of a car showroom, marvelling at the latest model which will become a form of motivation for the next 2 years. They forget that instant euphoria rushing through the veins the first time they pump that guzzle and hear the engine purr.

And to say that rich people lose the ability to dream would be a very narrow statement as well.

Even poor guys lose that ability to dream. That officeboy stuck in his cubicle, waiting for the clock to turn 6pm and to catch that latest episode of CSI when he reaches home. He no longer strives for a promotion. His mindset change to that from earning more money, working hard, to that of cutting costs and scrimp to save. No longer is there a desire to achieve more to get that same car the rich man was looking at, he looks for an alternative way out. He buys a cheaper car. He gets a cheaper phone.

Alot of times we conform under pressure from passive influence of the society. You may not want an office job. You could probably be the best soccer player the world ever had, but you didn’t realise and nurture your potential because of the linear system we grow up in. In Singapore, the education system practically kills off creativity, and we wonder why generations after generations we rank the bottom few in the world when it comes to thinking out of the box. We don’t aspire to be film directors, we don’t aspire to be artists, we just follow the path our predecessors took when they were at our age. We have to fulfill our responsibilities the society has imposed upon us; study hard, get a good job, have kids. Are we really moving forward or degenerating backwards then as a society? Globalisation, modernisation or points toward better living conditions, but we lose the freedom in the process. Imagine the future, tall skyscrapers will replace green horizons, hover cars, air conditioning, everything will begin to lose that nature touch. Hunting will probably take place in an air conditioned environment, on a massive room up at 152 floor. Of course this is just my opinion and I could be wrong, but I am already having a distaste for the world I’m living now.

We have our fabricated peace, where terrorism lurks like a reaper in that dark corner. It’s good to hear about aid relief going into countries that need them, but we still have alot to do in order to work together for a better future. What was the most recent world event that happened?

The H1N1 Swine Flu outbreak.

And how did Singapore reacted? By importing and stockpiling antivirus and medicines used to counter them. What happens then, when Singapore does that? Countries that really need them like Mexico are facing shortage of proper medications to administer to their people. We import antivirus that can treat one quarter of our population, but currently we only have 14 cases of swine flu. This is the reality of the world we are living in.

As long as I have dreams, everything that I do will be stepping stones toward them, whether I like it or not. I would probably be a businessman, a politician, a teacher, a white collar worker, an accountant, a salesman, a corporate manager, a financial consultant, an adviser, a servicemen, a marketer, and none of this are what I ever wanted to be in life.

And now, back to the subject of gaming. I do in particular have a fondness for good games, but I’m trying to limit myself too, so it comes down to balancing out the total time spend on them. One of the most recent games that I completed was Bioshock. What it is about the game that really shocks me is not it’s gameplay, though it was freaking good, but the kind of story you get that pieces the game together. Set in alternative history, the game re-explores topics on men, political oppression, science, morality among many others. On a side note, it was what made me read Atlas Shrugged, the game itself inspired by the book.

No gods or kings. Only man.

In the game, political and religious oppression has forced one man, business magnate Andrew Ryan, to create an underwater city named Rapture, visioned to be an utopia where the great minds would not be constrained. The introduction was pretty good, where he delivered his opening speech.

For ten years, Rapture was what Ryan wanted it to be. Significant breakthroughs were made in science, making plastic and cosmetic surgery common, and engineering of DNA made powers like telekinesis, pyrokinesis, electrokinesis and many others seems normal to the citizens of Rapture. However, Ryan’s contempt for the outside world led to his downfall. His only rule, which is to forbid all contacts with the outside world prove one too many for the citizens of Rapture. A civil war began, and the excessive DNA altering had made them mentally unstable, and by the time the player steps into the city in 1960 it has turned into a dystopia. The citizens are now known as splicers, both mentally deranged and physically deformed by the excessive use of their powers. Think of them as zombies dashing at you with a knife and screaming Einstein’s relative theory at the same time.

Doctors screaming and charging at you claiming you are too ugly and need plastic surgery (no shit!)

And now, I’ll go into the main topic that I want to touch on. Somehow this game reminds me of political oppression in Singapore. I believe many people now don’t give shit about politics, especially youths. In the past I can’t be bothered either. I believed the government was doing a good job, but now I feel that many Singaporeans are oppressed by the government and have become docile and tamed. There are many laws waiting to prosecute them, I bet many Singaporeans don’t even know they can be charge in court and given a large fine for not flushing the toilet. It’s purpose might not truly be use to charge people in court, but it is there as a deterrent to stop people, and it is one among many others that are used to restrict our freedom. Walking naked in Holland V can get you arrested by cops. Oral sex is illegal even for married couples unless it is foreplay. Sports or bar brawls can give you a one week jail sentence. You are not allowed to give a public rally without permission, be it for political, charitable or religious purposes. No guns in Singapore. Even airguns. No playboys magazine, illegal possession of pornographic materials. No firecrackers. Pranks such as pulling one’s pants down can get you 2 charges in court, molest and use of criminal force. Using somebody’s else wireless broadband can get you a fine. Gatherings consisting of more than four person past 10pm are considered illegal gatherings and you can be pulled over by police for checking. Fishing anywhere in Sentosa can get you a fine of $500 dollars. You are not allowed to have black visers for your motorbike helmets. You are not allowed to smoke here. You are not allowed to eat chewing gum. Why? Because we do not want chewing gums being spit all over the country. Some people might say I’m selfish, but if I’m able to account for my actions, and I say that I will not spit them anywhere and damage the clean green image of Singapore, will you give me a gum? If I say that my purpose of having an airgun is for entertainment purposes without any criminal intent will you give me one? As an individual my actions may correspond with that of the law, but I’m still being restricted by them. Some people might say it’s for the greater good, we need this laws to make Singapore a safer place. Do we truly?

Some people say laws are meant to protect them, well I have a few stories to tell, and they are all shockingly true. Case A, my friend and his dad have passed their 2B and are both qualified to ride a bike. The son have a bike, and the father have been riding for 20 years on another bike. So there was this day when my friend borrowed his dad bike as he needed some groceries, and he was stopped on the road by traffic police, and subsequently charged to court. His offence? Driving a bike without his name on the insurance. His dad and him was sentenced to suspension from driving for a year. Yes, his dad too. Try to imagine the disruption in your life, from being suspended one year. I understand the concern that driving without insurance is a fully dangerous thing to do, and right now I’m not justifying that he is right in riding his dad bike without his name on the insurance. Right now I’m justifying that point A, he has been riding on his bike for awhile and he therefore have some experience; and point B, he is not aware that riding his dad bike is a crime. What they say is that you can’t ride a bike without insurance, but he is insured, just not under his father’s bike. In this case, is the ignorant party guilty of the crime? Case B, one of my ex co-worker was connived and cheated out of $80,000. He made a police report, in which they filed it in a nonchalent manner, and out of chance he happened to see what the officer wrote on top of his case file. ” Not Urgent “. It’s been almost a year now, and I can imagine that file rotting somewhere on a tower of cabinets filled with similar reports. For your info, he is 22 years old, and have been cheated by fellow peers (people whom we know and have already told the police) to register his name for a company, in which they ran away with the money leaving him with nothing but an empty company shell and the debts with suppliers. I repeat, we know who the culprits are, all it needs is for the police to follow up and apprehand them. If you want to know his fate, he is now a bankrupt, and he works for a cold storage company delivering frozen food at fifty dollars per day. They give him the goods to send out for the day and he is not allowed to go home until the task is done, which on certain days can take up to 13 hours. Case C, if you own a vehicle of any kind, you will treat it like a baby with the utmost care. And what if, on one fine day, you walk over to the carpark to find lets say, your bike, missing from where you left it? What will you do? Make a police report? But with each passing day, there is still no news. You take the public transport everyday, and on it you wonder about the efficiency of the police force. Singapore is a small place, and our authorities is top-class, so you think. It took a hundred and eighteen days for the police force to find the bike, close to one third of a year, and even then you couldn’t really say they found it, because it was left lying on a side road underneath a tree, in a condition so abused by it’s recent handler that you would be better off getting a new one. Case D, if someday, you ever got assaulted, remember one thing. Never fight back. Take the beatings, or you will be left defenseless after. What do I mean? 6 guys pull you over to a corner. They surround you. There’s no way out, and the one you got a problem with starts hitting you, his friends cheering him on. Don’t hit back, I say, because if you do, when the police come, what do they tell you? That brawls like this are known as Affray and either both of you settle this incident now, or the police will bring you two back to the station. But they were the ones with the intent to assault me, all you did was to retaliate a few blows in self defense. You try to reason with him. He shakes his head. In the end, you are left with a bruised body and your broken honour. Even though Singapore have a relatively low crime rate, don’t just take it for granted and assume it means we are living in a safe place. Because in the end, it might not be the criminals that hurt you. It might be the very face of justice itself.

What about the government? The NKF affair made a big hooha out of them. How can such an organisation working at the highest level with the government be allowed such a scandal. Ten cents for every dollar is being used for charitable purposes. It’s a freaking joke. And among the politicians in the world, compare their pay and guess what, Singapore ranks first. (Obviously this is not a rat race, we don’t need to be number one thankyou) And nobody can deny the sphere of influence the Lee family wield on Singapore. I don’t need to elaborate on our emperor and his son. They are well known enough. Ho Ching (once cited as the 3rd most powerful woman in the world) was once the CEO of Temasek Holdings, 100% owned by Ministry of Finance. She lost billions for Temasek Holdings and then resigned in 2009. Lee Hsien Yang was once the CEO of Singtel, and now moved on to the position of non-executive Chairman of the Company and Consultant of Fraser and Neave (F&N), a leading Singapore based business group dealing with food and beverages.

Someone once told me, you can’t have everything. Look at our country today, it’s a first world country where everything you need is easily available, why are you still complaining? It’s true, I do adore the cheese and FHM from the neighbourhood mart, as compared to countries like Africa where supermarkets are rarer than diamonds, but you have to see what I’m trying to get at. The point being made now is not who’s building a better house, but who’s providing better welfare for the workers. You can have the most beautiful house built at the end of the day, but you treat your workers like trash. You lock them up from the world so that they are not expose to free people, and because of the way they grow up, they think that there’s nothing wrong. You expel dissidents at first sign to prevent their ideas from spreading. At the end of the day, you don’t care because you have the best house in the world built and the money goes into your pocket. But what about your workers? Efficient, but otherwise the same as mindless zombies. I do love my country and am thankful to be born in a cosmopolitan country where opportunities are plentiful, but it comes at the price of my right and my freedom, and I don’t like it.

Should we follow Andrew Ryan? A man who tried and fail, or submit to our fates?

No gods or kings.

Only man.

Zac: Hey, do you guys piss when you’re having a shower?
Me: Yeah.
Zj: Nah I piss before that.
Zac: Not before that, I mean fucking pissing in the shower.
Zj: No.
Zac: You mean to say, when the warm water hits your balls, you don’t feel like pissing?
Zj: Never.
Me: 你他妈的是一个怪人。

Soon word goes round the school that Zj doesn’t piss in his shower.

Hey have you heard, Zj doesn’t piss in the shower.
He’s a fucking weirdo.
Haha, I think he needs a doctor.

In my entire life I’ve never heard of somebody who doesn’t piss in the shower, that’s almost like resisting the urge to piss in the swimming pool when no one’s looking.

It taught me three things.

Firstly, money isn’t everything, but Everything is money. It’s a self contradicting statement, but you have to learn to see it’s irony. It’s true that money can’t buy you things that aren’t materialistic, but you’ll realise that everything around you co-exists with money. Money can’t buy you a girlfriend, but you have to be free from financial troubles to be able to support one. You can’t throw money around and ask to buy trust, but the fundamental block in building trust is wealth. Doing business with people is all about how affluent they are. The poorer you are, the difficulty you will encounter in trying to make people trust you goes higher. Money can’t buy you friendships, but being richer means having a bigger presence and social status. Being a financial burden to your friends is often associated with a negative connotation. Reminds me of a perfect example. When I was in secondary school, I had this guy studying in the same class as mine. Everytime he comes up to me asking to lend him money, I had difficulty turning him down as it was being quite impolite saying a straight no. Have you ever had experiences of classmates coming up to you to borrow a few dollars, which you know they will never return? I tend to avoid him when I see him prowling around during recess time. Money can’t buy happiness, but being able to reward yourself when you or your family are feeling down means a higher level of comfort and safety to guard against the things that may threaten their spiritual well being. Your wife’s yapping about that wrinkle that just appeared on her face? A diamond necklace spiced with a little love will do the trick. Worried about your son’s future? Being able to afford the best education for him out there is the most important thing. Unhappy about the recent increased workload? Go for an exotic holidays around The Bahamas. Money can’t buy you life, but without it you would be long dead. 20% of infants die before they reach age 5 in Africa, due to lack of daily essentials like fresh water. Even in Singapore, to be able to safeguard yourself against sudden accidents like car crashes only means being able to prolong your life through good healthcare services, and when such incidents happen one tends to prefer the best medicare that is available. So you see, everything around us is affected by money, directly or indirectly.

The second thing that I learned is that it taught me how to see people. I’ve learned, unfortunately in the hard way, that some people might just fold under money. Threatened by the prospect of losing their wealth, their integrity, honor and morality turns to dust. I first grasped this idea from the book Atlas Shrugged. I like to bring it up because it is the first philosphical book I’ve read and the elements are quite strong, to the extent that it manifested into my life even after finishing the book for ages. What is it about? Atlas Shrugged is basically about this philosophy called Objectivism, which is about achieving productivity, happiness, and pursuing reason as absolute. In the book there are two groups of men, the “Atlases”, a group of men who is producing and providing jobs to a world that is degenerating and devolving, and the “looters”, a group of incompetent men who is trying to ride on the success of the “Atlases”, but at the same time trying to stop them to gain further recognition of their own self existence, as if to prove to the world that they are capable of what the “Atlases” can do, and do it just as well. Basically in the book the “Atlases” is a group of industrialists, and the “Looters” is the government. What defines a looter in our world? A looter is basically someone who claims that help should be rendered to them since they are unable to earn themselves. They are people who pursue play instead of productivity. To put simply into the modern world, take for example, the country of America and it’s policies. If you are unemployed, the government will render you help and dispatch you cash to help you until you find your next job. Some people, citing lack of qualifications as reason and high competition, has given up pursuits on finding a new job and practically stayed stagnant, living off the sum rendered by the government every month. This people can also be called the “looters” by the theory of Objectivism, becoming over reliant and has become a person that is not capable of production or contributing. Basically, they are people who complain about having no money when they are not looking for a job, incapable of contributing to the society, people who take instead of give, people who cite need as their reason and demand that help be dispatched. I learned the hard way that a looter will always be selfish, often worrying about whether one might be implicated, instead of thinking how to contribute help if any.

The third thing I learned is that I have to start doing precautions to safeguard and build my wealth. I was motivated in the past, but I am even motivated now, because I’ve seen what wealthy people can do. Being financially free brings you to another step in life, to be able to live the life you always wanted, to not worry about how to handle the problems that might come the next day, to be self employed, and to live life to the fullest. Being wealthy means a higher status in the society, to enjoy memberships and privileges, to afford the nicest clothes, to fine dine at the most beautiful restaurant and many more, the limitless potential it can give. I’ve also realised the need to balance the things that I do, to achieve a line of harmony between my hobbies and work. It is regrettable that sometimes, without good planning, time goes to waste. In life, time waits for no man, someone of the same age as you might have achieved further recognition and greater wealth in life, and I believed that good planning of time is what differentiates the two. Wealth is ambiguous, it can be good, it can be bad. Just like fire, wielded in the right hands and it will be seen as a saviour of life, a bringer of light, but in the incorrect hands, can be destructive and merciless, a silhouette of death. I remembered my dad once asked me (in chinese of course);

What’s the most important problem in your field right now?

I thought of quite a few, but generally it was that I could not get my mind locked on something. Sometimes I say, oh i want to do this and that, but I never really set out all the way to accomplish it. When I wanted to replied him, he seems to sense it and before I spoke he asked another question.

Are you working on your problems?

There was abit of silence then, and he asked,

Why not?

Three simple questions, none which was answered, one clear resolution. Basically what he asked was, what’s your most important problem and why aren’t you doing anything to fix it? Most people would shy away from this question. I did. But right now I understood what he was trying to say.

I lacked patience.

I had to learn all of this in the hard way. I probably won’t be blogging anytime soon, this is a rough patch which I have to overcome. It’s not easy trying to stay focus and not lose myself to this mess.

Obama – Everyone’s happy over someone who’s done nothing yet.

Credit Crisis – Singapore in worst shape since independence in 1965. (I may not even get a job when I graduate and am ready to carve a career)

Minister Pay Cut – Ministers can still expect to take home around S$1.54million after the cuts. Prime Minister Lee still takes home S$3.04 million after a cut of 19%.

World Cup – What happened to the Singapore’s vision of qualifying for the Fifa World Cup in 2010 20100?

Sin City 2 – Release date pushed back by a year. Again.

Keep your eyes where it should belong

I’ve always wanted a bike since I was young. It’s sort of an inherited thing. My father always like to bring me around for rides when I was young, and I think that left a deep impression on me. He is also legendary among summon officers for creating imaginary parking lots, something which I would like to emulate too, albeit with higher skills and finesse in evasion.

Alot people feel that riding a bike is extremely dangerous. I’m not going to deny that fact, but my opinion is that the rider plays a part in his own safety. Some accidents might be caused by the other party’s reckless driving, but most of the time it’s the riders who likes to speed resulting in dire consequences. As compared to car, bikes take up a much lesser surface area on the road. There is more freedom and maneuverability and with that comes the tendacy to speed. It’s true that cars are safer, but it is because most cars don’t speed, not because they don’t want to, but there is no space for them to do so, every few intervals there are traffic lights, and on expressways there are so many cars that you won’t try anything funny unless you have a deathwish. To me it’s more of a psychological barrier, an inner demon, which one must try to understand and conquer, to be able to understand that it is going to be his responsibility to resist the devil’s temptation knocking.

That dry road, the empty stretch ahead, the traffic light turning green any moment, the low hungry humming of your engine, that hot babe in the car beside and the desire to impress. Damn.

I’m hoping to enrol soon and get my license. I’m thinking of getting a bike straight after that, but I’ll see how it goes. 2 years in the army while I leave the beast chained and sheltered seems a little unsettling to me. I also have in mind the model that I’m going to get, but the hassle will be finding the right racing paintworks.

Here are a few bikes that I like.

Suzuki GSX-R

CBR

Honda NSR SP150

GSX-R

GSX-R

Suzuki Hayabusa

Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R

That would be all for now otherwise those non bike lovers will think I’m a junkie.

Till then, can’t wait to get my license. I’m just as excited as those marines yapping, “Hell, it’s about time!”

I always thought having resolutions are for dumb people, I still do, why make a list when you know you can’t fulfill the most of them. But it’s supposed to be a fresh year, so I thought I’d change my mindset a little. Who knows? Having targets and guidelines might just increase productivity around here.

I’ll try and make it as short as possible.

Stay alive.
Get fit.
Eat right.
Earn more money.
Reduce stress.
Take a trip.
Volunteer to help someone.
Frag more girls.
Cut down on gaming.
Get my bike license.
Buy a hat.
Try Popeyes chicken.
Get a goatee.
Read more books.
Sign up for shooting club.
Try wasabi with wine.
Buy game for Xbox.
Meet up with old friends.
Try an adventure camp.
Get a leather shoes.
Be nicer to my sister.
Sport a new hairstyle.
Take care of my laptop.
Get a girl no. during clubbing.
Make no enemies.
Eat less Macdonald’s.
Go out with my dad.
Fix my doorknob.
Try more guitar songs.
Meet more people.
Don’t do things half-heartedly.
Be a charmer.
Reinvoke my fishing passion.
Watch more good movies.
Be more humorous.
Understand people.
Visit my grandmother.
Drink more water.
Go for star-gazing at night.
Don’t be arrogant.
Learn Mahjong.
Attend a car exhibition.
Treat a family dinner.
Don’t let my eyesight deteriorate.
Get a tan.
Chase my debtors.
Take up more hobbies.
Tidy up my room.
Improve mum’s culinary skills by one way or another.
Have a cool gaming nickname.
Indulge in fine dining.
Be more aggressive in chasing girls.
Enjoy music.
Start preparing for army.
Give up seat for elderly on bus.
Learn to keep people’s secrets.
Support a new club.
Don’t binge drink.
Look good.
Get caller ID for my phone.
Eat more fruits and vegetables.
Go for night riding.
Get a short pants.
Repolish my cycling skills.
Start on my future.
Get my bracers.
Don’t fall sick.
Be more independent.
Learn some cool survival tips.
Don’t bet on soccer.
Host a BBQ.
Force a nyonya to cook me nice food.
Don’t flunk my studies.
Finish my comics.
Be more generous.
Practise objectivism.

That’s about it. It wasn’t too hard after all…

9. We don’t have to hate looking at the bills.

8. Girlfriends are high maintenance machines and require lots of care and devotion.

7. We love to live life the carefree way.

6. We can act like a geek and keep playing computer games.

5. We don’t want to meet your parents yet.

4. We love to enjoy eye candy on the dancefloor without fear of bumping into your spy.

3. We have no obligations to remember anybody’s birthday.

2. We are just waiting for the perfect girl, the one in a million. There are over 3 billion females in the world, which leaves me around three thousand girls to pick from. Not bad.

And lastly, the most important reason why a guy chooses not to have a girlfriend. I will probably earn millions for figuring this out first and get featured on The Straits Times.

The most important reason:

1. We want to catch our late night soccer game.

And there you go. Do thank me if you have figured out not to have a girlfriend too. If you are a girl deluded enough and wants to try your luck, feel free to drop me a line. But let me warn you, the odds are one in a million. I won’t bother if I were you.

You must be wondering what did they do. Well..

They brought me to Zouk!

There’s nothing wrong about the former, but its what they teach me inside that is bad. All sorts of things your mummy won’t even wanna mention to you, and they compiled it and gave it in a single shot.

It first started after getting our chop. We decided to go for supper first before clubbing as it was still early and the crowd sucks. Halfway through, I saw my poly friend with a group of her female friends (all freakin’ hot) going to the prata shop for a quickbite, naturally I just said hi, I was already very embarassed running into her there (Don’t ask me why, school and play doesn’t go hand in hand most of the time). After that my friends gave me that “WTF” look like I just let a million dollar opportunity slip out of my hand! Wanna know what they say?

Bad Company: Walao you damn loser leh, all the hot babes there and you just said HI? You know when they walk over the guys from all three tables turn their heads around anot. Go jio her over here eat together or what lah. If you just now sweet talk abit we won’t be like now three gays sitting together
Me: You siao ar, she my poly friend lah
Bad Company: You must understand, (First of the many Theories to come) What happens in a club, stays in a club.

And they even threatened to abandon me inside if I don’t go back and socialise with the girls! I had to go back and chat with my friend and ask her to meet me and bad companies at the dancefloor, I swear, it was the worst 30 secs of my life. Imagine trying to hook up 8 hot babes with a cheesy pick-up line, all staring at you to see whether you will cock up, performing an Olympics gold class gymnastic routine and trying your best to look sane at the same time and you just got what I’ve went through.

Phuture dancefloor

When we went inside, I was a complete dork. I bang onto the glass door (twice), exit through the entrance, accidentally opened the ladies room door (nobody saw heng), tried hard liquor which nearly killed me, and sat on somebody’s handbag.

After all this you would thought that I will stay in the corners to avoid being the centre of attraction and get ridiculed at again, but surprisingly, which I feel may be the liquor wrongdoing, I went straight onto the dancefloor to grind with the babes. ALONE!

If somebody told me that he saw me acting like that before this incident, I would have laugh my head off and scolded him crazy.

But then again, it was an enjoyable experience, but I don’t know got the energy and the guts to go in like that again. I was quite shock by the girls dresscode also. Quite open, very unlike normal Singaporeans.

We met up with kw cute friend, Jasmine.

She’s a very good dancer. And yah, if you curious, I dance like cock.. But first timer lah, will definitely get better!

And Thomas, after all the bad theories he teach, he didn’t even go on dancefloor!! He just sit at the bar and drink. And then after that he pangseh me and kw to bring his drunk friend home. (thats what he says, but I’ve got a strange feeling he got hooked up that night)

Kw with Jasmine

Dance till around 4am, then decided to call it a day. I was very tired already, can’t even feel my legs..

Dead drunk

I really enjoyed myself thoroughly that night. Someday, I gonna go back again, act like a complete dork and dive straight onto the dancefloor for a solo mission. Like what bad company says, what happens in a club, stays in a club!

#5.

Bill  VS  Bride

If you haven’t catch any Quentin Tarantino films (other good ones include Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction), this is the first movie you should probably start with. It’s considered one of the least violent movies in his career even though there’s plenty of blood and gore. So basically, the premise of this movie is about the old klingon proverb – Revenge is a dish best served cold. On a bride’s wedding day, everyone was killed by unknown assailants and she was hurt bad but survived, and now she’s on an unstoppable rage to find the ones responsible.

I like the way where their names are kept unknown till the last part of the movie, it came as a surprise for her name, I didn’t realise they were hinting to it all the time. And the whole time they portrayed Bill as a masochistic lunatic and dangerous person, that when they showed him for the first time, I thought, hell no, there’s something wrong around here!

But nothing is wrong, and I shall not divulge any more information as I might spoil it for those who haven’t seen the movie. The bride is the perfect example of never judge a book by it’s cover, as the movie slowly reveals her solemn past. Bill is the de facto leader, and a charmer in every sense (Hence the nick Snake Charmer), and for that charming skills, I had to declare him the better half among the two.

VERDICT : Bill Wins

#4.

Cloud  VS  Sephiroth

Hmm. This is a difficult one. For those who have not played the game or watch any Final Fantasy 7 media, here’s the punchline. The hero and the villain, they are so similar in character that you can’t differentiate which is which!

Both are mysterious, their motives is unknown to the audience, they don’t talk much and they have an obscured past.  On one hand, Cloud is more of the grim and serious person, quiet and withdrawn (even around pretty girls), but his silence hides whipcord efficiency and his introverted behaviour fuel, feed and strengthen his love and camaraderie for his close ones while on the other hand Sephiroth is the cool cucumber guy that strikes fear in his opponent eyes, calm and composed but hovering on the edge of  trepidation, so much so that you can smell the cloak of death just by looking at him. On some occasions he taunts and toys with his opponent, where he let Cloud lives numerous times, scoffing and despising his inability to stop him.

You are no match for the onslaught of death!

I felt that if someone had to make a choice between the two, it would definitely be made less painful if he or she had watched the final battle scene between Sephiroth and Cloud in Advent Children.

I will never be a memory.

Cloud’s omnislash was extremely captivating, but it was Sephiroth departing scene, his black wing metamorphosis that stole the limelight.

VERDICT :  Sephiroth Wins

#3.

Spiderman  VS  Venom

Spiderman had always been my favourite comic book hero. Somehow he captures every male teenager’s superhero fantasy, in the way that he portrays a normal person, and that connects with the audience. He gets bullied by his classmates, he needs to study for year end examinations, and he deals with puppy love and highschool sweethearts. Need I say more about his winning formula? Does anyone wanna be Superman? A stowaway from an alien planet, wear undies on the wrong side, crunch bullets for breakfast, freaks out at the sight of kryptonite and emits laser from his eyeballs. Guess not.

I can still remember the first time watching the movie. I was at my uncle house, and their player was showing the first Spiderman movie. I sat down at the point where geeky schoolboy rescues Mary Jane from a bunch of thugs, and after that she rewards him with a kiss in the rain. And she did it upside down.

I was sold.

For the next 3 months I dreamt of getting bitten by a spider.  Anyway, after watching the third movie, I had the following thoughts.

- It was a bad decision to include Venom, it was too soon, and they killed him off. Now where’s the bloody payoff? And where are you gonna put Carnage(He’s sorta a 2nd Venom) into the picture now?

- Mary Jane is still very very very sexy. (Hey if you change your mind and dump Parker you could always call me.)

- Is Sandman suppose to be a bad guy or what, he barely appears in the film. What’s all that big outdoor physics particle laboratory and the “it’s probably a bird, it will fly away when we fire up” bullshit?

- How come whenever Venom talks he needs to unmask?

Dude.. That’s so uncool.. All the godly powers in the world and yet you can’t speak through a mask.. It’s really a waste, someone should buy a mouth filter for him.

VERDICT : Spiderman Wins

#2.

James Bond  VS  Le Chiffre

Here’s a take on the world of deception, espionage and deceit. Welcome to the world of secret agents in the twenty first century.

The good guy (obviously James Bond) is sent to stop a high stakes poker game held by a banker (Le Chiffre) to fund terrorism activities. The hero and villain is both well groomed, gentlemen, savvy, modern and knows how to deal with woman. (obviously James Bond again)

The 21st film restarts everything in the James Bond franchise, no more Cold War storyline, and it places Bond in the modern 21st century (Irony huh). In the film, James Bond first achieves his double 0 status by taking out two people in a gruesome manner. The new Bond is arrogant and cocky, but only in the way that he can afford to, and he has much to see and learn on his license to kill. His first mission quickly place him hot on heels on a global terrorist organisation, and it’s associate, Le Chiffre. Le Chiffre is this mathematical genius and chess prodigy guy who acts as a banker for the bad guys, he is merciless, cunning and ruthless. I felt that he is one of the best Bond villains, his inhaler reminds me of another badass villain. Darth Vader. His eyes does not feel, it is cold, dead and lifeless, as if it’s purpose were to act as a visual equipment and nothing more. However, I was kinda disappointed by the way he went out. Bond should deserve the praise, if any, for knowing how to act according to the situation. On many occasions he defies death and take the villains out in the fashioned way, guns and fists.

I believe that the latest Commander Bond (by Daniel Craig) is one of the best few in the series, and you can see that most of the stuns are done physically, the way it used to be in the old days. To hell with the laser emitting Omega watches, invisible DB9, bulletproof-glass-cracking rings, homing missles and computer graphics. Talk to the fist.

VERDICT : Bond Wins

#1.

Lau Kin Meng  VS  Chan Wing Yan

Here’s one of the favourite movies from all time. Infernal Affairs. It came at a time where movies on underworld triad were plentiful and considered a dying and boring genre, and was heralded as a revival of Hong Kong triad movies.

Meng is a mole planted by the triads in the police force, and he rises above the ranks for ten years. Exposed to righteousness, he question his motive and is clearly tormented by his background. Unbeknownst to him, another person is experiencing exactly the same problem, only on the opposite side. Yan is a police mole in the triads who has entangled himself so deep that he’s starting to question his focus and sanity, alongside his compatriots loyalty to him.

Both characters in the film are struggling with their double identities, and throughout the film makes key decisions that could affect each other’s secret identity. Meng is shown to be quite ruthless at times, sacrificing a few things here and there to reach his target. He is intelligent and ambitious, and has no qualms on using them. Yan is a strained undercover officer, and has started to doubt his ability in continuing in his line of work, as shown in his repeated requests to retire. He is loyal and trustworthy, but fears his good side may instead destroys the best of him.

I felt that the tension between the two is extremely enjoyable even up to it’s impacting ending. It never came down to a good guy or bad guy thing, only that the background between the two defines them, one whose working for the triads and the other for the police force.

Yan is more suave and polished among the two, even though he is clearly anguished and tormented throughout the course of action. For those who have not seen the movie, again, I shall not say more. Both are equally good, but if one had to choose, Yan is simply the better one.

VERDICT : Yan Wins

So here it is, ending with three heroes and two villains for the showdown! (Quite balanced liao lah)

Remember Marilyn Monroe?

One of the most captivating woman ever to lived in the world, that even after her death her lover had half a dozen roses delivered to her grave three times a week for thirty years until he died. I like to think about how she started out as a nobody, and her struggling career and how she made it into Hollywood’s A-list celebrities.

I like to think about my friends, and what they live for, the past, the present, or the future.

People who live for the past will go, oh I wish I didn’t do this, or oh I wish she would come back to me. They are full of regrets and they cling on to the past, hoping to be able to relive their experiences.

People who live for the present, they are normally the fun chasers. They probably have less than a hundred dollars in their accounts and they like to enjoy living day by day, going by that “walk one step count one step” theory.

People who live for the future, they are normally more hardworking as they have goals and dreams to fulfill. They are willing to forgo suffering at the present for a better future.

In my opinion, people can be abit of both, but they tend to lean towards one side more. A person can be 60% for the present and 40% for the past. People do change too. Someone who live for the future now might change ten years down the road to live for the present.

I like to think about where my friends are standing at, and I prefer to look at the people who live for the future. Businessmen, musicians, designers, engineers, patriots, scientists.

Here’s to the future, and all those who are going to be part of it.

One of the guys in my class tried redesigning Kerrigan from Starcraft. The end result is a little different. Yeah, I know, she doesn’t wear Levis jeans and dissect Terrans in the game, but it’s just pretty from any angle you look at it, and I thought I might just give him the credit by posting. It’s really not easy to get something like that. My attempt looks like a scraggy monster from a cardboard pop-up book.

You are a piece of work, my friend!

It’s funny how they always appear to be the same.

” If you send this to 10 person in 5 mins, goodluck will come to you and your crush will come knocking on your door after that! It’s strange but it’s true! “

- Don’t send it 2.30am in the morning you stupid fuck, no wonder you can’t get a bloody girlfriend.

” Your mother will die if you don’t send this to 4 person in 4mins! “

- I really can’t find anything to comment on this one, you must be real dumb to believe it.

” Wealth and fortune will come to you if you send it to 18 people in 8 mins! “

- You should try robbing the bank instead.

I can’t believe that all my friends fall of the same trick over and over again. They usually have those phony names like FW: PLEASE READ or what crap, I can almost guess which one’s a spam mail and which one is not.

And surprisingly, they come from the same people who you thought will grow smarter after sending a few mails out like idiots. I had this mother death one from this guy, and the next day he sent me another one telling me Microsoft is giving money for every mail he sent, and the next he sent me pictures of a house that looks as if it’s from a B-grade cheesy horror movie, saying that you must send to blah blah people in blah blah minutes, or the vengeful ghost from the house will come and find you. Hell, I’m even beginning to think that he’s enjoying sending them out.

Please do not try and send me spam mails anymore, or I may be compelled to do the same as a moral obligation.

Get a life huh spammers

Act I
Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess
We seek it thus, and take it to the sky
Ripples form on the water’s surface
The wandering soul knows no rest.

Act II
There is no hate, only joy
For you are beloved by the goddess
Hero of the dawn, Healer of worlds

Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul
Pride is lost
Wings stripped away, the end is nigh

Act III
My friend, do you fly away now?
To a world that abhors you and I?
All that awaits you is a somber morrow
No matter where the winds may blow
My friend, your desire
Is the bringer of life, the gift of the goddess

Act IV
My friend, the fates are cruel
There are no dreams, no honor remains
The arrow has left the bow of the goddess

My soul, corrupted by vengeance
Hath endured torment, to find the end of the journey
In my own salvation
And your eternal slumber

Legend shall speak
Of sacrifice at world’s end
The wind sails over the water’s surface
Quietly, but surely

Act V
Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
To become the dew that quenches the land
To spare the sands, the seas, the skies
I offer thee this silent sacrifice

Haha! Probably done by some homo who couldn’t get a girlfriend. Just a bit of fun lah no offense huh ladies.

Oh my god I wanna shoot myself for ogling at her… Can anyone recommend a church for confessions?

And I just might have deduced the culprit responsible for this national crisis.

Bingo, they are the newest terrorists in town. To explain my reason on this conclusion, I will cite one recent incident. The other day, I was in this store browsing. I decided to get a pack of Ruffles, a cheese and ham sandwich, and a mash potato. So happily I went over to the counter, smiled at the elderly folks, and passed them the items. And guess what the register says. Close to a whopping ten dollars!

The breakdown is as follows;

Ruffles(Chedder and Sour Cream) – $5
Cheese and Ham Sandwich -$3
Mash Potato – $1.35

I mean, wth is going on here? My trips to the mamashop with the same amount can get 1 more pack of Ruffles! They hire elderly folks to work as counter staff so that you will show sympathy and not argue with their smiling faces, which judging by their warm hospitality, might not know the true nature of the company they are working for, they open 24 hours so they can fleece you twice as much, and they have shops at every corner of the city state so that you have no choice but to walk inside one!

But have this got to do with inflation, you ask. Haven’t you seen what this convenience stores are capable of?! First they raise the price of, let’s say, the loafs of bread by 20 cents in all their outlets. This will always be followed by the other supermarkets, and then the smaller grocery stores!

Based on several highly credible sources, I might also have found the motives of the inflation terrorists.

- They have invested heavily in Lehman Brothers stock, only to lose all the money.
- They are the ones setting the benchmark of GST.
- They are actually Cold Storage + FairPrice in disguise. (Hence the rival store Cheers)
- The owner might actually be Mas Selamat.

It’s like a slow, dark, descent into hell.

It’s screwing around with my mind.

It’s injecting philosphical fantasies and I find myself chanting them.

It’s affecting the way I see people.

It’s full of despair, tragedy and unexplainable rage.

It’s turning me into a pessimist.

I’m halfway through, but it cost me so much, I’m thinking why did I even picked up this book. But I need to find out what happens at the end though, I must.

Now I know why they created Bioshock, the video game that tries to recreate an “utopian” city called Rapture inspired by Ayn Rand backdrop. She’s good in screwing up the readers’ mind.

You don’t believe me? Try a shot.

“The more certain you feel of your rational conclusions, the more certain you are to be wrong. Your brain being an instrument of distortion, the more active the brain the greater the distortion.”
“The giants of the intellect, whom you admire so much, once taught you that the earth was flat and that the atom was the smallest particle of matter. The entire history of science is a progression of exploded fallacies, not of achievements.”
“The more we know, the more we learn that we know nothing.”
“Only the crassest ignoramus can still hold to the old-fashioned notion that seeing is believing. That which you see is the first thing to disbelieve.”
“A scientist knows that a stone is not a stone at all. It is, in fact, identical with a feather pillow. Both are only a cloud formation of the same invisible, whirling particles. But, you say, you can’t use a stone for a pillow? Well, that merely proves your helplessness in the face of actual reality.”
“The latest scientific discoveries—such as the tremendous achievements of Dr. Robert Stadler—have demonstrated conclusively that our reason is incapable of dealing with the nature of the universe. These discoveries have led scientists to contradictions which are impossible, according to the human mind, but which exist in reality nonetheless.
If you have not yet heard it, my dear old-fashioned friends, it has now been proved that the rational is the insane.”
“Do not expect consistency. Everything is a contradiction of everything else. Nothing exists but contradictions.”
“Do not look for ‘common sense.’ To demand ‘sense’ is the hallmark of nonsense. Nature does not make sense. Nothing makes sense. The only crusaders for ‘sense’ are the studious type of adolescent old maid who can’t find a boy friend, and the old-fashioned shopkeeper who thinks that the universe is as simple as his neat little inventory and beloved cash register.”
“Let us break the chains of the prejudice called Logic. Are we going to be stopped by a syllogism?”
“So you think you’re sure of your opinions? You cannot be sure of anything. Are you going to endanger the harmony of your community, your fellowship with your neighbors, your standing, reputation, good name and financial security—for the sake of an illusion? For the sake of the mirage of thinking that you think? Are you going to run risks and court disasters—at a precarious time like ours—by opposing the existing social order in the name of those imaginary notions of yours which you call your convictions? You say that you’re sure you’re right? Nobody is right, or ever can be. You feel that the world around you is wrong? You have no means to know it. Everything is wrong in human eyes—so why fight it? Don’t argue. Accept. Adjust yourself. Obey.”

(The author is not writing crap. It’s a prelude.)

Now you’re talking.

Quantum of Solace didn’t disappoint.. But it didn’t answered many questions that I was looking for when I went into the theatre. I felt it wasn’t as good as the first one also. Unlike Casino Royale, there was no payoff for this one.

Another few things I noticed, Bond didn’t mention his favourite drink again!

A dry Martini, with three measures of Gordon’s, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it’s ice-cold, not stirred, then add a large thin slice of lemon peel.

In the first movie, when asked whether he likes it shaken or stirred, he replies, do i look like i give a damn?

In this movie, he’s seen drinking it, but someone else describes the drink.

He didn’t delivered his golden line which he always use to introduce himself! (Hence I had to do it for him)

I didn’t wanted to sleep after that, so I watched some cartoons till 8am for school. Was it fear or was it just a heightened sense of things?

In class now, feel like sleeping…… zzZ

Our gift, infinite in mystery, that is what defines you and me. Some say the way the stars are aligned already shows how your life is going to be live by you. I believe I control what I do, and I believe every man is entitled to the same decisions that is available to me as well. Opportunities come and go, it is how you grasp them and use it to your fullest that will make you successful. Poverty, the Democrats believe that it is caused by social problems and inequality, and that for people to succeed in life, they should start with an equal playing field, they believe in aids that increases productivity, while Republicans believe that everyone is allowed to make his or her individual choices, and that they should live with the consequences. In this aspect they see poverty as an individual problem rather than a social one. Why is it that on such a simple topic can there be such a diversity of views?

Some people say, ” aiyah, don’t do it lah, this kind of thing nobody try before, you want to be hero. ” Why is it that we have to walk down the paths set by our predecessors?

A lone wolf; an unending battle and it’s cradle of filth.

If this is my destiny, I’m going to deny it, if this is what the gods sent me, I’m going to defy it.

I never lose.

His desire for her had died in the first week of their marriage. What remained was only a need which he was unable to destroy. He had never entered a whorehouse; he thought, at times, that the self-loathing he would experience there could be no worse than what he felt when he was driven to enter his wife’s bedroom.
He would often find her reading a book. She would put it aside, with a white ribbon to mark the pages. When lie lay exhausted, his eyes closed, still breathing in gasps, she would turn on the light, pick up the book and continue her reading.

He told himself that he deserved the torture, because he had wished never to touch her again and was unable to maintain his decision. He despised himself for that. He despised a need which now held no shred of joy or meaning, which had become the mere need of a woman’s body, an anonymous body that belonged to a woman whom he had to forget while he held it. He became convinced that the need was depravity.
He did not condemn Lillian. He felt a dreary, indifferent respect for her. His hatred of his own desire had made him accept the doctrine that women were pure and that a pure woman was one incapable of physical pleasure.

Through the quiet agony of the years of his marriage, there had been one thought which he would not permit himself to consider; the thought of infidelity. He had given his word. He intended to keep it. It was not loyalty to Lillian; it was not the person of Lillian that he wished to protect from dishonor—but the person of his wife.

He thought of that now, standing at the window. He had not wanted to enter her room. He had fought against it. He had fought, more fiercely, against knowing the particular reason why he would not be able to withstand it tonight. Then, seeing her, he had known suddenly that he would not touch her. The reason which had driven him here tonight was the reason which made it impossible for him.
He stood still, feeling free of desire, feeling the bleak relief of indifference to his body, to this room, even to his presence here. He had turned away from her, not to see her lacquered chastity. What he thought he should feel was respect; what he felt was revulsion.

“. . . but Dr. Pritchett said that our culture is dying because our universities have to depend on the alms of the meat packers, the steel puddlers and the purveyors of breakfast cereals.”

Why had she married him?—he thought. That bright, crisp voice was not talking at random. She knew why he had come here. She knew what it would do to him to see her pick up a silver buffer and go on talking gaily, polishing her fingernails. She was talking about the party.
But she did not mention Bertram Scudder—or Dagny Taggart.

What had she sought in marrying him? He felt the presence of some cold, driving purpose within her—but found nothing to condemn. She had never tried to use him. She made no demands on him. She found no satisfaction in the prestige of industrial power—she spurned it—she preferred her own circle of friends. She was not after money—she spent little—she was indifferent to the kind of extravagance he could have afforded. He had no right to accuse her, he thought, or ever to break the bond. She was a woman of honor in their marriage. She wanted nothing material from him.

He turned and looked at her wearily.

“Next time you give a party,” he said, “stick to your own crowd.
Don’t invite what you think are my friends. I don’t care to meet them socially.”
She laughed, startled and pleased. “I don’t blame you, darling,” she said.

He walked out, adding nothing else.
What did she want from him?—he thought. What was she after?

In the universe as he knew it. There was no answer.

———————————————

Women; meaningful pursuits or disposable pleasures?

Welcome back, comrade.

This was one of the first RTS games I ever played! Brings back lots of fond memories. I remember that the special agent Tanya in it was one of my first loves of my life. Other than the pink ranger, of course. There will be many more to come after her, but let’s not talk about it.

Anyway, they replace the old Tanya in Red Alert 2 for a new one!

Yum. Well if she doesn’t work out fine there’s Kelly Hu too.

To end on another note, I can’t wait for Quantum of Solace! It better be good, especially after what they did to Vesper. She is the next best thing that happened to me after the Pink Ranger. And Tanya. And.. and, and. Well, sad to say, thats all for the “many more to come after her” .

We had to keep the tiger from sleeping this time. It would be disastrous if he goes on sleeping like no tomorrow.

Anyway, we went back to infiltrate those devilish imps headquarters. You know the saying that goes, if you can’t beat them, join them! So here we are with our rubber duckies and toy boats, slowly becoming kids in the process…

We met John and Samuel in the process. The slides in the picture, there’s Blue, Pink, Yellow(Can’t see), and the blue and pink slides must be sat together with a float. Those sons of bitches jump in straight and leave their float wobbling behind! And it got even funnier when one of their floats got stuck and didn’t came out.

And thanks to Xiaohei and Dippy who keeps trying to sink me on the lazy river(I swear guys, in case you haven’t notice, I’m on a float), I’ve got water in my ear and can’t hear properly for 3 days. And oh yeah dippy that elbowed on me when you tried to capsize us must have felt gratifying for you… I’ll get ya

Didn’t really get enough of the wave pool though. Should have grabbed those floats and camp there. It would be fun when there’s 5 people on the float down at 1.9m trying to capsize each other when the wave starts coming.

yy , Dippy, xXQiQiXx, Jimmy AKA TigerSlayer, me. Xh’s taking the picture.

yy lost his specs! Hahahahahahahahahahaha. That’s what happens to heroes who wear their spectacles into the lazy river. Seriously, with all that water gushing around, I won’t be surprised if your swimming trunks gets washed away. Not that I would look anyway.

He’s acting like he knows where the camera is, but if you look closer, his eyes are directed somewhere else! LOL! Probably at the president, I guess.

Favourite chilling spot, Mushroom Hideout! Didn’t get the chance to chill there on the second visit though. Too bloody crowded.

Awwww, he finally found the right direction to look.

Need help, anyone who knows about guitar please tell me!

Nothing seems to have changed for me. It’s all the same, school and holidays. It’s time when you’ve got nothing to do, that you have alot to think about. Blah Blah Blah I don’t know!

Good old days. Anyway, I actually realise something. Friendships are so difficult to mantain! Sometimes when you don’t talk to a friend for awhile, things start to get lax, and then it starts to get to the point where you have nothing to talk about, and before you know it, you don’t recognise each other on the streets anymore! I saw my primary school beau on the streets. I guess she don’t remember me anymore. I used to be such a nerd! Gaaaah. For some reason, no matter how long it’s been, girls always seem to stay as pretty as they used to be, while guys take their whole life to look better. Hell, that’s not fair!

My brain’s been wrecked pretty good by excessive indulgence in holidays. I just want to lie down on a green patch of meadows sipping coke and stare away into the blue skies for the whole day . . .

The first time I really did something crazy, I was probably around 6. I was maybe half a pint, no bigger than a shoe’s shinebox, and I climbed on the closet and made it toppled over me.  It was like, the golden age of exploration, I was curious about everything, and the more someone tells me otherwise the more I wanna do it. Like the sweets that you see everywhere near the Ntuc counter but Mum pledge ignorance and doesn’t buy for you, and you end up making a mess with everyone watching and an embarassed Dad has to drag you out of the Supermart. Anyway, I think I was getting my undies and getting ready to bath, when I thought to myself about the monsters that were hiding on top of my closet. So being the curious me, I climbed on it and wanted to peek-a-boo and show them whose the boss, when, halfway up, the whole closet toppled over me. I can’t remember what happened next, but my mum told me later when I grew up, that I didn’t even made a single noise when the closet toppled, and for a moment they thought I was dead, only to find me staring blankly at nothing when they raised the closet.

When I was in secondary school, I was helluva bad kid. I was the typical bad guy, well, someone has to be the bad guy. Me and one friend of mine took a pc magazine and ran away, it doesn’t sound glamorous in font and letters, but I thought, that was one of the craziest stun I’ve pulled since I was born. Everyone was watching, and we did it. I won’t do something like that now, I won’t have the energy to keep up and I’m too old for that shit already. It’s amazing how we grow as time passes. When I was 13, I was always sick of my dad, he’s always around trying to teach me things, and that I thought I was smarter than him, but when I’m 18, I’m shocked by how much he learned in that 5 years.

And then today, I nearly got into a fight with another guy. I was checking out this cute chick in front of the line at the bubble tea shop, when a guy just cut into the line. So me, being stupidly chivalrous, told that guy to get the hell back in line, who turns out to be the chick’s boyfriend. How inconveniently nice.

So, to all the single lads out there, the next time someone cuts your queue, shut the hell up, or you will be sipping yakult and typing out your misfit adventure like what I’m doing now.

I wasn’t really expecting it, but after awhile, I knew that I had to give a comeback, and I managed to force an awkward smile. Her eyes fluttered awhile, and she shifted her focus. To me, I thought that was lovely.

So, what makes a girl unforgettable?

You know, forget all about the crap on tv that says, ” oh you know, you have such a great heart, even though you are hideous, I will love you forever and ever until the end of universe”. It’s bullshit, and the sad truth is, it does matters. Looks are the decisive factor that will spark the chemistry between two strangers when they first meet. That butterfly knot you get when you first meet your cute neighbour as compared to the fat yakult salesgirl? Yeah. Now you get what I mean.

Every time a guy sees a girl, there’s some sort of mechanical clockwork working around in his brain. We all have a scale in which we “rate” girls. Each of us have different preferences, which I learned when my friend ranked a girl quite high on his scale whereas if it was on my scale I would have given a pretty low score. But we guys all have a twilight zone where it is generally agreed that any girls labelled in the scale will be beyond redemption.

While writing this, I suddenly feel the urge to talk about this issue. It just occurred to me that there is a new trend rising. When you first meet a stranger, there will always be some “ice-breaking” talk to try and connect with each other. It’ll always be something in which both have a common interest, like soccer or gaming. I was at this international event, and I was conversing with a student from England.

Me: Hi welcome to Singapore, how do you find things here?

shake hands*

Him: Thank you mate, it’s great. The country’s beautiful. Just not too used to the warm weather.

Me: Hahah, it’s like Hawaii. Only difference is that we get arrested for chewing gums.

laughs*
at this point i was already starting to think of “ice breaking” talk, and i was gonna talk about the English Premier League when he asked-

Him: Hey do you know Rain?

Me: Oh yeah, the Korean guy?

Him: Nono. Rain, Rain Chang.

WTF! I was totally stunned on the spot. I will not go into details as it is kinda long, but he asked me to take a gun and shoot Rain if I ever see he/her it. Google the name if you don’t know what I’m talking about, it wouldn’t be hard to find. I mean, now everyone’s talking about her! In the school canteen, on MIRC, in camping trips, everywhere! I don’t mean to be bad, I personally know her and I’m trying to maintain neutrality on both sides, but it’s like everywhere you go in Singapore, everyone knows her! Even England know her! I won’t be surprised if the promotion for Singapore Tourism Board next year is, ” Welcome to Singapore! We have the Merlion, Singapore Zoo, Esplanade, Chilli Crabs and Rain!”
I would describe her current status as ” Critically Acclaimed Worldwide “.

I guess I’ll end here. It’s hard to get back on topic after talking about Rain. I mean, this is supposed to be a why girls attract us post and not the other way round, and unlike that situation I had, there can be no comeback for this one.

The air’s stale this days. There’s a cold stench smothering in the night, like being shackled on to a deadweight, only to discover there isn’t any, and being distraught; deranged; demented, makes it all feels like everything’s happening in the bosom of hades itself.

The US recession is hitting hard. It doesn’t concerns me a damn, but it just goes to show, that even the strongest can topple down sometimes.

My mom’s on a 4D rampage again. Well actually, she’s on it 24/7, 365 days so theres nothing worth mentioning about. It’s just kinda funny to see her lose when the results come out. Hahaha. I think I’ll chip in for a stake next week. If I win, I’ll probably consider giving Lehman Brothers a piece of my share.

Of course, I didn’t buy what they say, but I still had to get one, since it was compulsory.

When I bought my Macbook, I didn’t got too happy either. They came in white, and I learned that buying a black colour one will cost you $200 more, for no good reason and with no technical specs upgraded. I don’t really like white. White makes me feel gay. The price is already quite expensive as compared to other Microsoft Windows based laptops, at $2,000/++.

When I opened up the box, they had this postcard at the top of the pile. It simply says, ” Congratulations, you just bought a Macbook. ” And it came in white. Hello? If you don’t have anything to write, then don’t write a postcard. Don’t congratulate me for buying a laptop that makes me feel gay, it pisses me off.

The first major problem came just roughly one year after I bought it. And thats when the warranty ends. . Smart lads they have there at Apple, I would say. Apparently my battery had broke down due to overcharging, and everytime I start my laptop without plugging it into a socket, it would just shut itself down after 5-15mins. Great. What’s the difference between a desktop and a laptop which can’t work unless being plugged?

And then I heard from a coursemate, that the Macbook for this year were technically much more superior, at the same price. They doubled the ram, added a graphic card( We had motherboards graphic card), and increased the processor speed. It was to support the official release of bootcamp, a program which allows you to install Windows on a Macbook. (…???)

Then came the error messages. Reminds me of the errors on the first computer I had.

Keyboard not found!
Press F1 to continue…

I thought that was retarded, until my Macbook started showing me error messages when it boots. It does get increasingly irritating over time.

?SYNTAX ERROR IN 20

The question mark acting as the lead-in blows me off, as if the computer is raising it’s eyebrow and marveling at my stupidity, and the redundent 20 just triggers it all away.

That’s where a Bucket List comes in. So what’s a Bucket List? Contrary to those wishlists where you write about how much you hope to buy that rubber ducky from Econ or get a new haircut that looks like Chen YiFeng, the Bucket List is something that you will dedicate your life into accomplishing before you step into your grave. Imagining yourself having 6 more months to live. What would you try to do in that period? If you have watched the movie you’ll understand what I mean.

So what’s my Bucket List?

1. Earn a million
2. Sky diving on the alps
3. Rock climbing in the Himalayas
4. Kiss the most beautiful woman in the world
5. Test drive a Mercedes Benz SLR Mclaren
6. Visit the Louvre Museum in Paris
7. Learn rifle shooting
8. Kiss my mum
9. Spam my son with soccer tips
10. Learn fencing
11. Travel around the world

I like travelling. I think that would be fun. Then I would pick up different personalities for different places. I could be a secretive spy in London, and then be a hardened surfer in Hawaii. I guess another thing that I really like about travelling is that you get to meet alot of people, and you’ll notice that some of them are really warm and sweet.

My Bucket List has just the right explosive touch and fulfillment in it. If I can accomplish all of them, someday when I look back at the things that I’ve done, I don’t think I will have many regrets in my life.

I just checked the website, hell, all the tickets are sold out! Cheapest starts from $38, and it’s got a crappy view, and even that is sold out! My dad says what’s amazing about those powerhouse is the sound that their engines emit. Apparently you can feel the whole ground shaking and the engine blasting away in your eardrums..  Just quite the thing to kickstart my adrenaline.

I’ve always been a car lover. My obssession first started when my cousin hooked me onto playing Need For Speed:Hot Pursuit with him. I remember my first car was the Porsche 911.

The evolution of the 911. Perfection.

And here’s the car I got hooked after. Behold, the world fastest car, Buggati Veyron.

I know I probably should stop now, but here’s the Koenigsegg CCX.

An artwork of the Enzo Ferrari.

Mazda RX7

Lamborghini Reventón

My 1st all time favourite, Mazda Taiki.

And my second all time favourite.

The Mercedes Benz SLR Mclaren.

Opps. I think I overshot it.

I could go on forever, but I guess that’s enough for today. Sorry to bore those non car lovers anyway.

As for the F1 race, let’s just see how it goes. Well, if things start to get bad, I may have to shoot 1 or 2 guys and steal their entry pass, but as for now, let just stay tune to channel 5.

Germaine don’t want to talk to me! Okay lor try to emotionally blackmail me..I don’t fall for it!! Nevermind I post one hot steamy pic of me all girls come liao.. HAHA!

oi i buy u the ice cream lah.. stupid girl.. put poisen kill u

During one of such gatherings, we started talking about each other parents. I found it quite amusing on how most of the girls converse with their parents. Most of them go through things like thank you, goodnight daddy, and remember their parents birthdays. I don’t remember their birthdays, kinda guilty when I say that!

When it’s the boys turn, we took our time to confess our horrible tales. I noticed most of them are closer to their mom than their dads(It’s the same for me either). And, I’m not lying when I say this, some of them don’t even talk to their dad!

For one guy, it is the other way round, his dad talks and nags to him, example like study hard and dont stay out late all this, but he doesn’t talk back, like one ear in one ear out that kind. He never talks a lot to his dad except to ask pocket money or other necessities. Another guy, he had a major quarrel with his dad over his gf, and since then, he have never talked to him at all. All communications go through their mother, for like 8 years? He’s 24 now. The third guy, which is a close friend of mine, also has the same problem. His father sorta gave up on him due to his failing grades and his gaming addiction problem, after numerous warnings, and he didn’t give a damn at all.

For me, don’t freak out when I say this, I once took a chopper and told my father I wanted to kill him. My parents were having a big fight at that time, and I guess I should never have put my foot into the conflict. But surprisingly, me and my dad were always quite close, we always had common topics to talk about, like cars or bikes or fishing or soccer or pirates or bubble gum. We could talk about everything we see. But the problem is, we are rarely together. It is either I’m working, or he’s working, or I’m in school, don’t count the times at home, I’m always in front of my computer.

My father told me he had daddy issues when grandpa was alive too. He died after the second war, and grandma was the one who brought him up. Most guys just can’t communicate with their daddy well.

Let’s just hope that when I grow up, my son doesn’t chase me around with a chopper.

And, to mum & dad, I’ll try to remember your birthdays!

My grandfather used to be a heavy chain smoker, and he passed away a few years back. Maybe that’s why I never pick up smoking, I watched him die. He really loved me, I used to be his favourite grandson when we were all small kids. We sort of drifted apart when I grew bigger. I didn’t know how it happened, there just came a point where we ain’t talking anymore.

Towards the end of his life, he made several last attempts to change. I guess when you know you’re going to die, you will spend the very last few moments correcting the mistakes that you’ll regret bringing into the grave.

I believed that he apologised to my grandmother for leaving first, for the first time my grandma was told of his condition she broke down in tears, they loved each other, only to be seperated by death in the end.

Even after his death, we will always remember him as who he was. The firm and decisive decision maker of the family, avid fisher, hardcore Manchester United fan (I swear!), and striking the lottery 5 times a year(I double swear!).

He’s long gone, but I still see him everyday. In my mother’s smile, in my cousin’s eyes, in me.

I’ve changed alot too. Both physically and mentally. There will come a point where I’ll be as strong as my grandfather, and it’ll be up to my generation to carry on the legacy that our grandchildrens will tell after we kick the bucket. Nobody’s perfect, but at least those who are willing to change for the better will aim to strive closer to it.

One day, I would like to bump into someone I once knew, and comment on how hot she is since we last met. Isn’t life great this way, full of surprises, never knowing what might happen or who would show up at the next corner.

Tasked with a new mission to save the world and on the path of unstoppable rage, I invited my fellow kids killing adversaries.

Sq – turn me down because he had to hand in his textbook in school. (Read it the nerd way)
Panda – ………This guy actually love kids. (He thinks they got potential)
Dippy – Agreed but went home and didn’t came back. (Presumed KIA)
XiaoHei – Agreed but went home and didn’t came back. (Presumed KIA)

With not much choice left, I decided to hire my 2 most dangerous partners.

Behold…

Shen Feng ( God Of Wind )

White Tiger Bandits Leader

And here is our battleground.

Behold again..

It bloody goddamn looks like tellytubbies land, but I assure you, the devils are definitely hiding there.

But for some reason, the mission didn’t quite turn out as I would have expected, due to some several many hot babes walking around, and the attractions were too deadly! Lazy river, wave pool, slides, some mushroom shelters, water guzzler etc and you could do it all over again!

We were supposed to keep a low profile on a clandestine operation, but look.

I caught this when he wasn’t looking, and yes, the sign besides him says
NO SMOKING!
Jeez.

And for some reason, the God Of Wind suddenly starts to lie down on a chair and enjoy the sun!

And what’s worse, my Tiger Slayer suddenly decided to be The Sleeping Buddha!

Sleeping Tiger, Hidden Dragon.

But all in all, we had a good day!

And to all the little devils out there, beware.

I’ll be back.

I suppose you don’t understand what I mean. Of course you don’t. Let me fill you in.

Way back, I found this job at Evolution, Parklane Shopping Mall. I used to be an old customer there, and so when I asked for a job I was given the opportunity by Basil, the boss of Evolution. I was in need of money at that time, saving for a bike, so I thought that I would fit in nicely with my new job.

I remembered the first day I showed up for work, he greeted me like a gentlemen, we shook hands, had a little small chat, and we went downstairs where he supposingly had another new branch with a wider capacity for computers. When we got into that place, it was in a mess. Basil reaction was shocking. He practically blew up in front of me. His head went a little red and swell, his shrewd eyes darted around, his hands flew around, stomp around and he started spewing vulgurities. I thought that was a big contrast from my first impression of him.

And then there was this time when I got dragged by him into having a coffee session-meeting-rendezvous-bonding-interrogation.
(reproduced here almost verbatim):

“Eh.”

“Yah?”

“I tell you, I got this plan to take Parklane by storm.”

“Issit? What plan?”

“I want to create a food cafe.”

“Food Cafe?”

“Yaaaah. Sell pancakes.”
Nods and grins* at me.

So turn out, his brilliantly soddy plan is to create a cafe where everyone will gather there and eat pancakes.

Wow.

And it is supposed to be affiliated with Evolution as there will be a board there and people can have matches fix with each other. How is that for a start. A pancake cum gaming cafe. And yay, hooray for Basil with this wonderful plan to take Parklane by storm, it never did materialise in the end.

And he lies.

“No lah bro, shop not earning money leh. No budget, no budget.”

“Money with XiaoShun.”

“Eh I tell you, I goalkeeper very rough one leh. Yaaah. I scare later I fight with them.

“Actually I got 8 business. Evo earn peanuts.”

“Good job bro. Good job. Keep it up.” (He lies through his teeth when he says this, for those noobies who really got con, we’ve heard it a zillion times)

After a series of events, in which saw me becoming the AM and back to a normal staff again, here I am, looking at the schedule in which my name is circled on Fri & Sat(Peak period), and at the same time, on the phone with The Amazingly Fat Conman, listening to him try his way to con me around.

“Because you my star worker mah. Fri and Sat if you don’t handle, I will worry, you know. The way you do things excellent. You see I got sent spy when you work anot. Don’t have what. I trust you bro. Keep up the good work. Click* “

Yawns.

So much for the prep talk. I know I’m meant for something bigger.

Something like the Anti-Basil Revolution.

Sign up now for the cause.

Join the Fight.