Fly High...Sky High!

Places that I have visited and would want to go again:
1) Taiwan
2) Thailand
3) Hong Kong
4) Shanghai/Shen Zhen
5) London
6) France
7) Indonesia
8) Singapore (hmm...then again...)

Place that I have visited and would never return (even if there's 1,000,000 dollars in it for me):
1) Cambodia (Scammers galore)
2) Prague (The most depressing country during winter)
3) Dubai (Nothing but sand in butt cracks)
4) Australia (Did someone mention racists?)

Places I would love to visit in the following couple of years:
1) Canada
2) Rome
3) Greece
4) South Korea
5) The rest of China
6) Portugal (I would love to meet my Figo)
7) Brazil

The Invisible Man

Another year.

Another break-up.

Is it even possible to maintain a monogamous relationship in this day and age?

I was in a serious relationship for 4 months, 2 of which I spent half drunk and half not bothered and the rest I spent sober with heated arguments. I used to think I loved this guy, but as the time ticked away, I could not see a future with him.

When I'm in a relationship, I would dream of a future with the man I'm with, an apartment in Damansara Heights, a bed together, a car which we can't afford because of our measly salaries, a wedding in Canada during autumn. At this point I need to remind you readers, that yes I do have a dick and a pair.

With Lester (not his real name), I could not see anything. Sometimes I would think to myself, why am I with him? Feelings for him are there, but I don't think I would go to the extent of calling it "love". Then I thought to myself, why should I spend time with a guy I don't love? Is it because I'm already used to his presence?

I needed time to figure out, so I did a one week trial where I hardly contacted him and analyzed our relationship from every angle possible. After what seemed like hell throughout the week of him trying to pick fights with me and me not communicating with him, I decided it was time to end things.

He decided to bring everything I left at his place back to me, which was initially my fault as I did tell him I wanted things to be black and white, my things are mine and his things are his. I am a guy like that, I like lines to be drawn.

I did hurt him.

And I'm not proud of it.

As I looked into his eyes, I could see that he was burnt by me. I could tell by the way that he told me he was now dating other men.

Is it possible, through all my experiences of dating men, through all the experiences of getting hurt, through all the tears I spent crying over lost loves, are channeled through my new dating persona?

Someone wise once told me that through experience comes growth. But growth in a horizontal way, or vertically? Good or bad? Halal or non-halal?

With all these dating experiences tucked away in my pocket, have I turned into a soulless being who cannot feel the hurt of other people? Am I that jaded?

All I can think of aren't the answers, but instead;

How cliche to analyze oneself after break-ups.

I'm Not Dead...Yet.

It's been too long since my last posting and I've decided to give blogging another go.

Work with the UN is quite hectic and work never seem to end. But on a light note, surprisingly I got a letter from a refugee the other day with my name written on it. I almost never get snail mail and it was a pleasant surprise for me that day. The only catch is, I was not allowed to open it (in case it contained trace amounts of anthrax or unleash a new strain of herpes, etc), but still it was a little funny.

These past few months have been tiring. With less than a good ample 8 hours sleep a night, my eye bags have turned into humongous garbage bags. Trash anyone?

Ah right. I got a new tattoo as well. I'm quite sure a few people have seen it since I've been proudly parading it around with my sleeves rolled up in an awful fashion. It is fashion faux pas, but if you got it, flaunt it.

Things have been exciting these couple of days, with my ex-lecturer getting arrested under the Sedition (need I say stupid?) Act and groups having vigils and protests. I wish I had attended at least one, but being a silly gay boy, I went for my gym class instead.

I am also very proud of the Monash students for organizing the protest against WCH's arrest. Kudos to ML. I am upset at myself for not turning up for the event. Work is not an excuse, although it is mine.

The same day, during the Perak State Assembly, I could feel the electricity in the air as I was refreshing The Edge's website every 5 minutes to catch a good friend of mine posting updates live from Perak.

As I have not exactly been politically active these couple of months, I miss the adrenaline rush I used to get when going to protests and vigils; the air would suddenly turn cold when something was going to happen and you would not know what would happen until it hits you or when people start running. Bringing the "Protest Bag" consisting of small bags of salt, plastic bags, a towel and the Malaysian Flag.

Sigh.

The only consolence I have for myself is the thought that there is definitely more to come...

Public-action

It's been a while since I've updated my blog. Mostly because I've been brain-dead everyday when I come back from work and since I face the computer daily typing in bio-data and verifying candidates, I do not want to spend the rest of my time facing a computer.

It's been good so far. I've never thought being away from a computer would be liberating.

I've recently been asked to send in a short story for possible publication. I haven't exactly gotten very far but I have a basic idea of what I want to write and how I want to write it. I spent the first half of yesterday writing lines and erasing them cause they were so trivial and boring.

I realized trying to transform an experience into words is hard, especially when you're trying desperately to hide the fact that it is your very own experience. I've been trying to tackle this angle by writing in a third person point of view but as a memoir. I suppose if it is not written correctly, it would fail miserably.

I'm hoping that my editors would like it, but knowing their artsy fartsy mentality, they would probably laugh at my feeble attempt to write.

Whilst I digress from writing, I've contacted Borneo Ink in hopes of getting a new tattoo. Once I get it, I'll discuss more about it.

As for now, it's back to the drawing board...and work tomorrow.

Monday blues always get the best of me.

The Lost Art of Writing

After a long day of work, I like to unwind with a cold beer. With every sip, I can feel the elixir flow down my throat and replenish my energy. Ahh...whoever made beer is my God.

My ambrosia.

Today, I was heading out to the gym when I came across a letter addressed to me. I've never gotten letters, only bills under my name. As I was late and on the phone, I grabbed it and drove off to the gym. A couple of hours later I came back into my car and looked at the letter. It was still addressed to me. I know who wrote it but I can't seem to get over the fact that people write letters still. With our technological savvy-ness, who would have thought that people still write?

That got me thinking, when was the last time I wrote a letter. It was in Grade 4 and it was to my pen-pal...from...I can't even remember. To think about it even more, I have never really written a post-card and mailed it.

Writing on the walls.

I love writing, but to actually sit down and write to someone personally, I don't think I can do that. I'm able to spill my guts and emotions out on this blog but I don't really think about my readers. I usually just write because I can and I want to. Not for people to read, but for my own personal development.

It's about time; I should write and mail something off.

Or maybe I'm just scared someone would read my chicken feet handwriting and laugh.

Ha ha.

An Atrocious Little Play On Love

I went for a play yesterday called A Crazy Little Thing Called Love produced, created and directed by Colin Kirton. As there were good reviews for this play, my friend and I thought it would be interesting to see what sort of concepts and direction they would take.

Throughout the first act, I was appalled. It was not the bad acting, but I was disgusted by how they were trying to dictate what family values are; heterosexual hierarchic Western ideologies on what families should be. You have the infamous skit called Lost In Transmission, where you get an insight into how "Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus". What a load of crock. First of all, it stereotypes how women are emotional and are in need of constant attention whereas men are emotionally stagnant in relationships and need to be constantly reminded that they are in a relationship.

Then you have the whiny couple, who got married; the husband being the provider and the woman being the naggy emotional baggage that everyone seems to hate carrying. Repeating the lines "You've changed" about ten million times is excruciatingly painful for the ears and to watch the dramatic skit unfold itself is painstaking for the eyes. It was extremely cheesy and if I could, I would puke and shit at the same time on how bad it was.

Bad actors! Shame on you. You ought to be spanked.

Oh no. It doesn't stop there. If you think the first act was bad, I stayed till the end of the second act. It got worse from there.

You have a reworked blog entry by a guy from Singapore who's father had cancer. They reworked the entry (I hope they got permission) and called it I Am My Father's Son. It was a futile monologue that did not engage with the audience at all. On top of that I was so angry that they reworked someone else's work and put a storyline into it. YOU DO NOT DO THAT. That is just plagiarism and bad script-writing. Plus the creator pumped in words that were loaded with sympathetic connotations in order to captivate the audience. It sucked. Trust me, it really sucked.

Last but not least, you would think that there would be at least a little bit of artistic direction into this play, but no. There was not. They over-utilized the Hollywood feel-good movie blockbusters and had other stuff like the 30 year old woman who wanted her father's love and the girl who was angry at her mother for leaving the father and had cheese-filled lines like "I forgive you Mommy", just think of Britney Spears in Crossroads and you would get the idea.

This is the cherry on top of the icing, they used the phrase "I Love You" over 50 times. If I had learned anything from Writing 101 it was to Show and Not Tell. Now that is just bad writing and rude to deep-throat an audience for 110 minutes with "I Love You"s.

Since today is the last day of the play, I can't exactly advise anyone not to go anymore, but I would advise no one to go to another play directed, created OR produced by Colin Kirton.

No more abuse please Mr Kirton. My mind can not fathom how you created such atrocities.

Sick & Tired

I realized I haven't been updating my blog. That's because I haven't exactly gotten the free time to be able to write. I miss having the days when I pour my heart and soul into my writing. Now it just seems like a chore.

I'm currently down with a bad cold and cough. My body's still trying to adjust to the early mornings and constant contact with sick refugees and asylum seekers. For the past 2 to 3 weeks, I've gotten an eye infection, a severe case of food poisoning (thanks to Original Kayu at Aman Suria and their Paper Tosik) and fever and now this. Gar. I hate being sick.

In the mean time, I've been trying to brush up my photography and Photoshop skills. Check this out.

Work just never seems to end....

Thanks to Lean Kee for taking the photo.

I also took quite a few photos at the Transsexual Beauty Pageant organized by Pink Triangle Foundation held at Flamingo Hotel.

The photos can be seen here.

I'm loving Miss USA. She's my visual orgasm.

Anyway, I've been uploading quite a bit on my Facebook account. I think I should stop for now and concentrate on more serious stuff.

But what?