Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Friday, December 24, 2004
I hate the Malaysian High Commission. Or whatever that accursed building is called.
(I'm not allowed to bitch about individuals, I'm assuming inarticulate organizations is fine)
No really, for the past 2 days, I have been waking up at the unearthly hour of 7:00AM to troop down to the malaysian high commission, which is a grub-infested building behind funan center with grumpy fat malay makciks guarding the door. And for the past 2 days, I have been refused entry to the bleeding place, because they only admit One-Hundred and Thirty (130) people into the blasted building. This is preposterous! I went home empty handed at the ungodly hour of 8:30AM!
(This might fall under excessive complaining. But i'm assuming its excessive VERBAL complaining that was problematic. Besides, everyone knows I'm just exaggerating for my own amusement.)
Aye yes so on today, I arrived at the Malaysian High Commission and waited outside hoping this time that I fell within the One-Hundred and Thirty (130) priviledged few. There was a queue that could probably rival the last hello kitty craze, but I was undeterred, so I stood in line. Leaning against the wall my mother kindly pointed out a huge caterpillar-worm thingy that was slowly but surely inching towards me. After nearly screeching in terror and leaping away from the wall, I decided that perhaps this building is not as clean as it sounds. So I stood up rigidly and continued to read Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit.
Amusing and engaging as the book may be, it was no match for the queue. As I slowly inched towards the entrance (yes the barbarians made the queue extend all the way outside into the scorching heat), my mind started to get very tired. So I kept away my book and waited for the evil makcik of death to finally get to me and allow me in.
She may have rudely told me to come back tomorrow on two occasions, but fortunately not this time. Seeing my familiar face she went "Oh you again ah? Come to do passport ah?" and laughed like it was very funny.
Now for those of you who have never had the rare opportunity to do immigration work, it is a long tedious and ridiculously stupid process that involves you standing there stupidly while the impatient immigration officer yells at you to do whatever she asks and stop asking stupid questions. My entry into the building was only the beginning.
Seeing how they gave us the queue number 1055 when they were serving number 982, We decided that it would probably be wiser to go somewhere and have breakfast. Which is the only part of today that I don't plan to complain about because delifrance food is really good when you're grumpy.
So after eating breakfast, which took about an hour or so, we went back, only to find that the queue had moved to 995.
So we went back to funan.
And back to the Malaysian High Commission.
And back to funan.
(repeat as desired)
Finally the queue numbers reached 1055. At approximately 11:30. So we went through all the scanning thumbprint photocopying IC nonsense, and the irritating malay woman through the glass panel kept telling my father to "Don't talk, just do" when really, what she was saying was typically incomprehensible.
To top it off, when we were finally finished, as we were walking out, we saw the evil makcik of death talking to this chinese woman. I heard the words Hundred and Thirty and was about to smile sadistically, when suddenly, the makcik moved aside to allow her in. She also looked noticeably happier after that.
I suspect the chinese woman did things the malaysian way. That is to offer a monetary token in order for the makcik to be suddenly afflicted with a strange optic disease. If only we had known this two days earlier. We could have paid her the amount we saved on carpark fees.
(I'm not allowed to bitch about individuals, I'm assuming inarticulate organizations is fine)
No really, for the past 2 days, I have been waking up at the unearthly hour of 7:00AM to troop down to the malaysian high commission, which is a grub-infested building behind funan center with grumpy fat malay makciks guarding the door. And for the past 2 days, I have been refused entry to the bleeding place, because they only admit One-Hundred and Thirty (130) people into the blasted building. This is preposterous! I went home empty handed at the ungodly hour of 8:30AM!
(This might fall under excessive complaining. But i'm assuming its excessive VERBAL complaining that was problematic. Besides, everyone knows I'm just exaggerating for my own amusement.)
Aye yes so on today, I arrived at the Malaysian High Commission and waited outside hoping this time that I fell within the One-Hundred and Thirty (130) priviledged few. There was a queue that could probably rival the last hello kitty craze, but I was undeterred, so I stood in line. Leaning against the wall my mother kindly pointed out a huge caterpillar-worm thingy that was slowly but surely inching towards me. After nearly screeching in terror and leaping away from the wall, I decided that perhaps this building is not as clean as it sounds. So I stood up rigidly and continued to read Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit.
Amusing and engaging as the book may be, it was no match for the queue. As I slowly inched towards the entrance (yes the barbarians made the queue extend all the way outside into the scorching heat), my mind started to get very tired. So I kept away my book and waited for the evil makcik of death to finally get to me and allow me in.
She may have rudely told me to come back tomorrow on two occasions, but fortunately not this time. Seeing my familiar face she went "Oh you again ah? Come to do passport ah?" and laughed like it was very funny.
Now for those of you who have never had the rare opportunity to do immigration work, it is a long tedious and ridiculously stupid process that involves you standing there stupidly while the impatient immigration officer yells at you to do whatever she asks and stop asking stupid questions. My entry into the building was only the beginning.
Seeing how they gave us the queue number 1055 when they were serving number 982, We decided that it would probably be wiser to go somewhere and have breakfast. Which is the only part of today that I don't plan to complain about because delifrance food is really good when you're grumpy.
So after eating breakfast, which took about an hour or so, we went back, only to find that the queue had moved to 995.
So we went back to funan.
And back to the Malaysian High Commission.
And back to funan.
(repeat as desired)
Finally the queue numbers reached 1055. At approximately 11:30. So we went through all the scanning thumbprint photocopying IC nonsense, and the irritating malay woman through the glass panel kept telling my father to "Don't talk, just do" when really, what she was saying was typically incomprehensible.
To top it off, when we were finally finished, as we were walking out, we saw the evil makcik of death talking to this chinese woman. I heard the words Hundred and Thirty and was about to smile sadistically, when suddenly, the makcik moved aside to allow her in. She also looked noticeably happier after that.
I suspect the chinese woman did things the malaysian way. That is to offer a monetary token in order for the makcik to be suddenly afflicted with a strange optic disease. If only we had known this two days earlier. We could have paid her the amount we saved on carpark fees.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Right then. Me and yixun have come up with the conclusion that if I want to be a better person next year, I shall have to quit bitching, whining, and complaining.
Which means I shall have to find something else to blog about.
Rats.
But blogging about my day just doesn't cut it. Its so boring, I mean I read people's blogs that go on and on and on about how they ran today or went town today or met some hot guy with broad shoulders and nice tan and I click on one of the random links near the right hand side of their page. I mean, whats important is that I find this place interesting to myself. I'm not writing rubbish here so I can tell myself 50 konky years down the road that "Oh, I went lido to watch Phantom of the Opera on 20th December 2004". Incidentally, I still haven't watched it.
Hmm. Not that reading about how canning sucks is interesting either.
I bore myself with myself. Rats.
Anyway, seeing how bitching/complaining all stem from the same need to create an outlet to express the dissent I feel when people piss me off, I have only three options left. First being that I buff up until I become big and jocky and whoop anyone who pisses me off. Seeing how i'm a lazy fuck, I don't see that happening. The second, is of course to find another outlet to express this negative sentiment I feel when people piss me off. The third, is to not get pissed.
With the first option out of the way, I am left with option two and three. Of course option 2 is a good idea, but is easier said than done. If you don't bitch and whine and complain about the asshole who has just done something really assholic, what DO you do?
Option 3 of course would seem the most peaceful way. But is also easier said than done. I'm a sensitive guy. I get hurt easily. =(
Bwahahaha.
Alright perhaps I should go sleep.
Which means I shall have to find something else to blog about.
Rats.
But blogging about my day just doesn't cut it. Its so boring, I mean I read people's blogs that go on and on and on about how they ran today or went town today or met some hot guy with broad shoulders and nice tan and I click on one of the random links near the right hand side of their page. I mean, whats important is that I find this place interesting to myself. I'm not writing rubbish here so I can tell myself 50 konky years down the road that "Oh, I went lido to watch Phantom of the Opera on 20th December 2004". Incidentally, I still haven't watched it.
Hmm. Not that reading about how canning sucks is interesting either.
I bore myself with myself. Rats.
Anyway, seeing how bitching/complaining all stem from the same need to create an outlet to express the dissent I feel when people piss me off, I have only three options left. First being that I buff up until I become big and jocky and whoop anyone who pisses me off. Seeing how i'm a lazy fuck, I don't see that happening. The second, is of course to find another outlet to express this negative sentiment I feel when people piss me off. The third, is to not get pissed.
With the first option out of the way, I am left with option two and three. Of course option 2 is a good idea, but is easier said than done. If you don't bitch and whine and complain about the asshole who has just done something really assholic, what DO you do?
Option 3 of course would seem the most peaceful way. But is also easier said than done. I'm a sensitive guy. I get hurt easily. =(
Bwahahaha.
Alright perhaps I should go sleep.
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Monday, December 20, 2004
Its very easy for a stalker to track down where I am
If there's a blog entry today, it means i'm at home. If not, I'm in town.
Or playing mahjong in someone's house.
That is, if anyone wanted to stalk me.
Anyway since I'm bored you'll just have to bear with me and more of my nonsensical ramblings and grumblings which I hope you find interesting but know most of you don't. The pitiful visits to this page have been dwindling, probably because I haven't been updating much, but thats hardly the point. its stagnating at about 20 hits a day, and seeing the way I blog-surf, that isn't really much, amounting to merely a handful of people.
I am probably not going to be sick. Which is a relief since falling sick during christmas sucks balls. On the other hand I could have SARS and maybe this is just the incubatory period. (perhaps I should delete that. Lest I find some government officer knocking at my door. Actually, nah. Government officers have better things to do than read this. Like calling numbers scribbled at the back of buses asking for gay sex. Oops.)
My mom's about to go on some suicidal mission against the MCST of our condo I think. That's sort of like the government of my condo. Silly woman. Later she end up chock-ful with lawsuits then she know. I told her don't bother they have more legal muscle, and she told me she never asked for my opinion. I am so appreciated at home.
I wonder how people put on the top of their entries how they're feeling everyday. Like Current Mood - HAPPY/SAD/DEPRESSED/EXCITED (insert appropriate smilie here). Its quite ridiculous actually. If I ever did that everyday my entries would start with [current mood - fucked up]. Sheesh. As if you can ever pinpoint how you're feeling with a simple noun. There is only fucked up. Fucked up is broad, general, and all in all useful to describe anything and everything.
In fact I think that's actually a good idea
Current Mood - Fucked up (Middle finger smilie)
Okay maybe not.
If there's a blog entry today, it means i'm at home. If not, I'm in town.
Or playing mahjong in someone's house.
That is, if anyone wanted to stalk me.
Anyway since I'm bored you'll just have to bear with me and more of my nonsensical ramblings and grumblings which I hope you find interesting but know most of you don't. The pitiful visits to this page have been dwindling, probably because I haven't been updating much, but thats hardly the point. its stagnating at about 20 hits a day, and seeing the way I blog-surf, that isn't really much, amounting to merely a handful of people.
I am probably not going to be sick. Which is a relief since falling sick during christmas sucks balls. On the other hand I could have SARS and maybe this is just the incubatory period. (perhaps I should delete that. Lest I find some government officer knocking at my door. Actually, nah. Government officers have better things to do than read this. Like calling numbers scribbled at the back of buses asking for gay sex. Oops.)
My mom's about to go on some suicidal mission against the MCST of our condo I think. That's sort of like the government of my condo. Silly woman. Later she end up chock-ful with lawsuits then she know. I told her don't bother they have more legal muscle, and she told me she never asked for my opinion. I am so appreciated at home.
I wonder how people put on the top of their entries how they're feeling everyday. Like Current Mood - HAPPY/SAD/DEPRESSED/EXCITED (insert appropriate smilie here). Its quite ridiculous actually. If I ever did that everyday my entries would start with [current mood - fucked up]. Sheesh. As if you can ever pinpoint how you're feeling with a simple noun. There is only fucked up. Fucked up is broad, general, and all in all useful to describe anything and everything.
In fact I think that's actually a good idea
Current Mood - Fucked up (Middle finger smilie)
Okay maybe not.
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Oh rats my demotivator has disappeared. its now a black rectangle with a little white square at the top left hand corner which has a little red cross in it. cows.
The floodgates have opened. I feel the way the hoover dam must feel should it ever burst. My mucus glands have gone into overdrive. Yes ladies and gentlemen:
I think I have the cold.
dramamamamamamama.
Canning is highly boring and depressing. For some reason. I shall try to pinpoint the reason the next time I can. I believe it has something to do with too many people and too light a can. Then again I might be wrong. It might just be the people.
But really. Its infuriating how these supposedly people can be so snobby and yet put such atrociously ugly things on their bodies that have checks all over the place and have the most ridiculous colour combinations. I bet aliens could do a better job when it came to colour selection. The worst part is these walking fashion disasters look at you, and you offer them a can and smile, tell them to donate to the children's cancer foundation and stop wasting money on clothes and just stay at home, and they just walk past as though they've never seen you. I mean seriously, they can't be that fugly and devoid of friends that they lack even the basic social skills to respond with a "no, sorry" or something. Or at least shake your head if you don't want to donate. Even though it may have an emerald green hat on it your head can't possibly be that heavy.
Bah. I hate town now. Its full of snobby people who think they're all there and can anyhow ignore me. I hate people who ignore me. I also hate crowds. Stupid town is chock-full with people you can't stretch your back without banging into someone. Its like a stupid bleeding ocean where you can't even stand still because then the crowd will threaten to sweep you away. Complete with smelly body odours and the dingy smell of sweat. How the heck is it possible to have yourself a merry freaking Christmas in there.
All I want for christmas is... no not you actually. All I want is a uncrowded unnoisy ungrimy field where I can lie down and stare at an unpolluted uncloudy unlighted sky, with unsmelly unmuddy untrodden grass beneath me. And fall asleep. With someone preferably (no no specific someone, just someone), but of course that's optional. I can take care of myself ;).
Anyway I think I shall go find a new demotivator. And change music. On top of that, I think I'll go think of more excuses for How To Skip Going To Midnight Mass With Your Family. Really, going to church and spending two hours there kneeling and standing at eleven pm at night is not my idea of christmas. Although churches are really quite nice places to be in, with all the music and ambience and whatnot. Very tranquil. But Not Much Use If Falling Asleep Anyway. Slumber is the best tranquility, and I don't need it interrupted by the second chorus of We Wish You A Merry Christmas, thank you very much.
okay enough grouching.
The floodgates have opened. I feel the way the hoover dam must feel should it ever burst. My mucus glands have gone into overdrive. Yes ladies and gentlemen:
I think I have the cold.
dramamamamamamama.
Canning is highly boring and depressing. For some reason. I shall try to pinpoint the reason the next time I can. I believe it has something to do with too many people and too light a can. Then again I might be wrong. It might just be the people.
But really. Its infuriating how these supposedly people can be so snobby and yet put such atrociously ugly things on their bodies that have checks all over the place and have the most ridiculous colour combinations. I bet aliens could do a better job when it came to colour selection. The worst part is these walking fashion disasters look at you, and you offer them a can and smile, tell them to donate to the children's cancer foundation and stop wasting money on clothes and just stay at home, and they just walk past as though they've never seen you. I mean seriously, they can't be that fugly and devoid of friends that they lack even the basic social skills to respond with a "no, sorry" or something. Or at least shake your head if you don't want to donate. Even though it may have an emerald green hat on it your head can't possibly be that heavy.
Bah. I hate town now. Its full of snobby people who think they're all there and can anyhow ignore me. I hate people who ignore me. I also hate crowds. Stupid town is chock-full with people you can't stretch your back without banging into someone. Its like a stupid bleeding ocean where you can't even stand still because then the crowd will threaten to sweep you away. Complete with smelly body odours and the dingy smell of sweat. How the heck is it possible to have yourself a merry freaking Christmas in there.
All I want for christmas is... no not you actually. All I want is a uncrowded unnoisy ungrimy field where I can lie down and stare at an unpolluted uncloudy unlighted sky, with unsmelly unmuddy untrodden grass beneath me. And fall asleep. With someone preferably (no no specific someone, just someone), but of course that's optional. I can take care of myself ;).
Anyway I think I shall go find a new demotivator. And change music. On top of that, I think I'll go think of more excuses for How To Skip Going To Midnight Mass With Your Family. Really, going to church and spending two hours there kneeling and standing at eleven pm at night is not my idea of christmas. Although churches are really quite nice places to be in, with all the music and ambience and whatnot. Very tranquil. But Not Much Use If Falling Asleep Anyway. Slumber is the best tranquility, and I don't need it interrupted by the second chorus of We Wish You A Merry Christmas, thank you very much.
okay enough grouching.
Monday, December 13, 2004
I am so bored. and grumpy and frumpy and pms-y. like totally.
Right. Must stop that. Esther points me out to her overseas friends and says "this one is gay", and they go "yeah can tell". ZZzzz. Which means everytime I walk down the street, probably someone is pointing at me and saying "that guy is damn gay". ZZZZzz. Very sadcase.
Right. Must stop that. Esther points me out to her overseas friends and says "this one is gay", and they go "yeah can tell". ZZzzz. Which means everytime I walk down the street, probably someone is pointing at me and saying "that guy is damn gay". ZZZZzz. Very sadcase.
Friday, December 10, 2004
Frenzied scribblings made late at night.
When the body shouts for slumber,
But the mind screams out in protest.
To answer the blank:
I've always thought that in questioning the origin of emotion or feeling, we destroy the authenticity of that emotion.
Take for example the sensation of sweetness, and the ensuing feeling of pleasure derived from, lets say, nibbling a cookie. I love cookies. haha. Anyway, I discovered at six that the senasation of sweetness is nothing more than the simple activation of small little bumps on the tip of your tongue. A clever survival technique by your body to ensure an adequate intake of glucose into your body. I was distraught.
Even the language I'm using is so clinical and analytical.
Sweetness was no longer indulgence in pleasure, but a clever manipulation for survival.
Is it really necessary to know all that? To know that the gift of sweetness doesn't drop down from heaven like manna from God, but is a clever product of a never-ending evolutionary process? Sweetness no longer belongs exclusively to that yellow sweet liquid that is jealously guarded by bees, nor does it qualify as a term of affection to your loved one. It is food pushing buttons on your tongue.
In questioning why we feel, the sensation itself is compromised. Emotions are not experiments that can be subjected to the grind and tear ofobservation and replication. They are elusive, fleeting feelings that come and go at their whim, they were designed to elude reason. In trying to determine how emotions arise, we destroy the subtle act of allowing the feeling to wash over oneself. For to do so requires a cool precise and calculating mind, while to feel requires a passionate and warm heart.
And as such, feeling becomes induced, contrived. Instead of the circumstance and situation evoking the emotional response, we analyse the situation and select which emotional response is the most appropriate. Tears do not well up. They have to be cried. Just as laughter becomes hollow and contrived.
The cold analytical mind is the antithesis of emotion
True delight comes without reason.
When the body shouts for slumber,
But the mind screams out in protest.
To answer the blank:
I've always thought that in questioning the origin of emotion or feeling, we destroy the authenticity of that emotion.
Take for example the sensation of sweetness, and the ensuing feeling of pleasure derived from, lets say, nibbling a cookie. I love cookies. haha. Anyway, I discovered at six that the senasation of sweetness is nothing more than the simple activation of small little bumps on the tip of your tongue. A clever survival technique by your body to ensure an adequate intake of glucose into your body. I was distraught.
Even the language I'm using is so clinical and analytical.
Sweetness was no longer indulgence in pleasure, but a clever manipulation for survival.
Is it really necessary to know all that? To know that the gift of sweetness doesn't drop down from heaven like manna from God, but is a clever product of a never-ending evolutionary process? Sweetness no longer belongs exclusively to that yellow sweet liquid that is jealously guarded by bees, nor does it qualify as a term of affection to your loved one. It is food pushing buttons on your tongue.
In questioning why we feel, the sensation itself is compromised. Emotions are not experiments that can be subjected to the grind and tear ofobservation and replication. They are elusive, fleeting feelings that come and go at their whim, they were designed to elude reason. In trying to determine how emotions arise, we destroy the subtle act of allowing the feeling to wash over oneself. For to do so requires a cool precise and calculating mind, while to feel requires a passionate and warm heart.
And as such, feeling becomes induced, contrived. Instead of the circumstance and situation evoking the emotional response, we analyse the situation and select which emotional response is the most appropriate. Tears do not well up. They have to be cried. Just as laughter becomes hollow and contrived.
The cold analytical mind is the antithesis of emotion
True delight comes without reason.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
I'm a leee-tle. tired. Chim-chim-uh-ney Chim-chim-uh-ney Chim-chim--uh-ney. I think thats from mary poppins.
Yixun I right rubbeeshleee all teh tiem neway. Wahts ur point? =)
But frankly I think I'm going to crash soon. Reading Bell Jar and all that imbues you with a sort of angst that's not very healthy.
Here I am clinging on to the hopeless ideals of a 12 year old. You think the one's really out there, drifting amongst the endless sea of listless faces and grimy bodies? In the hopelessly endless world where tragedy abounds, what makes you think that you are the lucky one whose life will blossom into a fairy tale ending. With your prince charming and what not coming for you on his stunning white stallion, whisking you off your feet to his pearly white castle where the grass is green and the girls are pretty?
Shi jie na lai zhe me duo yi shen yi shi.
Oh shit i'm becoming the ridiculous angsty teenage drama queen. Oh hear me world as I expound my sorrows. Tremble in the presence of my immense emotional suffering that crystallizes with the pain of puberty. Okay i'll stop here.
I think I need someone in my life.
Yixun I right rubbeeshleee all teh tiem neway. Wahts ur point? =)
But frankly I think I'm going to crash soon. Reading Bell Jar and all that imbues you with a sort of angst that's not very healthy.
Here I am clinging on to the hopeless ideals of a 12 year old. You think the one's really out there, drifting amongst the endless sea of listless faces and grimy bodies? In the hopelessly endless world where tragedy abounds, what makes you think that you are the lucky one whose life will blossom into a fairy tale ending. With your prince charming and what not coming for you on his stunning white stallion, whisking you off your feet to his pearly white castle where the grass is green and the girls are pretty?
Shi jie na lai zhe me duo yi shen yi shi.
Oh shit i'm becoming the ridiculous angsty teenage drama queen. Oh hear me world as I expound my sorrows. Tremble in the presence of my immense emotional suffering that crystallizes with the pain of puberty. Okay i'll stop here.
I think I need someone in my life.