Secrets.

Their nasty things they are, evading and dodging those who hunger for the truth, those whose curiosity remain insatiable like a teenagers appetite for fast food. Secrets are many things. They could be actions that happened, but words of which, were unheard of... Tucked away into the memory reservoirs of those who would rather keep it that way, those who wouldn't want nosy people like me finding them out. Then again secrets may be a matter of survival, where animals camouflage themselves and keep their location a secrecy to prevent the event of being ingested.

Humans, like animals, tend to keep secrets as well. Though I presume that our motives are much different than that of being eaten. We manipulate and bend these secrets so that others don't trespass on the brink of our confidentiality, exposing ourselves for who we really are and potentially ruining the squeaky-clean image most of us try so very hard to groom. Us Humans tend to be a bunch of curios creatures ourselves, where questions left unanswered seem to be able to find it's way to the back of our minds, nagging away.

It's very hard to come to a conclusion as to whether keeping secrets is a good thing or not. Governments tend to hide the truth by covering up controversial stories and controlling the filters of mass media. When they know the truth of a matter has the potential to run their image to the ground, they abuse their authority to keep themselves in power. This, in terms of sort, is brain-washing. And I like my brain dirty. Dirty in a sense where it braces the dirty truth rather than a clean, washed up lie.

Then again, what would society be without secrets?

In a post-modern world like this, keeping secrets seems to be the most effective way to hold everything together firmly in place. Just imagine if everyone had their true intentions displayed on a screen above their heads. Everybody's deepest, darkest secrets would be displayed for the world to see, for the world to shower their prejudice upon. Secrets also make up a big big part of suspense. And as they all say, suspense is the spice of life. Life would like a piece of blank paper if left without suspense.

A man who has everything figured out is bound to commit suicide.

Feeding dogs.

As I hopped into the front seat of my dad's car when he took the liberty to fetch me from training. He made the most peculiar request. He said: " Son, we have to make that feeding dispenser for Kilo today. " Naturally, he let do all the thinking about how this would be done. Because we were heading to Singapore for four very long days. I had to storm my brain for ideas on how to build a nifty rig so that my helpful neighbour could feed our beloved Kilo.

Of course, the rig had to allow my neighbour to feed Kilo from the other side of the fence. Kilo has the penchant for mauling things down without any notice whatsoever. And we certainly didn't want to find the corpse of a sweet old lady when we got back. Accounting for other factors such as water soaking up all of Kilo's food and materials needed, I roughly plotted a design in my mind.

Success!

Even with that accomplished, I still feel that tinge of guilt because of the fact that we're leaving Kilo home alone for 4 days.

4 days without seeing us.
4 days without any treats.
4 days without going out on walks.
4 days of shitting on the porch.

For he has guarded the gates of our home for the past 8 years of his life, alerting us to every presence, warding off potential burglars, lightening up our moods and bringing that sense of security that every family needs. In my time of need, he'd be there for me, listening to my stories and worries intently, without a word of comment or interruption. Even if he was just lying there with a blank stare splashed on his his face, I'd still feel better. Comforted in that fact, that at least I could share my deepest secrets of dramatic teenage life with someone.

It scares me just thinking about it. I can't imagine being locked up in my room for 4 days, with only food and water as my company. I'd have to do ALL my business in a very unfortunate corner of the room, while staring blankly outside my window as a source of leisure. Oh, the humanity.

Let sleeping dogs lie, for our sake.

We used to be such a close-knit group of friends, constantly sharing and rejoicing the good times and looking out for one another during the bad times. We would share wholeful and innoncent laughs, making fun of the littlest things and turn them into a big trend for the next few days. The birthdays that we celebrated together were unforgettable, investing time and thought into making the most heart-felt presents and gifts. Gifts of which found their way into my vault of memories, and forever shall remain there.

But now, we treat one another with a slight sense of caution and weariness when talking to each other. Unsure whether to tell the other party of the problems and worries faced, in fear that they may somehow use it against you for their own gain. We hardly spend time together anymore, and when we do, it usually ends up like an awkward social situation just like how sitcom's present them. The warmness and sense of belonging that once filled this group of friends is now gone, replaced with a cold and harsh sense of bitterness.

I guess we only have ourselves to blame.

It was like watching a line of falling dominoes, where the irrational and faulty acts seemed to effect others, and the line of stories seemed to grow as they spread around, growing from a pebble of a problem to the mountain that it is today. A mountain that stands in the way of our friendship. A mountain of which, I stare at the face of everyday and hope that it wasn't there, begged that the people who set it up, never did. For I long the days where our friendships flourished, where we trusted one another, where we shared all of our problems, good or bad, where we talked about the silliest things.

Where we were family.

Now, I hate pointing pudgy fingers all over the place as to who caused what. But I do hope that you're smart enough to realise what you've done and what you're doing right now. If this mountain continues to pile on in height and width, I'm afraid I'll lose everything that I held so close and dear to me. Let sleeping dogs lie, they say. Much easier said than done. But if you don't, that mongrel of a problem with definitely keep biting you in the wrong way.

The Fighters.

It's feels great to finally be able to catch my breath, finally be able to let go of my worries momentarily. A sweet sense of relief showered over me as I bursted through the wooden gates of my home. A whole afternoon, just to myself, no training, no aerobics exercises, no long care rides, no walking around in Penang, no hectic birthday celebrations, no tight football schedules, no waiting for buses, no more! If I had the time, I'd kiss the ground beneath my feet, but away I go! Grabbing my laptop upstairs to bask in my air-conditioned room, I'll be spoiling my brain silly with entertainment.

Nothing short of Sanctuary.

There's been something a worm at the back of my mind that I've been wanting to blog about, and I shall release his wiggles now. Last Sunday, my parents decided to head down to Sungai Petani, Kedah, to visit a very ambitious sister of mine at her oral hygiene convention. Her informative and dancing skills proved to add more oil to the subliminal sibling rivalry that I've cultivated. I had a loooooooooooooot of work to do if I wanted to match up with that prodigious sister of mine.


We spent that very night in Penang, where She proved to us that there was traffic worse than the worst parts of KL. As the car inched slowly in the bustling traffic, I caught glimpse of a few buildings. Old and tattered, they stood in the darkness, not even a splash of lighting to illuminate them in fine detail. It's no wonder my local friend ,Felicia, developed a fear for these looming structures. With paint peeling of walls of the buildings, they seemed to form malicious images, tinkering with the deep pits of my imagination.

One of our stops on this trip was on one of the stretches of beaches in Batu Ferringhi. Now, I'm no beach expert, but the soles of my feet have tasted their fair share of salt water and sand. This beach seemed satisfactory. No garbage along the coast. Children playing in the water. Sand castles stood erect all over. Stalls that sold ice cream and coconut drinks were conveniently parked nearby. Yes, all beaches were similar in some way, and this one didn't seem any different.

Not until I took a closer look, that is. There it was, tucked away between the a huge boulder and countless other rocks. It's detail so immaculate and unnoticable that no beach-frolicking child would notice in his rain of terror along the coast. The small rocks sitting next to a huge boulder seemed to have created somewhat of a puddle, where 3/4's of the walls are blocked. Inside that puddle was a school of tiny, black fish. So tiny in fact, that one of them were barely the size of half my pinky finger. At first, they didn't peak my interest much, they seemed like nothing more than 20 black tadpoles minding their own business.

At that very thought, a small tide came splashing down on the rocks. I gasped as the tide seemed to engulf my tiny, new-found friends, bashing them against the rocks and spiralling them into oblivion that is fishy hell. To my curiosity, they regrouped after what felt like 5 seconds and continued to float around in their little puddle like nothing happened. That tide might have been small to me, but to those fishes, it was nothing short of a tidal wave of terror. This routine repeated itself over and over again, where the fishes seemed to be bashed and trashed against the rock. The hungry-looking crabs waited in anticipation for their next free meal.

How could something so tiny be teaching me a lesson here? It was like those fishes were taunting me.

" You WUSS! We're here fighting for our lives everyday,
and you're complaining about your history test."

They make a damn good point.

Transfixed on technology.

It's tradition that me and Mom would go to lunch every Saturday, usually with her friend, Aunty Chris. This week, mom decided we head off to a nearby western-fusion restaurant called Herbs and Spices near Sri Petaling. I loved that place, they served the most scrumptous Nasi Dagang with curry sauce so addictive that you'd be crawling back for more. In the car, a conversation ensued between mom and Aunty Chris, they were both enthusiastic property investors and they'd often share strategies and know-how on the latest property.

The place was crowded as usual, and Aunty had to double-park. I swear, after the next 5 years, once the new school and apartment has gone up, Sri Petaling would be damn near inhabitable. Mom was busy rummaging her purse for a spare piece of paper so that Aunty Chris could write down her number and display it on the dashboard, just in case any murderous drivers needed to head off in a hurry. She waved her hand in a distressed way, signalling for me to find a seat first. As I followed the instructions clearly presented on the restaurant door, I pushed it open and casually stuck up 3 fingers to the Vietnamese waiter, the amount of menus he needed to take.

I sat down on a quiet table at the corner of the restaurant and surveyed the other customers around the restaurant, a long-lived habit of mine. One table caught my eye instantly, it was the very table in front of us. From the looks of it, I could tell that it was probably a mother bringing her 3 children for lunch, a daugther and two sons. But there was a strange atmosphere surrounding that table, something I couldn't quite put my tongue on at first glance. Not a single word of conversation was exchanged, not for a long time. Even after placing our respective orders, the table I was observing remained awfully silent, and I knew exactly why.

As mom and Aunty Chris resumed their heated conversation over property investment, I couldn't help but observe that very peculiar table to confirm my suspicions. Just as I thought, all four members of that table held some sort of device in their hands. Their eyes focused and blank as they stare into their respective screens, fidgeting the various buttons and touchscreens with their fingers at light speed. At that distance, I could make out an I-phone and an I-pad. Steve jobs, you've done it again. You've stolen the souls of these good people with your enticing and interactive devices.

They hardly looked up from their handheld devices, their eyes were like pools of emotionless shadows, lost on the screen. When their food arrived, their actions hardly changed. Not a word of thanks to the waiter. Not a quick glance of hunger at the delicious food before them. They didn't even look up. All they did was shift their elbows a little, so that the plates of food did not interrupt their 'session' with their devices. God damn, I peeled my eyes at the scene before, refusing to look on. Such a sight of was as gruesome as murder. It WAS murder! Murder at a subliminal level. MADNESS!

I stripped my thoughts away from that family and enjoyed my meal. The chewy beef curry proved to be more than a filler for my appetite. As I headed out of that restaurant, I whispered a silent word of thanks to my mother. I too, requested for such devices a while back. And while we were clearly able to afford them, Mom knew that this would happen to me and firmly turned me down.

She saw it coming.
Damned little soul stealers.

Buying me Breakfast.

The day started out normal enough, in fact, it sorta ended normally too, but something that happened in between intrigued me. It wasn't until today until I gave it much thought, until I filtered this seemingly normal event into it's elements. Yesterday morning, I decided to head out to my nearby chinese restaurant to enjoy myself a plate of savoury Wan Tan noodles. Normally, I'd have my mother fetch me there and 'tapao' it back home. But since mom was running a little late, I strolled my skinny ass out there, jiving along with the beats of Maroon 5. I swear I caught the eye of a few hopeful elderly women.


I placed my order, patting my right pocket just to check if my money was still there, damned hole in my pocket seemed to be getting bigger everyday. As I made my way to the single seat located conveniently below a shady roof, I caught eye of a very familiar face, let's call him Uncle Frank. I figured it was only good mannerism if I greeted him. I walked shiftily towards him, his table filled with other middle-aged uncles', I couldn't help myself but to greet him in a stuttered tone.

Uncle Frank looked up over his shoulder, slighty surprised at the tone of a young boy mumbling his name this early in the morning. At the moment's glance, a smile broke up across his face, and I shook his hand with content, in recognition of me. To no surprise of course, my father and him used to go swimming every other weekend. As I turned to head to my seat, Uncle Frank instantly stopped me in my tracks and asked me to join his table of friends. I stared at him with awe. How could I deny him?

As I pulled up a chair awkwardly, I noticed the cigarettes that each uncle held in between their fingers. Not saying that i hated smokers and their habits, but I do dislike hanging around them and inhaling copious amounts of carbon monoxide and Nicotine. As I pondered my situation, Uncle Frank introduced his friends to me, all of them nodded and agreed in some sort of unison at the mention of my father's name. I never knew my dad was that famous. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a worker carrying my food arriving on a silver plate.

As he set down my steaming plate of noodles, I instinctively asked " Gei dou lui a? " which means "how much?" in canton, even though the worker was clearly a Vietnamese, they catch on real quick. " 5.60." he mumbled in canton. Even before I could whip out my cash, Uncle Frank already hollered at the worker and slapped a 10 Ringgit bill in his face. Before I could stop him, he already made away with the money and retrieving change for Uncle Frank. I cried out in discontent and offered to pay Uncle Frank back with my own money, but he simply waved it off. I was dumbfounded inside. If my brain had a face, it would've made this one:

:0

I hate being judgmental, but had this man no value for money? I was lost deep in thought as I slurped the smooth Wan Tan noodles greedily, my eyebrows creased with a deep frown of question. Does Uncle Frank treat everyone he knew like this? How was I special? I wasn't a business partner, or a relative, just a mere acquaintance made from my father. The puffs and huffs of cigarette smoke tainted the taste of my meal, and clouded my thoughts. The loud conversation they were having about food joints wasn't clearing my mind either. I swear I was contracting lung cancer just sitting there.

Before making my way home, I thanked Uncle Frank earnestly and nodded with a warm smile. He grunted in reply and said it was nothing. After a nights rest, I continued to wonder about Uncle Franks' actions. Was it a simple gesture of goodwill? Or did he expect something from me in return? What could a wealthy businessman possibly want from a 16 year-old like me? Did buying meals for others show a sign of dominance? Questions, question (:

Sides of the story.

"Bzzzzz.....!!!" My phone vibrated against the surface of my table. Even with my headphones on, I could feel the vibrations revetebrating against towards my forearm. Thinking it was another daily service message, I peeled my fingers off the computer keyboard to check it. The words sounded distressed, uneasy, just plain troubled. She needed help, it was apparent through the words of her message that it was a relationship problem. I thought :

"Oh God, what did Bxxxn do this time?"

Although I hate jumping to conclusions, I knew that something big was going down, Bxxxn must've done something really bad, I thought. So she gave me a call, and let me hear her side of the story. The story of how she claims that Bxxxn has been lying to her and covering up with excuses that he's in hospital. It sounded bad. I hate cussing you man, but the way she told it, you sounded like someone i'd bitchslap and piss on his bed.

Refusing to close my perspective at that, I listened to my brothers' side of the story intently over the phone. His side on the matter was a complete 360' from what I heard beforehand from his girlfriend. A sweet story of how he tended the wounds of his sick grandmother and how he juggled his illness on the matter. From the looks of it, I could tell that he wasn't lying either. So, who told the truth? Which side of the story is believable?

I believe that there are no wrongs and rights in this situation, just plain misunderstanding and misintepretation. A lack of communication which lead to the wrong assumptions from both parties. I tried to find the truth in both stories, made an effort to patch this wound, the silver lining which would settle the situation peacefully. Needless to say, I couldn't find any common ground. Guess it's safe to say that when you 'love' someone, stories just seem a little bit brighter, and when you don't, even the brightest story told may seem gloomy.

I pondered for a moment on what I could salvage from wreckage, how I could make the situation. I tried to bind both the stories together and call it all a misunderstanding. Even so, my efforts on the salvation of this relationship remains futile. And truthfully, I think it will. With that said, the best I could do was just be there for my pal during his time of need.

Believe me, I understand what you're going through. That sense of emptiness that comes when something so meaningful to you has been taken away. That feeling of regret that you get from the mistakes that you made that could have lead to this dire situation. The doubts you have when you're lost in an open sea, not knowing where to go next. Let it be known that I speak for the both of you pretty people that your life isn't over, oh no, in fact, it's only begun (:

Of bullets and firecrackers.

Everyone knows what bullets and firecrackers are for. Bullets are those little pieces of deadly metal fired from the barrel of a gun towards our enemies. Firecrackers are packages of explosive powder that put up quite a show in showers of flashy sparks and glittery lights. They both played a big role in the history of humanity. One was used when two parties have an argument that needed settling, and the other, for causes of celebration and glee.

These 2 entities share the same deadly potential. Their sizes are roughly the same, they're both filled with the same explosive chemicals and make the same loud banging sounds. And yet, they both have such different levels of performance and power. Bullets are sought as little packages of death and despair where firecrackers... well, make pretty lights and sound where we would then often go:

"Oooooooooooohhhhh... Ahhhhhhhhhhh....."
Like we just witnessed the birth of Superman.

How is it that we fear the bullet so much more? It's because it has direction. A bullet channels all that explosive power and energy into a single point.

Focused,
Precise,
Accurate,
Deadly.

Where as, the firecracker dispels all that energy of his all over the place, in the form of bedazzly sparks.

Messy,
Inaccurate,
Unreliable,
Sadly lacking.

Comparing these two objects made me realise how strangely resembling they are to us. People who are like firecrackers possess the same explosive ability and potential as the 'bullets'. The only difference is their lack of direction and focus. They need a barrel in their lives. Bullet people acquire a strong sense of direction and purpose in their lives. All their time and effort is channeled into a clear set of goals . That's what makes them all the more effecient and deadly.

I wish I had that sort of direction. That clear knowledge of where to go and what to do. I wanna be a bullet.

Listening and looking.

" Take the time just to listen,
When the voices are screaming much too loud.
Take a look in the distance,
Try and see it all.
Chances are that you might find,
that we share a common discomfort now."

Buried Alive- Avenged Sevenfold

There's a lot to learn from the first verse of this hard-rocking song. It speaks of how ignorant us humans can be sometimes. Where we often jump to very wrong conclusions without giving it much effort or thought. In a fast-paced world where everybody is busy going somewhere or doing something, it's grown to be part of the norm for us to miss the important yet subtle details that make all the difference in our lives.

The first 2 lines state that we should slow down and listen to the noises and voices of the people and things around us. Instead of hearing what we want to hear, we have to listen to what's actually THERE. Even if those voices are drowned with loud, distracting screams, you never know what you might miss from hearing just a little bit more. It's hard to find a good listener nowadays, someone who's content with just hearing other sides of the story.

We all want our stories to be heard, so much, that we filter out the meaningful and misunderstood voices of others. I've learned that the first step to letting your story be heard is to listen to the stories of others first.

To look in the distance is to have far sight. Not the kinda sight where you spot distant objects, but the kind of sight where you 'see' the bigger picture. People with this talent have always been respected and were often sought to in times of trouble and dismay. Tribal warriors would call such a person the 'Far seer' where he often predicts the strategies outcomes of a coming battle or the outcome of a natural disaster. Seeing it all isn't easy, in fact, it's as hard as my constipated poop.

But that doesn't mean we can't enlarge our perspective on life, even if it takes to chip it in bit by bit everyday. Just by opening your attention a little, you'd be able to pick up tiny details you never noticed. How a person walks, how the wind rustles the leaves, where cats like to drop their crap, what sounds a dog makes when he's excited. All this minute details might seem like a big waste of your time, but you never know when you might pick up something that truly matters.

These simple three steps prevent people from getting killed when crossing the road. They might just help you have a better life (:

Suckers.

Remember when I said that leeches bite with a unwavering vengeance? I was right. During the course of my one day camping trip, I was only careless enough to let one, single, solitary leech lay it's rancid jaws on me. Little over 5 centimetres, that damned bloodsucker proved to be more of a nuisance than I expected. I shall name him Charlie. Damn you Charlie, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn your leechy body down to it's bloody bits.

Charlie bit me in a seemingly harmless spot, right between my third and fourth toe. Normally, I leeches could easily be removed with rich amounts of salt or with half a second near a source of fire. Choosing the first option, I sprinkled an abundant amount of solid sodium chloride over that little monster. Immediately, I could see Charlie wriggling in despair as the hypertonic salt drained every trace of water from his tiny body.

"But Charlie was a fighter."

He held on to dear life on the top of my foot, refusing to relax those tiny jaws of his. Inevitably, I had to swat him off by force. He squirmed and twisted on the ground, expressing all the sorts of pain that a leech can manage. Exacting my revenge, I piled a mountain of salt on Charlie, and sealed his fate. Not long after, his incessant wriggling slowly stopped, as he puked and gurgled the remains of my nutritional blood. Charlie was dead. Even so, he didn't go down without a fight, he left me a price to pay.

I hope you burn in leech hell, Charlie
Where the leech devil stabs you with his fiery fork all day long.

As I look down and prod my swollen right foot, I can't help but relate the sly and mischevious demeanor of these leeches to people. Some sneak around to find a suitable host to latch onto and then suck the living crap out of them. Human leeches are everywhere, money launderers, materialistic goons and compliment milkers all a rampant! Once they've had their fill of what they want, they head off to their musty dens and digest their catch, awaiting they're next victim.

I figured out that it's damn near impossible to change the embedded habits of these human bloodsuckers. Trying to change them would be like teaching a leech to eat leafs for a living. I don't think Charlie would've enjoyed a juicy leaf, although, he might've survived.

Slowing it down a notch.

As I step foot into the comfort of my home, I practically kissed the floor beneath my feet, savouring the feeling of comfort and security of the sturdy structure that I take for granted everyday. The water supply never seemed clearer, the television never seemed more vibrant. Oh, and the toilet! It never seemed more.... shit-able, all prepped and ready for the coming bombing. The welcome sight of my smiling mother and jumpy dog (No I'm not cleaning your shit, I thought...) brought a tide of well-being over me once more. This is home.


I looked up towards the lighting in my house with a renewed sense of respect, it's radiant light illuminating and enabling all our daily activities. Just the night before, we were huddled in a 4-man tent, struggling with the simplest of tasks that basic lighting would've made so much easier. With only light from the Moon and our torchlights, you can only imagine what it would have been like to cook up a meal for 4 and perform leech removal surgery. Damned little bloodsuckers would come off with a vengeance, letting your wound bleed profusely even after hours of removal.

Returning home after a trip from the great wilderness would always bring feelings of such to me, feelings of a renewed appreciation for the life of comfort I have. Even after 4 years of frequent jungle visits with a band of scouts , this sense of gratitude would always come back. I guess stinking in the sweat and mud of the forest brings a greater level of appreciation in everyone. For the basic commodities and conveniences that modern technology has brought us much wonders, even taking a piss in the jungle at night had to be done with all four of us side-by-side, wiggling our wiggles in unison.

We all feared the leeches at that very moment, like somehow they could drop from the trees above, and cause much bleeding in a very peculiar place.

Unfortunately, my sense of appreciation for the things that so obviously make my life happier wouldn't always last long, much like how a candle would burn out once it's wax has melted down to it's core. I sadly admit the fact with my hands down. The comfort of my bed, the convenience of this computer, the cleanliness that comes with a shower, the relief of having a toilet nearby, all these feeling taken for granted, like it's my right to have such luxury in life. I strongly believe that these blessings from the labour of my parents should be taken into account, they've truly worked their asses off to establish a sturdy middle-class slot in society and ensure my education.

"For you never really know what you got, until you spend the night in a sweaty jungle"

Then, of course, spending the night in a jungle isn't as malicious as it sounds. Being away from all the hustle and bustle of my life granted me some time to think about my current state of affairs and share whole-hearted laughs with a group of friends. Mostly on topics we wouldn't normally converse under normal circumstances. Because secrets were well kept in the jungle.

Much anticipation.

I hate anticipation, it corrodes me from the inside out and makes me feel queasy no matter what I seem to be doing. Admittedly, I'm a worry wort, freaking over the little things and sweating the small stuff. And when the time comes for the big event, I go round thinking " Gee, that was nothing" and laugh about it.
When the next big thing comes along, I start my male period all over again.

This weekend gives me much to anticipate about, mainly because I fear the disapproval and dismay of my friends. I don't want to hear their cries of complain and disappointment, a little part of me gets chipped away when that happens. And yet, I feel that I shouldn't be seeking the endless approval and praise of others, I should be standing my ground!

Will be away for the next couple of days (:

Corking it all up.

Picture some wine in your head, viscous, flowing, red, tasteful liquid swirling and bubbling about without any restrictions whatsoever. Now bottle all this wine up. As you do so, I want you to imagine the teeny-weeny wine molecules being held back by the cold unforgiving glass walls of the bottle. They hunger to be tasted, they cry for their flavour to be savoured. Yet, the only thing that stands in the way of their salvation is a cork.


Next, I want you to compare your wonderful metaphor to a person. Make any sense?


In a world where prejudice and assumptions are second nature, it's not surprising that we tend to bottle ourselves up sometimes, where the meaningful wine of our colorful emotion stays locked up inside the bottle of our hearts. And when you cram too much wine in a bottle, it will eventually burst out and spill all over. And what's why people lose it and start murdering innoncent penguins.


Now, I'm not saying that wine shouldn't be bottled up. Wine definitely tastes better when left to ferment on a shelf for ages. Unfortunately, I most certainly cannot say the same for the dynamic feelings of us humans. After all, we are social beings, longing for the attention and understanding of others. For far too many times, I've seen people missed precious oppurtunities and lived to regret it afterwards. It's because they hold themselves back, because they're afraid of popping that cork.

" Are you one of them?"

"I never tried my best to express how I really felt,

and now that I know exactly what I want, you find somebody else"
I Can't Lie, Adam Levine, Maroon 5

Adam couldn't put it any better. He depicts the situation where he held back against his lover, where he didn't say the words he wanted to say, where he didn't do what he wanted to do. Not until it was too late of course. I feel like that too sometimes, where I regret in not grabbing the chance while it was still there. But I realized something, that worrying about the past will bear no yields. In fact, it'll stop you from taking that step forward. So, for all the aspiring souls out there reading this:

"Pop that cork"

Let the lovely and flavourful wine of your heart flow free, where the world can taste it and feel jealous.

Although, I must say, wine does make me do stupid things.

Angry sunglasses

"She's angry again"

Was all that crossed my mind at that moment. I could tell from the tone in her voice and the absurdly heavy footsteps that she had something worrying her, another hard day at work. She's indefinitely infuriated, a dormant volcano brought back to life. A slight misstep is all it would take for an eruption, harsh and loud words spewing everywhere, like lava flowing profusely from a volcano. Unintentionally, I did what no rational person would do :

"I provoked her"

Instantly, I could picture the Roman citizens of Pompeii running for cover. " BOOOOOOooooooOOOOM!" and she was off! Word after spiteful word shot out like throwing knives, stabbing me in the emotional section of my brain. It hurts me to see her like this. Her thoughts and judgement clouded by all that emotional rage. Just like how a pair of sunglasses would darken your colorful vision. There would be no reasoning with her when she was like that. I swallowed my ego and held my tongue. What else could I do? Thankfully, even the stormiest of all storms pass, and things would go back to 'normal'.

Mom has always had issues with controlling her anger for as long as I could remember. Her anger was very much like a pressure tank, it had to be released from time to time, if not, she would crack. Don't get me wrong, Mom is calm and collective, and I know she'd do her best for her kids to be happy. But when that valve of hers opens, all rationality and understanding would vanish for the next 15 minutes. As if advertising for Subway :

"She'd have it her way" (gasp)

Without much credibility on the topic, it's hard to establish good advice on this subject. I'd easily get pissed over the silliest things as well. Just weeks ago, I pratically endangered the harmonious balance of my class just because a friend of mine playfully touched my face. I do apologize for overreacting, but this face is sensitive! So, it's safe to say that my tendency to lose my cool runs in the family. I should really learn how to tame this ravenous beast, and I hope you will too, Mom.

And now, I'll crawl away and hide up in my bedroom, fearfully awaiting my mother's eternal judgement.

Trust me, it won't take long.

Very first impressions.

What happens when you set your eyes upon something for the first time? A typical person would form an initial and more often than not, invalid conclusion on the subject that lay before them. Much like how we would picture that a fat person is lazy and eats McDonalds round the clock. Don't lie, I bet you've looked at an acne ridden stranger before and said:

"Damn he's ugly"

First impressions may be the kick starter to any good relationship, but thankfully, they are often short-lived. Jumping to conclusions about anything before truly looking into them is a habit that's sadly rampant in the younger society of today. Shamefully, I tend to do this myself all the time, gravitating towards the proverbial 'pretty' and straying away from the 'ugly' in society. DAMN MY HABITS.

If you've already took the liberty to read this far, first impressions probably already put up the image of a big red sign that states:
" Wait, he's a new blogger round' here, isn't he? "
If so, give your brain a pat on the back ( not recommended by most brain surgeons ).
Yes, I am a new blogger, a fresh, sprouting bud amongst the many leaves on the ever-expanding metaphorical tree of blogging. Facts that support this statement:

1. The absence of a flashy and eye-catching background

2. Sadly lacking the hundreds of blog links that most blogs should have

3. No pictures

4. Absolutely non-existent amount of followers

5. Many other relevant blogging 'know-how' that I do not know about

Let it be known that this weblog shall be my sanctuary, a wondrous place where my thoughts and opinions shall be deemed " free-ranged ", expressed in the form of simple pixels floating across the vast web of cyberspace. Much appreciated if you take it all in without a sense of prejudice.

Do expect a lot of immaturity and dry sarcasm.

Oh, and the acne-ridden teenager you've been picturing up there? Do leave him alone, I feel his pain (: