The Nomad.

  You travel. You adapt. You survive. Everywhere is home, cause home is wherever you lay your head at night. You've abandoned all the luxuries you've once took for granted. Video games. Good friends. Family. Your home. They're all thousands of miles away from your reach. Cause luxuries can't afford to exist when you're living like this. You thought it would be glorious, to move away, to break out of the norm. But gosh, you never thought about the lonliness that would ensue, never thought about the isolation, never thought how'd it'd be like to be disposable. A nomad.

  This isn't a dry and unforgiving sand dune though. This isn't a journey with a camel across thousands of miles of desert to sell and trade your goods. No. It's a city. It's a town. It's a village. There's thousands of people around, and yet you feel so alone. Because you're different, you're an outsider. They know you're not here to stay, they know you'll move on. So, they alienate you, they shun you and they exclude you. Cause they know there's not much you can give them, nothing to gain from a friend with a expiry date. 

  But you try anyway. You adapt. You blend. You change. You change into their ways and mold into their shapes. You start walking their walk, talking their talk and mocking what they mock too. Anything it takes. Anything it takes for them to see that you're human too, just like them. Sooner or later, you progress. You find yourself thinking the way they do even when they're not around anymore. But deep down, the timer is still clicking away, whether you remember or not.

  You're happy. Happy because you've finally been accepted. They mutually respect you now, seeing you as one of their own. Seeing you as an outsider who gave his all to be one of them. Part of the flock. They celebrate, they praise you. Praise you for your adaptability and how you're able to do it so fast. That's when you start to forget. Start to forget where you're from. You're lost in a soceity that finally accepts you after all that effort you've put in. After all those lonely nights waiting.

  You've finished packing. Tying up your shoelaces with your luggage by the doorstep, you don't say a word to the others. You leave. Not because you want to, but because the winds of change dictate so. Forces bigger than you. Forces out of your control. Forces that say it's time for your ass to get a move on. And so you leave, to your next home. Your home away from home away from home. This is how it is. You're disposable. You're adaptable. You're a nomad.

  

 

The stork.

   By now, my sweat has already dampened the running tee under my jacket. My breaths came out long and hard, the result of 30 minutes of a good pace. I've ran many roads here in my small town, but somehow, this road always appeases to me best. The way that it stretches for 3 kilometres straight to another small town and is lined by an abundance of trees and fields always keeps me coming back to it. Like a beckoning lover. Up ahead, a cleared straw field draws up, freshly cut and trimmed. My nose twitches to the light smell of diesel.

  I've seen this field dozens of times on my runs, but it was a little different this time, cleared and more watery than usual. Highlighted white among the yellowing fields, there it stood. Well stood wasn't really the right word, there it... leaned. Waddling around in the watery grass, ocassionally pecking away at the mud by stretching it's already more-than-stellar neck, a stork.  Not that I've never seen a stork before, just not one this close. I thought about stopping to admire it for awhile, but I didn't want to risk losing the Endorphins already pumping hard in my veins. So I ran on.

  I always have this funny habit of reaching this certain sign in town to before I turn back. After completing my quirky little ritual, I finally turned back for the return run, relaxed and satisfied. Needless to say, I came across the already yellower fields of cut grass. To my surprise, my acquaintence still stood there, pecking away aimlessly at the ground, clumsily waddling around with it's pinkish legs. It must've been at it for the full 45 minutes I was gone, seeing as how no other storks were squelching around.

  This time however, I couldn't help but slow down into an eventual stop and look at it. With the loud music blaring from my Walkman, I could've sworn I perked it's interests. It tilted it's head, just enough to set it's coffee-black eyes on me for a moment. Sensing this lanky young man was no danger, it went back to it's aimless pecking and waddling around in the already reeking muddish grass. And I just stood there, at the side of a bicycle lane, looking at it. 


  In many ways, this bird reminds me a lot about myself. Butt-ugly as it is, it could never match up to the fabled Birds of Paradise with their dazzling plumage and intricate mating rituals. It isn't exactly agile and graceful like the magestic Bald Eagle either, seeing as how it has been practically rolling around in marshy-filth just managing for it's next meal. But one thing about it does strike me about myself though, it's patient as fuck masticating around in that muddy crap, and doesn't really give a crap about whose watching him doing that. That's about the only thing I can hold to myself in this ever-competitive world.

  Not to mention my legs are just a tad bit fatter than it's, and that's just me being positive. That's gotta count for some points on our relativity chart. Not wanting to look like some hillbilly hitchhiker, I slowly started up my pace again and made way back home. Because I'm running on a severely-underused bicycle lane, I could spare myself the luxury of looking at it a bit more while I trodded back. Right before my vision was curtained by branches and leaves, I could've sworn that stork pecked a fish right outta of the water. That clumsy storks' gotta eat too.

Spring, is that you?

                 "It'll get better next week." That's what my host father told me the night I first arrived at my new home. The memory still fresh in my head. That was the by far the coldest night of my life. Where -16 degrees of biting wind and light snow punctured me to my core and robbed me of all warmth. Don't get me wrong, I was all hyped up about winter and snow for the first few days. For the first few days at least. I rolled around in snow, had snowballfights and swallowed some of it just to see how it feels to have it melt in your mouth. But the cold doesn't let up. No, it's not some toy that you can pull out of a toychest whenever you want. I wish it was though. It's an everpresent thing.

   For those of you who have never braced the chill of winter before, here's a little head's up. The first time I stepped out into the cold, it was a magical experience for me. Having grown up in a tropical country where the coldest thing you'll ever feel is ice on your palms, having 2 degrees outdoors and misty breathes was magical. Well, magical for about 2 minutes at least. After that initial joyous moment, I shivered my ass back inside. Humidity is also a big issue here. It's only been 3 weeks, and I swear the back of my palms feel like beef jerky right now.

   Don't laugh at how much of a little bitch I am, but having grown up in a constant 30 degrees environment you'd feel the same too. But I think I'm managing well, I haven't bitched about it yet to anyone in person, so you know this blog gets all my hate. Thankfully, my host father's words finally came true this morning. It's shocking how fast the weather can go from total shit to perfect here in Europe. Just a few days ago, I was biking my way home in a shower of freezing cold water and today I wake up to this little beauty here:

Hallelujah!

                                                 
      The transition from winter to spring feels so novel to me. It kinda feels like one of those cartoons we used to watch where the main character frolicks around flowers and chirping birds. It also feels like one of those deep poems like Robert Frost wrote about. To finally have 15 solid degrees is relief enough for me, but let's hope spring doesn't turn its back on us. Well that's enough sitting around indoors for today, better savour this day while I still can!

Shock me.

   They say the secret to a long and fulfilling life is to immerse one self into novelty. Novelty being the face of everything new, new things, new experiences, new people and all in all, a new life. Supposedly your life will reach new heights and your perspectives completely mold into something else, and you'll turn out to be an entirely changed person. But what they don't tell you in the preview is the shock. That shock you get when everything around you loses its warm sense of familiarity and comfort.

   To describe my experiences so far as a culture shock would be a sad, misleading statement. Saying its' "culture shock" would imply that I am only shocked by the different culture. When actually, the culture is what shocks me the least. I could deal with culture. The culture part is easy. It's all the other factors that are shocking me right now. I'm like this little baby bird having to leave the comfort of his nest for the very first time. Oh, my comfy, warm, familiar nest.

   Over here, I'm like a huge deformed alien baby. Everyone talks to me funny. Everyone looks at me funny (especially strangers). Everyone treats me funny. And the fact that I can't communicate well with others is just more icing on my chocolate cake of shame. Right now, sign language is probably my most versatile tool for talking to others. It's an awkward situation all in all, having being thrown into the deep end.

   But the peculiar bit is, I haven't a clue if all this is good or bad. I mean yes, I have to adapt and change according to all these new circumstances and conditions presented to me. But on the flipside, I have a clean slate now. I have this chance to start anew. And let's be honest here, you almost never get to reinvent yourself in a familiar and comfortable setting. You'll almost always just crawl back into your sweet little shell when things get tough.

   Two weeks in, I'm afraid it's much too early to say anything credible yet. All I know is, they never tell you all this when you sign up.

 

Enough to go around.

   There he goes again, lamenting his glory, exaggerating his prowess, bragging on about every small accomplishment and every possible goal he's ever achieved. Rambling on and on about how hard he's worked for his small successes, like the whole world and all who inhabit it should stop and know about how much he's sacrificed and how great he is for doing so. It would seem that life is one big race to him. A race where only the winner's could win and everything else is considered inferior, second-grade, low-class, street-trash, ugh... you catch my drift. This displeases me, drawing up a frown on my face, and in doing so, puzzling me as well. Am i jealous? I'd like to think not. Truth be told, I'd like to think that there's enough success and happiness to go around.

   Many at times, we tend to fall into a delirious dogma where if others succeed, you would fail in their place. Silly, don't you think? Where in this wholesome world could a pitiful concept like this have sprouted? It's everywhere! And everyone! By golly, even I catch myself living up to this concept sometimes. I remember putting myself down the last time the results for our exams came out. I felt crestfallen when I looked at the near-perfect results of students who were better than me. Even though I progressed by leaps and bounds from the last examinations, I was too blinded by my need for praise and recognition that I felt bad for myself.

   In turn, I started to turn towards the poorer students for comfort. I would ask about their grades and feel alllll better about myself, giving myself an empty pat on the back for a job well done. I now realize how such a dogma not only made you feel bad, but also detrimented to your relationship with others. Detrimental in the fact that you're judging people based on their ability to be successful in terms of grades, charisma and general like-ablity. But really, are those the only things that make a person successful? We should really look further than that, and not be bogged down by such redundant details.

   I'm definitely not implying that good grades and a competitive nature are bad things to have around. When looked at and treated in the right way, these two things can be such a great driver in the ever-competitive society that exists today. We ought to be smart enough to not treat life as one big race. Life is probably too short for that. It ought to be be spent on having fun, being happy and enjoying good coffee. Then again, who am I to give good advice on life when I've only lived it for a measly 17 years. Ah, such arrogant of me.

   "Life is not a race, but indeed a journey." It's so corny, yet so true. Why should we treat life like a big race? Are we in such a hurry to get to the end?

       

   

    

Not all it's cut out to be.

    Checking through my accounts paper for the last time, I finally decided to pack up my things and walk out, before I started doubting my answers. Strutting out that classroom, I swore I was shivering and shaking as I stashed away all my stationaries and calculators. (Yes, I brought in more than one). And with that, I walked out of that exam hall, never to see the likes of one for a long time. I heaved a heavy sigh of relief, one of the heaviest I've heaved in awhile, shuddering for one last time before I did so. An euphoric feeling swept over me in an instant, as I thought about all the awesome things I'd do and how much fun I'd have now that SPM is over. "It was finally over" I thought, little did I know things had only just begun.

   Of course after that, I proceeded home to 'enjoy' by drowning myself in match after match of DotA 2 and many various outings with friends. I did everything I pictured myself doing when I was stressing myself out in that exam hall. "I'd have fun" I said, "I'd screw SPM and all the books..." I thought, "I'd enjoy myself sooooo much..." I supposed. And so off I went, doing a couple of stupid things here and there, thinking that it'll make me happy and that I'd enjoy myself at last. Needless to say, I did enjoy myself for a night or two, but what's next? Was I supposed to be enjoying myself for the rest of my life? Even enjoyment in overdose would turn out to be a dreadful bore as well.

    Hey, what is this?! I thought I was supposed to be living the life, the life of carefree-ness I have always dreamt of having after that dreaded examination. Isn't that what we all dreamt of? Being care-free and having all the fun you want after that one last examination? Instead, I'm sitting here ranting around like an old man. Truth be told, I've never felt this fun-less since I got my heart broken. And right now, I feel like more than my heart has been broken. What is this?! Clearly, you can sense my dissatisfaction and disappointment by the way i put a "!" at the back of my "?". I feel like I've been conned and scammed by some man in a corny business suit. Isn't life supposed to be fun and full of bliss after all that hard work I've pumped into my final examinations?!   Sadly, it would seem that no answer would come to emotional predicament, and I was left to ponder alone. To all SPM candidates out there, I'm sure you're feeling the way I do, and if you have yet to finish your examinations, here's a slight preview on what's about to come. I sighed to myself again, not in relief this time, but in a slight dissapointment. I feel it fair that somebody should've warned me about this. You'd think that all those post-SPM candidates would have something to say about this when they finished. But nooooo.... They'd watch you suffer from afar and laugh about over a cup of coffee and a bagel.

     
   So, here it is, all my labourous work and effort, awaiting to be thrown out. All my physics notes, my chemistry references and all lovely add math formulas, gone just like that, like dust in the wind. All that knowledge, prepared to be erased from my short-term memory for all eternity. Of course, with this ending, comes a new beginning. Hopefully, I'll be a tad more optimistic about my new phase of life. Just optimistic enough to get by. 

A gift of words : Mom.

"You come home with me right now!"

    Startled by the sudden ring of a strangely familiar voice, my fingers froze inches above the keyboard. I stared blankly at the computer screen as I registered the voice my sensitive ears picked up. It took me awhile to process the information, cause my mind was numb from the icy grasp of Warcraft III, but when I did, warning bells immediately started ringing in my head. As I slowly rotated my head around, I was greeted by the most horrific sight any teenage boy could ever imagine : Mom's icy stare. Aside from soiling my best pants, I swear I had a mini heart attack right there and then. Usually, I'd come up with a witty excuse to weasel myself out of trouble, but there was no escape this time, I was caught red-handed. As a son, I committed the highest act of distrust, I lied straight-faced to my mom and gamed all day at a cybercafe. The other players watched distastefully as I got up and skulked all the way back home, to receive the scolding of a lifetime.

   That embarrassing bit of flash-back was exactly five years ago. Back when I was a careless, hairless 12 year old who was addicted to cyber-gaming like his next fix of cocaine. Sometimes I still laugh at my younger self. About the stupid decisions I made and at how I would always get my mother to erupt like a super-massive volcano. Consider yourself lucky that you didn't know me as a child, here are but a few of my mischievous misdeeds:

a) Broke a boy's nose.
b) Started a fight with a girl on the first day of school.
c) Opened my Christmas presents before Christmas day ( I was THAT badass )

I takes a real woman to survive a child like I was. Looking back, I shudder at the thought of how I would turn out if she hadn't dragged me out of that cybercafe. A blessing in disguise was what it was.

   Come to think of it, I owe a lot of good things in my life right now to Mom. The good food, a comfortable house, a working computer, a hot shower. Even so, these material must-haves are dwarfed by the changes Mom brought for me in my life. If it were not for her firm and strict guidance, I would still be lost in the desert of my addiction. If it not for her nagging and endless ranting, I might not have learned my lesson and I would still be in the dark. In fact, it's because of her (and dad) that I exist today. And so, I would like to dedicate this small crumb of cyberspace to my mom. I know it may not resemble much in the material world, but I hope you enjoy reading this mom :)

Dear mom,
   You once told me that there are only two things in the world that worry you. Your son and your daughter. Although I found it hard to believe at first, I took some time to ponder about it. I mean come on, there's gotta be tons of other thing you're worried about right? But every little worry I managed to bring up led right back to us. Your over-demanding children. It didn't take me long to realize how guilty I was. Oh, guilty on so many charges. Guilty for not feeling thankful about you investing your Sunday afternoon's on me for that "A" in accounts. Guilty for how I didn't acknowledge the fact that you forked out tons of money so that my feet wouldn't hurt when I ran. Guilty that I didn't apologize to you when I made you mad and high-strung.

   I've been through a lot during my past 5 years of adolescence. Fickle friends. Raging acne. Heartbreak. But no matter how many obstacles I overcame or how many changes I went through, there was always one thing I could count on when I needed it. And it was you, Mom. I didn't even have to say a word and you'd know that something was wrong, like a motherly sixth sense. It seems that for every failure that I've been through in my life, you were my cushion. A cushion that would bounce me right back up every time I fell down. You'd pick me up and brush me off with your encouraging words, words that I hold dear to. "Don't waste your time on someone who doesn't appreciate you for who you are." I may be heartbroken and trampled on, but that managed to put a smile on my face.

   No words could possibly describe the gratitude that I and this family are indebted into you. I can honestly admit that this family would be in shambles if not for your efforts and love. Even though we don't see eye to eye at the best of times. I just want you to know that I love you mom. I might not say it everyday. I might shy away every time you try to hug me. But deep down, I know I owe a huge chunk of my life to you and I appreciate you for that. Do remember to set aside some time for me this Saturday. We are going to pig ourselves out. Happy birthday mom!