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!

  




   
  

  

   

Reading away.

   I was nestling myself comfortably in my parents bedroom. The air-cond was set to a crisp 16 degrees celcius, and a small amount of light sneaked menacingly around the curtains. Bright enough for me to read, but dim enough for me to wind down and relax. There was a small rustling as smooth pieces of parchment, paper and ink slid easily under my thumb and index finger. Ever since I've stopped training as an athlete, such has been my routine. A good book-reading, followed by a restoring nap after a tedious day of school. 

   I've never been much of an avid reader. I dreaded the idea of sitting down and slaving over incomprehensible words strewn across bits of paper. Much of my time was spent jumping, running, yelling and any other activity that promoted broken limbs. To prevent my brain from rotting and in hopes that I would stay true to the asian overachieving stereotype, Mom wanted to make sure that I read. And boy, did she have a hard time. Apparently, I would prefer running around the house naked rather than sit down and read some boring old books ( as I expect all boys would ) . And throughout my entire childhood, the habit never really stuck.

   My sister would be the polar opposite of my boyish self, she was mild-mannered, composed and had an insatiable penchant for reading. For as long as I can remember, she's been a bookworm in every sense of the word. Whether those words came from novels, textbooks or the labels on the back of soda bottles, she would feed off them like a real worm eating rotting wood. Sometimes, I swear I see her chewing away as she reads, seeming to digest the words as she takes it in. Of course, with all her incessant reading came great knowledge. 


   It would seem that her appetite for reading has rubbed off on me over the years as well. I have no idea when or how it all began, but I don't mind a new hobby to fill up my time. Flipping open a book is like a gateway into a whole new world. Where my imagination and the authors words defines the boundaries of what happens. It's like a movie, only the pictures, scenes and special effects are all in my head. A world where I'm free to create and picture anything, however I want it.

 

   

Calling in sick

   I rolled over in my uncomfortably hot covers, my eyes squinting at the digital alarm clock across the room. Strange, it wasn't ringing like it normally would. "5.50 am" it seemed to say to me in this freaky voice. For a moment, I thought about getting up and perform my usual school-going routine. As I got up, I was sickly reminded about my sickly condition. Gratefully, I sank back into my sheets, drifting back into a light sleep. I thought about what I'd miss in school today and tempted myself to wake up again. My body told me to stay put, but my studios side protested, just in case I would miss something awesome in school. Body won. " Not today...." I mumbled.

    No, I am not playing traunt today, I am merely sick. I can't remember the last time I've had to skip a day of school because my body couldn't function properly. The night before, my head was throbbing, my throat was rasp with all the constant coughing and my nose seemed like the most enthusiastic runner, keeping up a killer pace all night. Shortly after my morning wake-up, I was awoken again by the teasing rays of light piercing through my curtains. I would have to get up sometime, might as well be now.I groggily shook myself off and greeted my morning with some good cheese cake.


    As I've mentioned earlier, it's been a long while since I've fallen sick enough to skip school, and it takes an awful lot for me to skip school. Over the past few years, I've been at great pains to take care of myself. Sleeping early. Eating well. Staying positive. Exercising regularly. And above all, avoiding the plauge that is fast food ( that's right KFC, you're on my hate list ). Sadly, it seems that running your heart out in a marathon brings more burden than just sore legs and toes, no regrets though!


   Strangely enough, today has been rather refreshing for me. It's been such a long time since I've allowed some time for myself, some time for my body and mind to rest and recharge themselves to the fullest. Skipping school didn't turn out to be as bad as I thought. I got to enjoy my breakfast slowly, watch some mindless television, laze around the house, sleep for a good part of the afternoon and catch up on some witty novels ( no worries mom, I did my revision like you asked). After weeks of packed schedules and activities, It feels good to have nothing on my to-do list, even if it's for a day.


   For the longest time now, I've always been fed the mindset that life is one big race. That if I didn't get perfect grades or have the right skills, I'd definitely be sure to fall short in life and fail miserably. And so, I led life like a big race, constantly racing for a finish line that would never come. Maybe falling sick is a good thing, a sign asking me to slow down, before I blow one of my tires. I must admit, it does feel good to finally be able to kick my feet up and worry about nothing for a day. " But wouldn't lazing around like this all the time make you lazy as well? " my conscious screamed at me.


   So, which one is it? A life of hardwork and determination, pursuing big dreams and making big money? Or a life spent sniffing the flowers and lazing around all the time? There has to be a balance, a balance where I could work hard towards my dreams, and enjoy my life as well. Oh well, like a fine line in a vast desert, I'm sure that this balance will be very hard to find. Until then, I'll be content with hopping around from one spot to the other, depending on my oppurtunities. Better keep a vial of viruses handy, just in case I need another day off. 

Half a marathon

   The very first thing that struck me when I sat down on the grass field was the stiffness in my legs, my muscles were sore and I could feel them wounding up inside like a corkscrew. The soreness just seemed to spread up my body after my adrenaline rush, I felt soreness in places I never knew existed ( like my armpits ). My head was groggy, and I felt like I was going to see my breakfast again. You'd think that all these things meant I was a miserable meltdown. But no, I felt happy sitting there on the field, warming myself down and stretching like a fool. I was tired, sick, and my stomach felt like flipping itself out. But I was happy. A happy, sick, nauseous teenager who had sore ass armpits.

  Ever since I've joined the athletics team, it has always been my dream to complete a marathon. I don't know why, but the concept of it just appealed to me. It has always amazed me how people were able to run 42 kilometers in such a short time. Such a feat requires fitness, endurance and a whole lot of mental strength, something that I've always sought after. And so, I set my sights towards completing this grueling long-distance event. This morning, I've been given the chance to take a step closer towards achieving this dream of mine.

 

   For all you running enthusiasts out there, I'm sure you know that Standard Chartered holds a marathon annually down here in a Malaysia. And for all you coach potatoes, well, you know now. This year, I am finally able to register myself for the Honda Half marathon, and so I did. I did it instinctively, without giving much thought. I sneered to myself as I registered online, thinking that 21 kilometers was easy as cake.  Of course, I never fully grasped what I was going up against, not until today.

   It started off easy enough. Get up really early, take a cold shower, have a light breakfast, nothing too challenging or hard. By 4.30, I was already at Dataran Merdeka, eagerly awaiting for a race that would start at 6. Right from the start, I could see that this event was going to be a big one, just by the sheer number of people that were there, waiting patiently like me. A whopping 28,000 enthusiastic runners to be exact. At 5, I started my warm-up's, sizing up my competitors as I circled the field. I felt ecstatic, and for the love of me, I didn't know why.

   At the starting line, I was greeted by a whole new other-wordly experience. Runners budging past each other and smudging against one another regardless of what gender you are. I've been for a lot of road races, but never one that surpasses the sheer size of this one. I was all fine and dandy, till some guy smeared his sweaty back against my freshly-changed running tee. But oh, the oddities didn't stop there, there were runners dressed as clowns, a competitor who shat himself before the race started and a foreign woman breast-feeding her baby right next to me. Wonderful start to a morning.

   Before I knew it, the horn blared and we were off. The wind whipping across your face, the sound of running shoes scrubbing against the tar road, all the things that seem oh' so

familiar to me. To others, it may seem like a whole lot of trouble to get up at 3 in the morning just to drag our asses through a traffic jam to get to the center of town just to run our butts off. But to us runners, it's the thrill we seek when we run, and that thrill multiplies when we do it together.

   Throughout the entire 21 kilometers, I was never more than 2 meters away from another runner, that's how packed it was. Sometimes, I'd even have to sidestep myself to avoid an incoming collision with other runners. We moved as one. All 5900 of us, Meandering our way through the city hotspots. Lots of things happened after that. I overtook. I was overtaken. I met my old teacher. I grinned at blocked traffic. But above all, I ran my sorry heart out.

   Special thanks goes out to my wonderful dad, for driving me down to the city center at 4 in the morning and running 10 kilometers without registering just so i could make it for this big run. Could have never made it without you. After I got home, I heaved a sigh of relief mixed with a touch of happiness. They say that a man changes after he finishes a marathon. Half a change is enough for me today.

 

   

Talk about winning.

   I tossed and turned in my bed, sweat pouring down my back, even though it was well under 18 degrees in my air-conditioned room. Sleep was the last thing on my bed at that moment. My body felt exhausted, but thoughts were swirling around like sharks in my head. I hated this anticipation, I hated the doubt, it feels like a colony of ants feasting away at my brain. I know we've been training hard, but my mind just couldn't put it to rest. " What if someone messes up?", "What if the judges spot that small mistake?", "What if we lose?" sang my mind throughout the night.

  The next morning, we were all at the stadium sitting down on the track, awaiting for the announcement that would set us all in motion. All of us were in our full uniforms, ready to get the job done, ready to march our hearts out and ready to win. Even though we were shouting confidently and making jokes, I could still feel that wave of doubt rippling throughout the team. It didn't matter how confident we were, there was always that chance that we'd mess up, that small chance that we'd lose be sent home packing. I'd hate to think about what happens to us after that.

  Before I knew it, we were marching our way down the stadium track, the obnoxiously loud music constantly drowning away our timings and commands. This is it, time to channel all those weeks of training and sweat into this one shot. This one routine that would decide whether go home with pride or with our tails between our legs. I kind of expected the real thing to be long, gruelling, sweaty, just like our training. But no, it was over just as soon as it began. After that, we had to await for our verdict.


  Thankfully, I had a running event to keep my mind off the results of our marching. I warmed up, I stretched, I drank water, anything just to keep my blasted brain from thinking too much about the outcome. But alas, the time had to come when we would all find out who the winner is. Right after my event, was the prize giving ceremony, and I watched as members of my troop marched out onto the field, all with that look of anticipation on their faces.
   
   Turns out, I am too much of a worry wort for my own good. As the teacher announced the winner of the marching competition, my heart leapt with joy. As I watched from the sidelines, I could see the same expression from my fellow scouts, they were happy and relieved, ready to celebrate our victory. And celebrate we did. Needless to say, I was happy and proud. I've never been much of a winner, but today I felt like one, a big fat sloppy winner!