It’s a New Year

So the year has finished running its course once more. And where was he this time? In another poorly lit room with loud music but accompanied by a different group of friends. Together, they danced the night – and the year – away.

But as the night slowed down, he began to wonder what has he truly accomplished in those three hundred and sixty five days. Or has he been running in circles. Well, he did end up celebrating New Year’s eve partying again. Has he simply spent a year just to end up where he started?

He racked his brain to rise above its alcohol-induced haze to come up with an achievement in the past year, any achievement. He came up flat. Perhaps it was the alcohol. But he did not drink pass his limit, so his cognitive functions should not have performed that poorly. So it was with some trepidation that he concluded, he has indeed just wasted a year doing nothing.

 

 

Meeting below Streetlights at Midnight

I tiptoed towards the door with my hands unconsciously raised in front of myself as a zombie would. The carpet padding muted my footsteps, but then again, it was really unnecessary  as everyone in my household slept behind closed doors.

I opened the door, there was no creak, and soon I was no longer in  the comfort of my own home, but enjoying the chilly winds and the eerie but serene quiet of midnight.

I headed to where we were supposed to meet. At first I didn’t see her, but as I approached the meeting point, there was a figure sitting beside the bush. She was not obvious at first because she sat in the shade cast on the bush by the streetlamp. She dressed like how a mugger would; surreptitious black hoodie, black pants, black shoes, and with her hoodie drawn. Then I looked down at what I was wearing and felt guilty for passing that judgement, for I was wearing exactly the same thing.

I sat down quietly by her side. She was smoking, something I didn’t do myself because I didn’t approve of it.

“Hey,” she acknowledged me.

I replied her with the same word. I could smell the stench of cigarettes on her breath and instinctively twisted my mouth. She noticed and mumbled an apology and cautiously exhaled away from me before continuing, “Nice to see you, Ern.”

“I wish we didn’t have to meet like this every time.”

It was something I felt ever since the first meeting but the initial excitement from the mischief of doing something past my bedtime had faded and was eventually not enough to overwhelm the annoyance I felt from always having to meet her under the cover of darkness and at the hours when most living creatures slept.

“What’s wrong with the way we meet?” she asked nonchalantly, as if nothing was wrong, while exhaling smoke into the frosty night air.

I did not have a plan of how to confront her about all the things that were wrong with the way we were meeting, so I decided to drop the subject and change the topic instead. I asked her why she was dressed like that.

“Do you have a problem with how I dress, Ern?” She emphasized the word problem. Her tone suggested that she was not particularly fond of my constructive criticism about her dressing. She also said it without making eye contact, which made me flinch.

I was about to apologize, but before I could, she beat me to it.

“I’m sorry, Ern.” She said as she turned to me. “I’m just feeling a bit cranky now that’s all.”

I laughed nervously and told her I totally understood, although I did not understand in the slightest bit. She finished her cigarette and I watched as she tossed it into the drain-hole  that was set in the pavement. Littering was one of the reasons why I disapproved of smoking, but I kept my mouth shut.

“So, do you want to make out now or what?” She removed her hood, which revealed her beautiful mahogany brown curls, turning to face me once more.

The virgin within me perked up and began to scream at me, “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” But her cold demeanor had turned me off, and I was not particularly feeling in the mood to make out with her, especially with the stench of cigarettes fresh on her breath, along with all the worldly problems I was facing at that point in my life. I politely declined her, while the virgin within me began to hurl curse words at me that I did not even know myself.

I did not realize I was blankly staring at the ground with such intensity that could have bore a hole in the tar road until she jerked me by pulling my arm.

“Hey Ern, I may not have much practice at this, but I can tell that something’s bugging you. And I may not be the right person you want to share this with, but I think you should share it with someone. It’s not good to keep all those problems bottled up.”

When I made no move to reply, she continued, “Everyone has problems, Ern. And everyone deals with them differently. For me, I smoke, I steal, I get high. And I believe you don’t do any of those things, right?”

I shook my head, although she was not expecting a reply because she already continued talking.

“So, one way or another, you have to find some sort of stress relief. Those feelings you have inside you, those bottled-up problems, they’re going to eat away at you for every day that you don’t share them and don’t solve them. You’re going to be worrying about them day in and day out, then you can’t live your life to your fullest, with those burdens on your shoulder. Trust me, Ern, I know.”

I abandoned my mission to bore a hole in the tar road and looked up. There was truth in what she said, and she was also true at suspecting that she was not the one I wanted to confide in, so instead I mumbled a lame ‘thank you’ and gave her a weak smile.

“It’s chill. Always glad to help,” she chirped as she withdrew her pack from her jacket pocket. She held it out to me.

“Smoke?”

I gave her a face which made her laugh, piercing the tranquil silence of the night. I looked around in sudden panic, glancing down the road at my own home, looking  for lights in the windows.

“Relax, Ern,” she said coolly, as she breathed out a cloud of smoke.

I calmed down and resumed my hole-boring mission while she smoked beside me. We were from such different worlds, I thought. She respected my choice to not smoke by not exhaling in my direction, but I could smell the nicotine fumes which drifted rebelliously beyond her control. It was a disgusting smell. At first. But as the minutes ticked past in silence, the fumes got to my head, and I began to feel a numbing calm.

How weak, I scolded myself. Getting numb on secondhand smoke. Seriously, Ern, get it together.

Just then, I heard sounds of gravel rubbing on gravel. I glanced up just in time to see a black box truck approach us, headlights turned off, despite the time of the night. I recognized this truck. It belonged to one of Lynn’s friends. It also signaled the end of our meeting, the end to this unlikely overlapping of two very different human beings from two very different worlds.

“Got to go, Ern.”

I waved my hand in farewell.

“Take care,” she said, blowing a kiss in my direction before entering the back seat and shutting the door behind her.

I watched the truck crunch gravel as it drove off until it melted into the inky darkness. Then I sat on the pavement for a bit longer, appreciating everything the midnight hour had to give, until there was no trace of nicotine fumes and until my butt hurt. Then I got up and trudged home, feeling like a vessel without a soul, as I returned to my own world.

He sat there in the corner, just waiting. From his perspective, he thought everyone must be wondering what he was doing there. He felt insecure and afraid.

From his perspective, the rest shot him furtive glances and suspicious stares. He tried his best to avoid them, but he honestly had nowhere else to look. He ended up looking at each and every one of them, straight in the eye.

But from their perspective, more than half of them were busy and occupied with something else. The student was walking with hasty strides towards an appointment that he was already late for. The businessman was too busy hoping that no one would notice he wore a horribly coordinated outfit that day. The celebrity was too busy strutting her stuff about and being wary for cameras and fans.

The moral is, you always seem in the weaker and less desirable position in your own head. Think less and don’t mull over your own thoughts too much. Leave psychology to the scholarly people.

Letting the Flow Take Me

Turn off your mind,
Let your instincts take control,
Live in the present,
If you think you can handle it

Let the music play,
and let your body sway,
Do the simple things,
Do you think you can manage?

Keep your eyes on the ball,
We’re all playing the same game,
Just move your feet and never stop,
Don’t think about anything more

What do you feel?
Isn’t it much better to live a day at a time?
The future is a mercurial fog anyway
Why plan ahead?

The Motions

My days passes by me like I’m in a daze

I feel like I’m just going through the motions every day,

not really aware of what I’m doing or what I’m saying anymore.

I can’t put in effort because I don’t know what I should be putting my effort into.

I hope this hazy daze clears up soon.

But until then, I shall just drift with the wind

Too Fast, Too Soon

It occurred to me this morning while sorting out my laundry that I my life has suddenly taken a drastic turn without myself knowing. My easygoing lifestyle has somehow transformed into a hectic one. I can’t find time to read any more, and reading is and always will be my favorite hobby. If I can’t find the time to read, don’t even mention about finding the time to blog. Time is just so crucial to me now.

Now, how laundry caused all this is because I was sorting out my freshly washed socks. Today, I took the extra measure to pair my socks up before putting them into their drawer. Usually, I don’t do this. I just toss them in. This makes it slightly harder to find a pair of matching socks in the morning, especially when you’re in a rush. Thus, on most days, the type of socks that I wear for the day is usually determined by the first matching pair that I manage to find. Sometimes, I don’t even match my socks at all.

Now, in retrospect, I realized that it was very lazy and unorganized of me. Why isn’t this a habit of mine? I love organized-ness. I guess the reason is because of my tendency to do everything with a sense of urgency. Pairing socks up may or may not be urgent, depending on your personality, but to me then, it was the lowest on my priority list.

When has my life became such a rush? I need a chill pill one of these days. Someone please pour a dozen down my throat.

I feel like I’m already suffering from all the negative aspects of a middle-aged-turning-white working individual. First, there’s the perpetual rush that I am always in. Secondly, there’s the forgetfulness.

I forget tons of things. I talk to my friends and then I decide that I can contribute to the conversation with something from my phone. So I unlock my phone. Then I forget exactly what I was looking for.

I can buy groceries from the supermarket then lay them in a corner, then when I feel like I’m craving for some food, I completely forget that they were there and then I make a mental note to myself to pickup more chips from the supermarket. Ironically, I remember to pick them up upon the next visit. But I wish I didn’t. Because now I have too much chips. (You can actually never have too much chips.)

Just ten minutes ago, I actually forgotten that I wanted to write this post and I was staring at the blank tab in my Google Chrome browser, questioning myself, what on earth was I about to do?

Where has my childhood gone? I don’t remember a single hour of it.The only thing I can remember is my presentation due on Monday (tomorrow) and the script that I have yet to memorize.

Speaking of my script, I better get to that now. Ciao!

A Simile Challenge

I love to read similes. Especially original similes that are well thought of. In fact, I envy the writers who thought of them. For some reason, I lack the creativity to create similiar comparisons to rival those that I encounter.
Some of the similes that I have almost used in this blog include:

Eyes as round as saucers.

Skin as pale as a sheet.

I know. So lame. I agree and I think so too. Thus, I am issuing a Simile Challenge to myself. To anyone who reads this, I challenge you to do the same!

Basically rules are I just need to write a story with as many decent and original similes I can think of. Here goes:

Well it’s a bright and sunny morning, as if the sun and the clouds has finally agreed to cooperate with each other. The clouds aligned the way they do when they are vying against celebrities for likes on Instagram. Meanwhile, here I am, connected as usual, admiring these pictures through a glass screen, instead of a glass pane, through Windows instead of the window.

Sometimes I wonder why people post these pictures online, when I can see it whenever I look through the window. I reckon we are reaching a point where our entire world can almost be lived and experienced through a mini little screen.

You can get your entire community of friends through the Web, even if you share odd interests like pizza flavored soup. All you need to do is the crawl through the Web and explore its deepest darkest recesses for your deepest darkest fetishes. Not that I would know, I’m not that kind of person. I’m as average as the man you see everyday at your favorite coffeehouse that you casually smile and wave hi to.

But I can imagine what the potential Internet could hold for people with interests as weird as Popeye’s love for spinach. As I’m typing right now, I’m sure there is someone out there scouting for a Popeye cosplay costume or spinach flavored steroids. Well we will never know, will we? The world out there is as strange as the reason behind the Kardashians’ fame, possibly stranger.

I Never Understood Why Children Hate Vegetables

At my workplace, where we sell sandwiches with customizable ingredients, I get a lot of children and toddler customers who order sandwiches with absolutely no vegetables in them.

This brings to my mind the memories of various instances where I see children refusing to eat their broccolis, carrots, corns and peas.

But, ma, I hate vegetables!

Having been a child not too long ago myself, I can never understand why children hate vegetables, or at least why television commercial directors seem to have that stereotype in mind.

I absolutely loved my vegetables. My favorites were stir-fried french beans.

You will never find a need to do this to me.

On the other hand, I hated meat. I even once declared to my form teacher during class that I was a vegetarian. For some reason that I was too young to comprehend then, this sparked a huge (and totally uncalled for) show of concern for the ten-year-old me.

“Fred! You need to eat meat!”

“Fred! You’re too young to be a vegetarian!”

“Fred! Look at you! You’re so skinny! You really need meat!”

Too bad they did not ask “Fred! Do you really not eat meat at all?” because then, I would reply, “Actually I do. I just really really don’t like them that’s all.”

When Parents Keep Asking You to Study

You know what holidays are like, don’t you? You’ve definitely been to school, or you might even still be schooling.

Well, what does everyone in school look forward to? (Brace yourself for an overgeneralized stereotypical answer.) Everyone looks forward to the holidays! Spring break, or summer break, or winter break, or semester break, or June holidays, or whatever you call it from wherever you are from.

It’s Spring Break and dhe crowd goes wild!!

Well, I know I love my holidays. But there is a catch.

I study abroad, away from my parents in Malaysia, living on my lonely lonesome in a hostel in Singapore. Holidays carry a special meaning to me. They mean that I get to finally go home.

But home is never what I expect it to be.

Here’s what I expect it to be: Home should feel like those commercial houses near the beach that people rent out to Spring break people to party in, with unlimited wifi, unlimited food, no curfew, no lights out time. Basically, no rules. Do whatever you want.

I’m imagining a getaway like this.

It’s the least I can expect from parents who have not seen their little baby for months, isn’t it?

But noooo, here’s reality:

“Fred get off the laptop.”

“Fred, study.”

“Fred, how come I never see you open a book?”

“Fred, how come you spend the whole day in your room?”

“Fred, when I say get off your laptop, it doesn’t mean you can use your phone.”

“Fred, how about I send you to tuition classes?”

“Fred, go write an essay.”

The nagging never stops.

Frankly, it feels worse here. I rather stay put in my hostel on my lonely lonesome than come back to a hellish home. I feel that my parents has lost their understanding of the concept of ‘holiday.’ They should be sent back to school.

How about you? Were holidays always what you expected it to be? Did you spend your holidays being a complete internet potato or did you go all out with wild parties? Did you enjoy the extra face time with your parents and siblings? Or should your parents be sent back to school as well?

It’s Just Life

He looked forward to seeing the new girl for the closing shift. She had pretty lips which were a shade of deep pink like orchids. It was a sharp contrast against her dark skin, but he did not mind. He knew she used lip gloss too because that shade of pink never occurs naturally, but he thought they looked great nevertheless.

He parked his bike in front of the shop and looked through the full glass doors. There she was, standing behind the sandwich bar. She motioned to him to rush in. Puzzled, he did a sloppy shortcut to lock his bike and pushed open the glass doors.
“ID?” She asked loudly.
“Seventy one,” he replied.
It took his long legs less than five strides to cover the distance between them.
“What’s up?” He asked.
“I helped you punch in. It’s three.” She gestured to the clock.
He pressed a button to find out what time he clocked in.
2:59:56
“4 seconds early!” He raised my eyebrows, impressed.
She replied nonverbally with a very self satisfied expression.

But that was eight hours ago. Now, he is entering the same code she did eight hours ago, only this time, he is doing it to punch out. The girl left shortly after he arrived. He did not get the notice that she was reallocated to the morning shift, otherwise he would have requested to be in the morning shift too. He watched the receipt printer whine and emit electronic squeaks as it churned out his clock out ticket.

Hours worked: 8:03:25
Time punched in: 2:59:56

Those eight hours were no fun at all, he thought. Customer after customer streaming in endlessly, and not a single chance to sit. His back ached like he was fifty and everything was running low. He had run out of ways to paraphrase the words “Sorry that one is finished” and ended up giving up and reciting “Sorry that one sold out. Could you pick something else?” like a broken tape recorder. It was a horrible day. At least now he finally gets to go home.

But at the back of his mind, he secretly knew and dreaded the fact that he had to come to work the next day, and the next, and the day after that too. And probably everyday for the next few weeks too.