The Chronicles Of Everything From These Eyes

Everytime I come here, it feels as if I've let myself down.

What I endeavoured for this online journal was that it will become a colourful, logged version of the fun parts of my life without looking like a typical blog that spoke about the routine behaviours of everyday life.

I've achieved in avoiding the latter idea, but the former goal escaped me. It'd be a lie to say my life isn't fun; some parts of it were interestingly harrowing even if there is no fun involved.

So why are my entries so morbid? Have I become so hard on my own expectations, that I've failed to see the joy of routine and the joy of wasting online bandwidth to share that routine to the world who could care less? How long have I turned my nose up against bad blogging styles or bad blog content?

Haha. As if I write anything better.

I still discourage from writing crap like "I had dinner, it was good" unless a lesson is learnt from dinnering.

Suddenly, I'm more grateful for mundane things like waking up and teeth-brushing.

---

And what do I define as fun? Is it clubbing? Gaming? Getting to work on my musical interests? Photography? Or is it putting myself a notch above all the mongering mouth-breathers and wastrels we see in day-to-day interactions? (All enjoyable, mind you. Some are more enjoyable than others.)

I keep telling myself that I will find good content to put up here. Something not only that's comfortable for me to etch into digital immortality, but also something worth that immortality. I wouldn't want the only remaining first-hand histories of me on this material plane to be about my bowel movements or my oral hygiene.

Plus, it would help if Livejournal isn't such a pain in the ass when it comes to uploading photos. I'd gladly do my album series over here than facebook, thankyouverymuch, but I'd rather pick a well-furnished social site and cast my worries about online anonymity into oblivion. So for eye-candy and routine, I suppose facebook is the better option. Plus I've lowered my security enough for the average stranger to view my photo albums anyway.

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Back to point, what of this space? For me to indulge in more emoing? Since they, er - qualify as 'non-routine honest thoughts'. Emoing is nice. But only if you know how to do it right. From all my previous entries, I realise being angsty and accusing every quivering being out there isn't exactly the right way to portray oneself. It's the evil twin of being overly-excited about $1 curry puffs and about umbrellas opening like they should.

You're happy and sad about retarded things, fine by everyone, but if you don't have something of worth to trade for people's eyeballs and time, DON'T go on and on.

It's like how people also don't appreciate scrolling through walls and walls of poems about your sun in the sky melting as the earth degenerates and people are merely grey shadows on the streets who're caught up in the material world zooming past and failing to see the beauty or lack thereof of everything. IT GETS OLD.

Then again, isn't that what everybody's lives are about? The little things? Since they make up such a great part of life?

And it's right here, I concede that having these convenient little websites to puke out your inane shit is really what they're for. And we all do it because it's enjoyable. Plus we know the person better without having to talk to them and watch them crumble before your eyes.

---

Eh, damn, I intended to blog just a sentence about how I should blog more. I'm horrible at being concise!

-z

"...Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." (John 8:32, NIV)

Not true.

The truth is, sometimes you tell the truth, not only it doesn't set you free - it shackles you and chains you down, forever.

-z

I have not done a "i-wake-up-today-brushed-teeth-and-gone-to-work" blog entry in a really long time.

"Oh yah hor." was what my brain said when I narrated that above sentence out loud.

Why thank you, Captain Obvious.

ANYHOO my 1.2k-word-long wine article is finally out in the magazine i write for. The print copies will be out in November, although I'm pretty damn sure there isn't a way to get your hands on a copy...

...

... I'm thinking of mailing a copy back home so they (family) knows what the bird have I really been up to.

In related news, I thought this centerspread article (4 pages long, plus another 2page ad in between sia) was the killer of my sanity.

That was true until I got another eight articles flung my way, all ranging 1.2k to 1.5k words. Need print-quality pictars, need credible research, blahblahblah.

Due in varying times, with the last deadline being only two weeks from now.

At least I'm getting more bylines. And more free stuff in between articles. Am still not over the free swedish massage, you know.




Now, if only I could get my ass around to starting on them.




OHYEAH, and I woke up today, and POSTPONED brushing my teeth until lunch was consumed. How's that for a typical blog entry?

Now fuck off.

-z

This body holds a heart, mind and soul that is so broken, so shattered and so disfigured, it is beyond any possible repair. It doesn't matter even if there is a theoretical way to mend the entirety, maybe ten, twenty, fifty years later; there is no material solution to it's destruction and it is above the human understanding.

However, all the broken fragments and dust deliquesce into this alloy of stability into an essence, the sanity, the ardor and passion, into an entity (moreso, compared to an entirety) and created this scarred and new, scared and brave new thing.

And so far, so good. So broken, but so damn good.

-z

Now, it's not so hard when there's an analogy, is it?

A woman has a close male friend. This means that he is probably interested in her, which is why he hangs around so much. She sees him strictly as a friend. This always starts out with, you're a great guy, but I don't like you in that way.

This is roughly the equivalent for the guy of going to a job interview and the company saying, "You have a great resume, you have all the qualifications we are looking for, but we're not going to hire you. We will, however, use your resume as the basis for comparison for all other applicants. But, we're going to hire somebody who is far less qualified and is probably an alcoholic. And if he doesn't work out, we'll hire somebody else, but still not you. In fact, we will never hire you. But we will call you from time to time to complain about the person that we hired."

Yup.

-z

I thought this whole 'living alone' thing was a way of showing me how life sucks when you have no human contact whatsoever, and that a bachelor's life is pathetic as fuck to live in, where you envelope yourself in solitude, deceiving yourself with fleeting flirtations, using money to buy comfort and to spend time, and most importantly, alienating yourself from the rawest form of humanity: the lack of communal living.

I thought wrong. A month to get used to a few things, settle down, and all: I actually am more than thankful without having to see fucktards on a daily basis and attempt to maintain equally fleeting relationships with the insecure and the fearful. Once you meet your basic needs: food, shelter, you realise everything else you have is a gift.

Now I'm asking this to never end. Goodness, if I didn't have conscription, I'd probably want to stay on a little more. And if it wasn't for the sake of being polite, I'd stop wasting my time trying to make idiots feel like 'I'm there' even though everyone knows nobody can be arsed enough to try and maintain conversation. You people have better things to do (busy, ain't you?), and so do I. The only difference is that I was lying when I implied you had better things to do (see above sentence).

All this opened my eyes to how useless people are, not only as individuals, but as a collective population. How pathetic when they struggle to fill their lives with the material and unrealistic. Love, money, companionship, careers, etc. Seriously? Has the media turned all your brains to mush or has dependency reached an all new low? I don't feel sorry that people need an emotional or intangible crutch to 'liven things up'.

People should start learning to love themselves more. And being happy with what they have.

-z

If you had a childhood like mine, you wouldn't believe in gods or the human soul too.

-z

A situation where it's preferable to be dead inside than to have fallen for you.

Yes, I think you're quite the nice person. You hold back, but you try to reach out. Try is the right word.

And yes, I'd love to speak to you. Again. And again.

I won't have a problem looking at you into your dark hazel eyes and taking it all in. Because nobody, not even myeslf, know or can admit that I want to.




However,

when I'm a good 25690km away,

all the sight, sound, smell and touch

the beauty

your curious, flirtatious yet sincere expressions

the beckons and the glance-aways

are merely nothing but poisonously torturous.

It's not that you're bad, no.

It's because things aren't so simple. They don't 'just work out'. Even if it is mutual, which I am sure, isn't the case (seeing that I don't know or admit it to myself either), there is still the future, the distance, the difference.






When I am truly ready, where will you be?

I won't ask you to wait, I know you wouldn't know enough to wait. I don't want to anticipate seeing you again either.

And it's already proving hard: we tried, but haven't talked for a while.

Again, it's not that you're bad. It's just not simple.

Heck, even if I return (that's eventual), even if we both want to, will we ever meet again?



I guess the poetically-correct phrase or sentence should be A situation where the dead woke, where denial barely prevails.

But I prefer the original phrase at the top. It's much more straightforward and succinct.

-z

via DailyPost-its.tumblr

- Work is crazy. What I did in half a sem for my journ modules is comparable to what I did on work Day One.

That's what I learnt for Day One at my internship. The second thing?

- It just gets worse from here.


Looks like I won't be blogging again for a while =(. I really want to, but.

No. No excuses. I'll blog even if it costs my health. I never believed in selling my soul and never have lived.

-z

There isn't much to talk about HK except some observations I made out and about as I ran my errands.

On second thought, it's a lot to talk about.

First, the citizens. Unlike Manila, Philippines where almost every filipino is honest and friendly, HK citizens are very guarded where even the prospect of a business aren't enough to convince them that you come in peace. In Manila, you can board jeepneys and money to complete strangers sitting ahead of you to pay the driver for your fare, and get the exact change back: no missing pesos whatsoever. In HK, paying the driver a crispy $1000 HKD note puts him into Paranoiaville with him being the town mayor. He'd take out a magnifying glass to observe the note for a good five minutes while you waited patiently for your change. In Manila, even the most guarded locals will stop to listen to you and help you out if they could. In HK, I could be standing in Metropole Building, asking the shop assistants 'where is Metropole Building' and the best answer I would get is "don't know where" (doesn't help that you know three languages: as long as you do not speak Cantonese, the locals are even afraid to look at you straight in the face.)

However, not all of them are antisocial and unsamitarian. A 7-eleven lady I asked for directions and accommodation tips was extremely helpful, despite being peak hour and serving customers non-stop while using her other hand to scribble down directions and addresses, expelling occasional grunts of "thank you come again" in Cantonese to exiting patrons while telling me about how the prepaid phone card system works in Mandarin. In fact, the patrons themselves were probably more annoyed that I'm there. That said, the friendly locals are a minority, probably the same percentage as the physically disabled in Singapore.

Food. I bet you want to hear about that. Unfortunately I haven't taken pictures whatsoever, am too arsed about settling down to care about that yet. However, a few meals tells me a fair bit about their eating habits in HK. It's completely reverse in Singapore. Over here, the little shops of diner houses are more service-friendly and tastebud-friendly than restaurants. Unfortunately it's impossible to eat-out everyday when you have a pay of a Singaporean janitor; the supermarkets provide similar frozen options for half the price you pay in a neighbourhood diner house.

In terms of taste, the food is better in the above-said diner houses. Forget the restaurants, you can be sure that you'll be full with just one dish and rice in those PVC seats with a pair of dubious-looking chopsticks. However small the place may be, the locals here make it a point to use only proper and real ingredients in their food, unlike Singapore where even miso soup is fake. If you want a good meal, go for the superficially shabby looking diner houses, or look out for hints that they are family-businesses. These small shops make it a point to be effective and swift in their services in order not to lose out to the million other diner houses around, and they are even better than restaurants. And that was probably the third time I said that. Seriously, do not bother with unknown restaurants if you want their local cuisine. Yeck.

Oh yah, the Milo's different from Singapore's. Weird-tasting. Sweeter, and weirder.

Right, my internet connection for the day is running out. I'll see how it goes.

I can't wait to hear your voice once more. And more.

-z

Okay guys, long absence. I was busy getting my shit together and making farewells. So, here's the important part:

I am in Hong Kong!

After a nauseating landing, they took an hour to land my plane because it was landing in a Signal 3 typhoon.

Yeah. And right now there's a typhoon, disaster-level (8, according to the news). Schools don't need to open tomorrow, shops are freaking out, signboards coming off, cars having their tops blown open and off, you know. So I did what every smart, adventurous and responsible guy would do in a Signal 8 typhoon: I took a stroll.

The walk I took was so worth it. Pics and a vid of the whole blowing blowing thing on FB! Wind's so loud, all I could hear was the typhoon itself and nothing else. When I walked past the harbour, the gusts carried so much water and it all over the place - I actually thought it was raining. On drier areas, I could feel debris and sand in the wind giving me free facial exfoliation as it mercilessly tore itself into me. WARRARARGGH. Yes, it was a blow that made people keep their eyes and mouth shut.

The one stupid thing that went through my mind halfway in my blissful stroll was an image of Winnie the Pooh popping up in a light blue raincoat (with no pants on, typical Pooh) and a matching umbrella singing Hum for a Blustery Day. I had to stop walking to get that image out of my mind. It was just wrong - a life threatening natural disaster isn't just a 'blustery' day. Plus it was night.


Let's see, the first few things I noticed when I got to HK besides the typhoon, was how it very much resembled Singapore. The disgruntled citizens, the overcrowding of China nationals. The only difference is all the travellators, escalators, lifts, announcements etc. all talk with Cantonese first before English with HK-accent. I suppose with the escalator shouting in my ear to watch my step in Canto, I should pick it up in no time. Resemble yes, but it can't compare to the cleanliness back home. Seriously ugh.

The buildings in HK; Kevin was right: they really don't bother cleaning it. I was staring at rows and rows of what I thought were World War II relics that are 30 floors high. And they're built so close to each other it's impossible to even fit a rubbish chart in between each building. The buildings also look like they had shit smeared all over it deliberately. My OCD side acted up - I had a compulsion to clean those fugly things.

It gladdens me that there's Channel NewsAsia here. I wouldn't like being entirely cut off from local news.

On TV, there's plenty babes. Yeah. Just an observation. I was sorting my stuff out in my hotel room, when suddenly this program decided it was a good use of airtime to show a girl stripping off to reveal her cleavage in lingerie in slow motion.

"wat."

Then it suddenly cut to a scene of a bunch of girls dancing on some place I don't know, then back to cleavage girl, now in a white bust-boosting brassiere also and sprouting neon wings from her back.

...So apparently it'll take me awhile to get used to their culture as well.


Anyway, I'll start looking for an apartment tomorrow. Maybe get a HK number too. See how la. I don't know if i wanna start work though.



Now a little bit on the deeper stuff.

I wonder what will change when I return. Sure, return is a long time away, but still I can't help to ponder over it. How will it be? Will it be me, stepping into a time machine and coming out of it later, five to six months-ish? Where the people look the same, smile the same, scheme the same, as samely as same. Or will things take a turn?

And your voice, it was a gift to me.

Hello people,

Yes, I am back. Nearly everything about schoolwork is over, but I'm not gonna just sit and hang and dry up, partly because more is yet to come.



To the uninformed and the concerned, the following has happened in my textual absence:

-lots of dung, mostly expected because work was never easy (Agree? Hands up. Higher, you bitches.) and having to visually witness excessively gay taste in apparel, mannerism, with a coward's gall to top it off (it seems that the gutless tend to flock together, ah well)

-my 19th birthday, celebrated in a very muted manner with people I chose to share it with. And I don't plan to grow any older than 18, actually.

-slight changes in my ideology and reasoning system of how everything works

-forgave a number or twos-worth of undeserving people, because it actually is easier to forgive. (That's right people, it's an easier task to be a man about things) but I never really told them since they're undeserving, duh

-very confused about faith. Perhaps the godless way of living is indeed what nature intended things to be

-a five-month long internship with an internationally-known niche magazine which requires me to be in Hong Kong, beginning September. (how do I feel about it? I'm still not sure, and I've chosen not to feel anything about it, though I'm aware I'll miss (not emotionally miss, physically miss) Christmas here in Singapore, among other things like the next ZoukOut and dota-nights, as well as lazing in the comforts of my own fortress.)

-witness to a millionjillion other blinking things happening to friends and family. The good, the not-too-good, the downright bad, and the plain retarded things too


Now I'm seriously considering logging down my experience over in the Canto-Lands on this journal, because, well, it should be a fresh perspective, and I heard shopping there is good, and so is the nightlife. Plus I'll be pressed against the cutting edge of the blade, maybe I'll learn something useful while living off cup noodles and milo in an apartment as spacious as my toilet bowl. For five months. Who knows, I might become a nicer person at the end of the work stint.

I just made myself laugh there. Nicer person? That'll be the day Zicheng becomes edito.... No. that'll be the day I die, perhaps. I'm too nice already, so stop being so demanding and go look into the mirror in humiliation, bearing the face of expectant suck you wake up to every morning.

Not to forget: the occasional bird's chirp when it's really just taking a dump on your windowsill.


More to come. Stretch.

Yeah. Busy.

"Being busy about work is natural. Beyond that, being busy is simply about putting things into a priority list. However busy a person may be, there will be some things that won't be neglected, that can't be neglected, that shouldn't be neglected."

Still on hiatus.

-z

By me.

Something to say:

This is said not for the sake of proving anything, heh. This goes to the people who seek truth; those who truly care, but for any reason couldn't bring yourselves to question because: You're too busy, or too afraid. Or maybe I am aloof. Or maybe you knew even before you asked. Whatever the reason is, here's what.

It isn't true. Hahaha. So let us enjoy and let it unfold.




And finally:

School and life's been catching up, any inspiration I have is poured into work, into making things right. I'm being spent, but I'm far from being spiritually and mentally bankrupt. As much as I need an excuse to not do work, I need an excuse to blog. It's just that I can't afford to. It's it takes fair effort to create good entries, and I need time to do that (in which I lack).

Therefore, hiatus.


I need to set this mind free, yet towards the direction I desire. And not fret over consequences.

-z

If a person's conscience is clear, and intentions are true, his actions will be tame and controlled. A turbulent state of mind can waver his concentration, his speech, his furrowed brows, but it will not taint his clear heart. Action from others he perceive will reap and prosper from this goodwill.

On the other hand, a person who has a scheming conscience, and intentions ulterior, every action will be tame and controlled. A turbulent state of mind can waver his judgement, his foresight, his forked tongue, but it will not make way to see the light of the good. Actions however minor or gentle will result in a overreaction, like a man announcing his arrival into the room, the dubious will scream and blame that the man was secretive and sneaky.



I have had months of dealing with a legion of people who use a petty mind and heart to perceive and judge acts or thoughts of the good and chivalrous. Nothing you do reaches out to them, nothing you do lets them feel genuine, nothing you do is a good act. Everything is seen through this pair of Ulterior glasses. Help you offer is seen as a knife pointed at them, coffee you buy is seen as nothing more as an attempt to poison.

What I do not understand is, why do people choose to live in such a painful manner, to suspect and to hate, to torture themselves with delusions of self-importance?

How could they possibly expect to receive grace when they refuse to even give themselves any?

They say that a person's greatest opponent is not your rival or your enemies.

It is yourself.


It was a quiet and warm night, a contradiction to the infrequent bouts of heavy rain that was recognised easily during the past weeks. It was late, and a very dead night. It was silent except for this young man, probably an old teen, more, walking out from the corner of my eye into my view.

I glanced at him, because it was human to react when you see life in a place so desolate and dead. It was a break from the silence, but I did not welcome it very well; I get weird vibes from this man.

Continuing the walk, I moved on, while this male moved into my path from a perpendicular point and soon we were in tandem. Being a person who loathes close human presence, I naturally did not enjoy the proximity. Being sensible, I took my pace into slightly longer strides.

He did the same.

I did another quick sidewards glance at the man. He was plainly dressed. Shirt, black skinny jeans, a cap on his head, slippers. I did not like him. And besides walking next to me, he did not acknowledge my presence. I watched for a bit, and he continued to not react.

I decided to feign confidence, and put half my right hand into my right pocket, assuming a more calm posture. I was near home.

And I quickly jumped backwards.

The man had swung his left hand to grab my right, but barely did. My arm slipped out of his poor grasp while I was still mid-air. I took my left hand and place it in front of my last pair of ribs. The man looked hostile.

He uttered a loud, short squawk which echoed off the pillars of the void deck I was in. It went into my head. It was meant to induce fear, but was I woken up by the sharpness of the cry. I was in trouble.

He lunged towards me with a fist raised. I sidestepped swiftly, but he was faster. He turned and managed to face half of me, and he threw his punch towards my head.

Only two seconds into the frontal, I felt a wretched twist in my heart. I was being assaulted, for no reason on my part. I was waken from my exhaustion. I was angry, I was shocked.

But I won't go down without a fight.

I did a quick duck avoiding the punch, and took my left hand to grab his outstretched wrist. I made a large leap backwards, but stepping to my right after I landed.

The man was involuntarily drawn along with my movements, he swung face down towards the ground. But he was lithe, like me. At the last moment, he used his unstretched hand and pushed upon the ground, cutting back the impact that was expected from him. His original fist hand drew back, and made a half turn to face me while trying to get up.

I should not have stood there.

He was up in no time, running towards me, crouched like a dog ready to bite. I saw a gleam in his eyes, and a gleam in one of his hands.

A knife.

My brain whirred into a robust burst of energy, like blasting of bright little lights spewing glow across a spiderweb's worth of electric wires. It was something I only felt when I lose something important, like not being able to find my project work while already in the bus headed towards school. But it was more intense, more cold, more adrenaline. I believed that I was in danger.

From my pocket, I took out my right hand.

The man was within striking distance. Not much time has passed, his assault was still into the fourth second, but he did not waste time. He struck with his wielding hand an upwards stroke towards my center.

I remembered everything I've learnt, everything I've practised. The seven death-inducing accupoints on the human body. The main muscles of mobility. Inner balance: I am the center, the world revolves around this center. And so I took a gamble. The knife had already pierced into my personal space, and was close to touching my shirt.

I quickly moved my feet one step to the right, and threw my outstretched palm finger-first into his neck so hard, my body turned together with the torque. The knife missed me while the man dodged. Not in time.

I felt his soft neck. My middle finger missed, but the index hit. I pushed it as far in as i could afford without losing my step. I felt his neck muscles contract, tightening together out of reaction. He swerved his head back.

He was swift, but rough. His actions were not smooth, untrained. But he did not waste time. He moved his knife to the side, towards me. I pulled back my striking hand and used the other to stop his incoming knife hand by grabbing onto his arm.

He acknowledged the grab, but decided he was stronger than I am, and pushed the knife towards me while I resisted by pushing it away from him. He used his other arm and grabbed my free one, and knee-ed me in my gut. I felt the full force of it.

I quickly dropped myself to the floor with my back in full contact with the concrete ground. Spinning myself along my spine from bottom to up, I raised the male's arm and slammed the knife hand into the ground. I hear the knife screech and I made a quick upward kick towards his center. He lurched.

Seizing the opportunity, I raised my other leg and kicked him towards the sky. His refusal to release grip on my hand made him swung a little to my right. I rolled left, pulling his gripped arm along, and the momentum made him fall on my right. I wrestled my arm free.

He began to rise once again, buttocks off the floor. I was pumped. I decided not to give this man anymore chances. I gripped his wrist and pointed both my leg to the left, kicking them off the floor. He could not reach for his knife and he was momentarily delayed by my grapple. He quickly unhanded the floor, letting his buttock return to the ground, and raised the free arm to block the downward kick.

The delay in protecting himself was all I need.

He did manage to place his hand over his face in time, but it was still in motion. There was no resistance as my first heel continued it's way down towards his head. I heard his fingers crack, right before a resounding poof as the heel came into full contact into his hand, which went into his nose, flattening what's left. My other heel dropped into his gut, and he made a desperate gasping sound.

I quickly swung my both legs around to neutral again and did what I could to stand. His wrist was still in my hand. I turned my back towards him to switch my choice of grappling hand. While turning, I ricocheted another kick into his general direction.

It was a lucky one. I did not expect him to be still on the ground. It struck the chin, and I watched his head swing backwards. The kick made me pull his wrist towards my chest, and I took my other hand and grabbed his four fingers, pushing them swiftly towards his wrist.

*Crack*

He winced with an uttering cry, but not as fierce or as threatening as his first one. It was suddenly cut short. His wrist and hand fell limp.

I quickly released his broken hand, and surveyed the assailant. The pain from my kicks and his wrist knocked him out cold.

I ran. And ran. Away. I did not want him to wake up and attempt another strike. I could not afford to fight again without breaking anymore things in him.


And here I sit tonight, wondering. I fought for my life, not once, not twice, countless times. To face the neverending onslaught of scheming, distrustful people. To face what I believe were friends, but not so much more then just desperate people needing help, needing favours done. I face individuals and groups that abandon me at my lowest times. People who create all sorts of drama because they find their lives too plain, too boring. People who seek profit in any way possible, stooping to as low as betrayal.



Should I have let it all end every time I was given a chance? What do I really fight for? Myself?

If it was really for myself, why did I even ask?


-z

 It's halfway into the week-long March holidays and everywhere I go, I see:

- children that cannot for some reason, shut up (likely accompanied by incompetent, irresponsible and unreasonable adults known as 'parents')
- underaged couples

The second demographic makes me a little sad and envious, but the first set of fools are real mouth-breathers.

I HATE IT WHEN A RANDOM KID GROPES MY KNEECAPS AND USE IT AS A BOOST  TRANSLATING INTO A PATHETIC ATTEMPT TO SEE WHAT THE FUCK AM I READING/PLAYING ON MY BOOK/PSP. And their parents don't do a shit about it.

Which, in turn, gives me the right to give a swift kick in their general direction which normally strike them in the gut.


For the love of God, stop breeding already.

-z

 In the Sunday Times today, it is said that good-looking people will often have more trouble with teamwork in a professional setting.

Tsk, no wonder I have had my share of pointless shenanigans in school. This explains it.
I also had a nightmare.

-z

So yes. Again.







NO NO NONO I'm fine. No, I'm good. I'm really fine, really. Because this time I was merely a witness. No broken bones, no broken anything, maybe a sore tummy but really nothing. I'll explain the sore tummy in awhile.

And keep your 'chey's softer please.




So you see, part of this entry's wishes came true for me. Part of it.



I was out for another trip of prata around midnight again at Jalan Kayu, y'know. Godmother obliged and she brought me down in her car. Yup, typical supper I'd say.

We saw a parking lot just before the prata place, and we stopped next to it and turned on those hazard lights indicating that we intend to park while waiting for the narrow road's traffic to clear. Ahead of me is a parked white cargo lorry that blocks the view of everything in front of us. I was sitting in my car with my usual 'mmn' face, bobbing my head softly to the Class 95 FM song on air that time while my godmother watched the traffic. Needless to say I was watching out for the best opportunity to park since I really want my prata.

Ahead of the lorry, I saw a gold Nissan Sunny's bonnet peeking out into the road. So the driver is leaving her own parking lot and is also waiting for the traffic to clear, and she was being extremely careful about it, moving slower than elderly on wheelchair.

I said to my godmother, "Hey look, another free space. Yay."

Right when I finish that sentence, a flash of blue zipped out from the back of our car and dashed in front. It was one of those reckless bikers with disgustingly loud engines.

Ugh, impatient bastards, I thought. I hope you c-

And right there and then, the gold Nissan who was exiting perpendicular to the road halted. The biker decided to overtake and go onto the empty lane meant opposing traffic. Amazingly, he miscalculated, and bumped into the flat front of the Nissan. He skidded and felt onto the kerb right in front of the car. It made a sickening sound that resembled glass and metal meshing together.

The biker was still on his bike even though his bike was on the floor. The girl driver quickly reversed back into her parking lot while the biker's gang of other bikers slowed down around their stupid friend.

I started laughing my ass off.



So, the biker was speeding... -

tsk.

And then he overtook our car... -

tsk tsk.

And continued on and tried overtaking another car out of impatience... -

ahahahahahhahahahhahahahha

In which he went illegally onto the opposing traffic lane... -

hahahahahahahahahahhahahahahhaha

And the Nissan's front bumped into the bike... -

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA

And just before he lost control of his bike, the biker jerked a little upwards as if he had a pole rammed up his ass... -

HAHAHAHHAHOOOOHEEEHHAHAHAA

Before flailing and falling followed by skidding and smacking into a tiny road kerb while he looked like he did some acrobatic stunt .

AAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA