a Voice to Calm a Storm, a Voice of Reminiscience

It's Monday morning... but with 6 minutes till noon, the term 'morning' is just semantics.

Such indifference... the 6 minutes between morning and noon isn't world apart, there's no twilight like dawn and dusk, and especially under such gloomy sky, the indifference is even more apparent and at the same time more subtle.

I woke up earlier than usual, maybe it's because I was informed the night earlier that I won't have my own car to use for the day, and the laziness trait that runs inherently within my family is too big a concern for me to actually not to ignore.

Still, the term 'earlier' translates to clocking in at work with 1 minute left to spare before I have to start preparing some troublesome formal explanation for being late.

Sitting under the artificial, neon lights during day time like how it was for me for the past 1 year, every trip to the restroom or the pantry, passing through the only access to sunlight is worth treasuring. Normally, when the sun is strong in the middle of the day, the light seeping through the curtains is good enough a relief for me.

... yet today I am met with indifference, but I would rather be outside than in here. It almost seemed like there's a storm brewing behind the gloomy sky outside, but at the same time it's just drizzling, if not, very light rain at best.

... but when you're standing from 30-40 paces from the glass panel, when you can't see the rooftops of the surrounding terrace house, it almost seems like there's an ocean outside, and you're in a giant ship.

... and my mood today has been abnormally foul. Maybe it was because I had to run up the stairs with to clock in on time, maybe it was because of the weather or even maybe it's because of the kind of work I had to submit to the other departments that has nothing to do with my actual work other than telling them what is it that I have done, or that I will do. Maybe it's all of them put together, or maybe it's all a bit of each and every one of them.

I had to find some means of escape from this form of slow and melancholic destruction of my mind. I've just sync 2 songs into my iPhone yesterday night, thinking that I might need them for today. What I have prophecised came true, I needed those 2 just to feel that the world is a sorry place to live in, but it's alright.

I've been looping my favourite song of the 2 for the past 2 and 1/2 hours, Ikue Asazaki's Toku no Shima Setsu. Don't ask me what is it about, because I have no idea. It's just the perfect song for me right now.

Her voice is raspy, precisely how the other reviewer has pointed it out, but at the same time it's unnaturally haunting. I don't know how it is soothing the rage in me, but it's doing a damn fine job. Why am I raging? I don't know. At least, I know it's being contained.

The song brings a hint of sorrow behind its tunes; singing of hardship of the early days... like days without your 2000 bucks portable computer or wireless internet, or public phone booth for that matter, though the lyrics may be singing otherwise. The accompanying piano and the voice of the other singer; that other mysterious woman, make this piece complete.

I looked at my colleagues with contempt, and it's not their fault but mine. I looked at them today, and I felt that I needed to stay away from them, for my sake and for theirs'. I was in a selfish emotion, that I was right, that everything else that offended me needed to disappear. And this voice of her's advises me of humility and selflessness, but I'm sure as hell she's not singing about nobility, or being noble, or being chivalrous... or other saint like ideals.

She's just singing about stuffs I don't understand, but I could relate... and the resilience she showed in the face of such repeated hardships.

Her voice reminded me of someone who was close, but never lived long enough. Her voice taught wisdom; empathy.

From rage I'm slowly sinking away to something else. Pity, alot of pity for this sorry world, and from there I had a world of respect for the woman who owns this voice I'm listening to... to the perseverance she's singing of, not of triumph, not of glory, but the adaptation of a difficult life.

Ramble Ramble Ramb Ramble...

I had nothing much to do at work now... not that there's literally nothing, but those things can wait. I need to utilise my leisure browsing time slot now.

Listening to my iPhone (God bless Apple now that it's working fine again) and playing pool on it isn't gonna kill time fast enough than I'd like it.

So, while I was doing my leisure browsing, I stumbled upon this random blog entry about a girl waking up to a cockroach crawling over her... and as expectedly and rightfully so...

(woohoo just won another pool on my iPhone, okay back to writing.)

she freaked out (what's new? Girl + Cockroach = Panic+Hysteria).

Which led me to reminisce those days when my room... and my house aren't as clean as it is now (it's still dirty but not dirty enough to hold cockroach infestation it seems), there were organised hunts. Yep, you've guessed it right, hunts for them disgusting roaches.

I'm pretty sure I've written something similar to what I'm bout to write somewhere, sometime before this. No matter, nothing's gonna stop me from reproducing the wonderful experience all those times back then.

You see, back then when my two younger brothers were still young, they're easily disturbed by the mere sight of a cockroach. They look at it and responded to it as though the cockroaches are aliens from space, possessing with them awesome technology from other civilisation that gives them the ability to shoot rays and lasers from their antennae that melts your brain.

I took it upon myself to train those little disgrace into proper 'boys' (they're still kids back then, and no guys should freak out like a little girl in front of a cockroach!). I started organising hunts, yep, hunts... like people used to do with bows and arrows few centuries back, and still doing it with rifles and bullets. The only difference is we're hunting a very agile little shitling that can crawl, hide and sometimes fly into your face... armed with only rolled newspapers.

A hunt begins when a cockroach is sighted, usually in our room or in the kitchen. Once sighted, the signal will be given and all officers on duty will scramble to equip themselves with the necessary gears (read: old newspapers.). Naturally, when it all began, it was my younger brother and I doing the hunt while my youngest brother stand guard at the door, being the only exit the little creature has in order to successfully evade execution.

We would form a perimeter where the cockroach was sighted, like a triangle of some sort and would try to disturb the surroundings so we can force it out from places like under the bed (they can hide for a long, long time). Hunts have a 95% success rate, meaning that only in very rare occasion that a cockroach has successfully evaded execution (we didn't have the patience waiting for it to come out, for instance). After my younger brother finally got the hang of things, my youngest brother start going in, replacing me as field agent while I'm on door duty, holding the exit in case they failed.

I must say, once my brothers got used to it all, and with their improved reflexes through active participations in all the hunts, the hunts improved to a 100% success kill rate.

I remember there's this one time, when my dad wasn't around and my mom's the only adult in the house, she'd deal with cockroaches with aerosol spray. That took forever, from chasing it and spraying all the way, until it finally gives up, rolls over and dies. I've learnt from the mistake, that using household pesticides against cockroaches are extremely time consuming and cost ineffective. It was rarely used although they are officially in our arsenal. The only time we'd consider using it would be to smoke the roaches out from where they're hiding.

... but that's just about us growing up in a modern world trying to get rid of ours fears of roaches. The hunts are fun, and my younger brother are still making remarks like "damn... it's been a while since our last roach kill." from time to time.

Have you ever seen a true roach killer in action?

Let me explain then. Cockroaches are extremely agile creatures, and they are fast for their size. For beginners, it's not easy trying to hit them with your rolled up newspapers. You've gotta be fast and precise or you'll find yourself hitting air all the time.

All three of us still couldn't score on first shot. On average we need to try hitting that thing for about three times.

... but a master doesn't. A master doesn't even have the need to use a weapon apart from his hands. My dad is one of them. He can catch a roach with one swift swipe. The method of execution is very simple yet extremely effective and clean. Once caught, he would throw the cockroach to the wall or the floor with force. The cockroach would die from the impact, while retaining all those disgusting fluid within his body as the impact from the throw wouldn't have caused a structural breach on the roach.

With all that said, I kinda secretly wish that sometimes I get to kill roaches like I use to, but I appreciate the fact that my house is still relatively clean in general.

I still wouldn't touch a cockroach with my hand, but I'm damn good at aiming the roaches with my foot. 90% accuracy.

15 Minutes!

Let me see what the hell can I come up with in a mere 15 minutes.

First and foremost, to those who cares, I've passed the possibly biggest exam in my entire life. With that said, I'll just stop here because I don't want to be seen as cashing in on other people's misery.

In other news, there're probably someone out there who's celebrating their first month 'anniversary' (is that even an anniversary? I thought it's supposed to be an annual thing...) with their girlfriends. If anything, I think it's just a show of how happy the guy is finally to have found a girlfriend and to desperately show his appreciation for the girl who has just relieved him of his life long draught. "Hurray mom, I got a girlfriend, and I love her."

Then, we'll have people who goes around saying things like "do you remember that we got together an hour/a day/a week ago?"... or those who keeps track of time so meticulously it's as though he's counting sands "We have been together for 1 year 3 months 4 days 15hours 34 minutes and 2seconds as of now."

They're giving the rest of the guys a really bad name and a crazy standard bar to live up to. Girls who's never fell in love before, and subsequently fell out of love with a man like that would probably expect the same from her next other-half.

Who gives a crap? I know I don't. My lack of keeping track of time doesn't make me less committed or less romantic...

well, to be continued later...

The Creator

The Creator is a mysterious figure. Nobody knows who he is, where he comes from, where he is, or what he is. Why is he called the Creator? The answer is simple, because as obscure as he is, his task is known to all; to create... and his creations will fill in the gaps in the limitless void.

What does it take to create, and how? To us mortals, creation is a widely misconceived truth, even the idea of procreation itself is not genuine creation. We mortals 'create' by molding some materials into something else with different 'uses' or 'functions'. That is not creation, that is to modify an item's properties to another that corresponds to the purpose of that modification. We mortals 'create' at the expense of something else, and with limited resources, our numbers of 'creations' are finite.

As for the Creator, creation is his nature. He can create a thing out of nothing... for there is nothing out there in the void. He can create anything at his whim; with a thought of his will his creation will take shape and form. It is his sole purpose to create, his sole authority.

The Creator does not create without purpose, as it would be meaningless if he does so. He creates so that there will be order in nothingness. The 'life' that he creates is a byproduct of of the result of his actions. Well, it probably is not his plan to give his creation a sentient mind.

The Creator creates with one rule to observe; that his creations must return to the void whence they came from... that nothing lasts forever. To us mortals, that is how 'time' begins, a byproduct of his creations. Life coincides with time because time dictates when life should end. Time is the ultimate rule that all life must obey, and time is different to each different life i.e. our lifetime is but a fleeting moment compared to that of a burning star.

The Creator however, is neither bound be the rules of time nor will he suffer from the ravages of time. The Creator's existence is tied with the void; he will continue to create as the void continues to expand, an expansion that knows no end. Even if the void stops expanding, the Creator will still remain.

The Creator and the Void regards each other as equals, as partners. Of course, the Creator often wonders who came first, or who is superior? That question was soon set aside as they know they would not exist without one and the other, that the Void would not have a cause or meaning in absolute nothingness, and it was the Creator's creation in the Void gave the Void a meaning.

The Creator observes a self imposed rule after realising that lesser sentient beings are brought into existence as a result of his creations, that he will never interfere with their affairs unless it is necessary; and that necessity is an option he hope that he will never have to use. Several times he was forced to interfere, and his interferences are absolute; the destruction and reconstruction of that particular creation. Several times that life has ventured too far beyond their permitted boundaries, by acting in defiance against the weave of time, prolonging, stalling, manipulating or even traversing in the fabric of time.

Such knowledge are deemed to be too powerful to be wielded by mortals as it allows life to circumvent itself from reaching the their intended destination, the Void, the aversion of the rule that all creation should observe. Yet, the Creator knows that with the existence of life and time, the discovery of such knowldege is an eventuallity that can only be avoided by his interference. It pains the Creator to destory something that he has created, and that their demise are determined prematurely by their own progress.

The Creator appeals to the Void, hoping that the Void might provide a viable solution to this meaningless cycles that are seeming to loop in perpetuity. He knows the irony runs deep, but despite his own personal agendas, to save his other creations from his own quick and definite interferences, he realises that the Void is also aware that order and balance must be maintained... that the rule of time is definite, and certain boundaries are not meant to be crossed.

"Boys... we're fucked."

It's Saturday, again. Damn... I wonder how many Saturdays I've lived through all these years, but I'm convinced that it's gonna be a hell of a calculation so we'll just leave it at that.

So yea, It's Saturday... what's the big deal about Saturdays? Apart from the fact that I've got a semi important dinner to attend later, my Saturday (this Saturday, and like all other working Saturday) is insignificant, if not worthless.

I'm in a state of irony that I could comprehend but couldn't express them. I suppose, that the fact that I am here in the office working full day from Nine to fucking Six on a Saturday (the theme of the entry, c'mon people pay attention) when I could be doing something else such as getting a good night sleep without having the alarm telling me when to wake up over and over again, is making my Saturdays worthless but at the same time the value (my personal evaluation) for my free Saturdays is off the charts.

I guess this is what people would call the agony of corporate hell. Woohoo, and I am smacked right in the middle of it.

Speaking of agony, although I do not know if there is anything else that could be more agonising than working on a Saturday where you simply don't have much to do (or you could be at home trying to fix your cabinet and have a nail pop your eye via nailgun freak accident), ... I really don't have much to say.

To sum it up, this fucking sucks. This is suckage majeur, hands down... God damn it if feet down makes any sense (referring to the earlier expression 'hands down') I'd gladly use it over and over just to prove a point, even though I've already done so quite successfully.

... Not to mention I was just reminded by myself (thank you very much, brain) that I am getting shit pay. Shit is shit, there is simply no other way about it, nor around it. I am a confirmed staff (confirmed after I am here working for a full 3 months with, as my boss would say, satisfactory performance) and my salary was not reviewed at all in these 11 months of working.

"... but you get to receive the bonus for October!" ... *middle finger majeur maximus*. 100 bucks for 11 months is not enough to steer me away from whining, or griping, or hate this shit of a crap they call 'system', as well as this job with an extremely fiery and burning passion. I'd go as far as to call this pure and raw emotion of mine 'vengeance'. RAWR!

After all the whining and griping tho, I'm stuck. Stuck because the path I chose requires a certification of some sort (and the system for the certification sucks balls), stuck in this rat race with no real qualification because I lack the former, and will continue to be a nobody until I can get away from this... this job of mine, this system that confines me so far down the executive level.

Corporate life doesn't interest me one bit, but isn't that what MOST parents have in mind for their children? If the waves of economic tidalwaves didn't open their eyes to the fact that even with the best education (unless you're a doctor or ... I don't know... some other really useful stuffs), there is no such thing as 'security' and 'success', with the latter being even MORE far fetched because working below, or for someone else will never make you any near successful.

How do you define the term 'success' is up to you. For most, it's probably something like this:-

1) work your ass off, fighting for promotions, or jumping to other companies that gives you better offer, with five figure monthly salary as your aim which would probably take about 15 years or so of your life.

2) during the progress of item 1 in the above, somewhere in between, build a family with your other half. Poor family planning leads to the incurrence of a 'few' (hopefully just one) non-satisfiable financial liabilities (but that's okay, I mean it could be worse, that kid could be of a different colour and you didn't have a pre-nup signed)

3) finally you have reached the top (read: your top), rushing off to meetings daily, coming home late at night, You are at your corporate prime. You are a corporate beast. People cower in fear when they deal with you as much as they respect your corporate prowess. *FEAR!*... but you come home to a crying son, a troubled daughter and a lonely wife whom you suspect is spending too much time with the neighbour's husband, or the brother, or whoever (if she's spending time with a she then you're probably in luck! DO NOT COMPLAIN)

4) Recession hits the globe and you, for the first time in your entire life and with a huge ass mortgage (not the kids) on your shoulder, are afraid that you may be retrenched. So what now? You did everything your parents wanted you to do, you were earning fat salary before this (or that) and you barely settled a quarter of the bill for the house that you just bought. What could possibly go worse? Maybe your wife wants a divorce (although at this stage it's probably good news unless you gotta pay for the legal fees).

I kid, I joke, I joke a little bit more, I kid even further.

I don't know if whatever I just wrote is plausible. I really don't. I mean it could, I just don't want it to happen to me... but I have a bad feeling, a really bad feeling that it all starts with a fool like me, sitting here in an office, without much to do on a Saturday (YES THE SATURDAY FUCKING SUCKS) keeps telling himself "It'll all be fine. It'll all be better, it has to be." for the rest of the following miserable ten corporate years (as well as the unbearable Saturdays) to come.

On the up side of things, with a shirt, a tie, slacks and leather shoes, we look fuckin smart.

D-Day, July 2009

Nothing much left to write. All seems hopeless and I am surprisingly optimistic. Yes, I am surprised myself. With what I have now, there is no way I can handle the coming exams. The only thing I keep telling myself that all will be alright is because I have 1 week left to wrap up all the crap I have left out.

I look at the papers, I look at the things written on it, and I honestly do not know what am I looking for. Maybe I am looking for some clues, some answers, some miracles even... because whatever that is written on those revision papers are definitely not knowledge.

What good is knowledge when you can't use them?

... yet the pages beckons.

Where has it gone?

I didn't remember the first 3 years of my life after I was born. No, not even a single image that exists in my head that I can confirm. Starting from the age of four, things started to get a little clearerl; there are certain events I can recall from actually being a toddler. Even so, I suspect some of these memories are pieces of what's left of my toddler days. I think that there are some two to three year old events I have mistakenly thought they have happened at the age of four. Oh well, where's the line that distinguishes between age when we're kids that young except for birthday cakes and the numbers of candles on it? When I was a kid, everything seemed huge and everywhere with a space big enough for me to fit in is a playground. Time was indefinite, that is... until my first social duty kicks in; School.

I remember there was this once I still didn't know how to count, I was probably four (kids nowadays can do division at six, talk about what the f**k.) I was trying to make sense out of the ritual of tearing off calender pages at every 'month'. I didn't know what month and year was, but I was sure as hell trying to crack my head just to figure out the difference. That was just a one off experience when I was in my dad's old car on the way to pick up my mom from her work.

The good old days, when I'm still a good kid listening to whatever he says. I just remembered that I will always say yes to going out with my parents, or even just with one of them whenever the situation arise. I was almost too eager to say yes to begin with. The night drives when in his car was fun, it was a journey to look forward to. To see my mom for the first time in the day (it was at night though...), and then to go home together. I would look for things to do, because I sure as hell couldn't appreciate musics playing in the car radio back then. That was also the first time my fascination for the world beyond the sky grew. Stars were so captivating, and whatever that remains out there. You see, back then in the 1980s, KL wasn't half as bright as it is now during night time. You could still see the stars clearly, and the sky is filled with them. Almost too beautiful. My stupidity kicked in when I blurted out to my dad in the car "WHY IS THE MOON FOLLOWING US?!" I never get to find out why until many years later.

In retrospect, I regret the day I learn to say no. Saying no to him when he said he's going out to pick up my mom, to go to places. I thought saying that would mean I was growing up, at least, to be not as dependent on my parents. What a fool, I clearly misinterpreted things back then. I'm not sure now that the first time I said that, I may have caused some hurt. Was I not filial? I sure hope not. I'm pretty sure now that if I had not say no, I'd have more fond memories of them now, especially my mother's. Y'know the days when Subang Parade was all the hype back then? I wish it still is now.

Two decades later, I'm an adult now, and my family has been through much. Almost too much. The past few years came and passed too fast, as compared to the days when I was four, a month seemed like a year. Right now a month seemed like a week. I guess it's because we simply have too much on our plate, too many things to do, too many things to think, to plan about... and we hardly have anytime ourselves, to do things we want to do. I remember reading this somewhere, that time is a mischievous little kid; when we are having fun, when we are enjoying ourselves, it would run away from us, steal our time away, but when we are having a hard time, being bored, it would not go away, and it seemed like these time would linger on forever.

Come to think of it now, I didn't realise how much I love my younger brothers. Oh well, I gotta stop ranting now. Time to work.