Of Salty Air and Yellow Sun

The weather today in London was tropical. I went for an evening run.

Right now, I live next to a salt water river. It's a beautiful place, with jogging paths on both sides of the river. The air today was especially humid. I've been away from home for almost 3 years now. The sunset looks exactly like the sunset back home that I grew up looking at every day. As I stepped outside, a warm, humid, salty breeze hit me. For a moment, but I was no longer 27, but 17. My mind was taken back 10 years in time.

Perhaps I have lots on my mind right now, just as I did 10 years ago, when I was also at a crossroads, with many possible paths laying ahead of me. I remember vividly the 17 year old me, planning far ahead despite how uncertain he was about the future. I remember how clueless he was, and how simplistic his plans were. He should have known better considering the difficult time he was going through. Lucky for him though, his goals were achieved. Some of them were improbable, and some were far-fetched . . . but somehow he knew what he wanted and he got lucky. My 17 year old self would have been pleased with himself. he was after all, a meticulous planner, with contingencies in place. He hated uncertainties, therefore it was only natural. He would have been very pleased indeed with how things turned out today.

However, he is now 27. Or rather, I am now 27. The last 10 years went by in a blur and frankly, I haven't planned this far. Not since the last few months. I have to grow up now. I can no longer delay calling myself a grown man.

To be honest, I haven't planned for the last 10 years to be so difficult. I charted a narrow path for myself; romantically, professionally, morally, socially, spiritually, philosophically and staying to the plan has been challenging. I came close to giving up on the plan many times, only to realise how absurd the notion is. I have nothing but the plan. The plan I have started putting together since I was a little boy, at my birthday party in front on my birthday cake, when my mother asked me to make a wish for myself, for my future. That was the moment that started it all. The 7 year old me is the 17 year old me is the 27 year old me. We still are the same person. We still want the same things.

"What kind of a little boy would plan for the future?", you might ask. The type of boy who grew up with severe asthma. The boy who actually thought he might not be able to take the next breath when his asthma attack comes again. The boy who learnt very early on that life was a gift, and that every healthy day was a something not to be squandered. In a way, I was a weird little boy.

In the past few years, I have been more normal . . . living aimlessly sometimes, carelessly moving on from one day to another. I thought I would be happy living this way, without care, without worry. But.

But. I have already said, I am still the same little boy inside. He is angry at me for wasting my days. He is angry at me for my fear and procrastination in preparing the the next few years. He is angry that I have failed to plan like he had. I have let him down, to be fair to him.

I have been ignoring him, telling myself that eventually he would be able to see things my way, that life is better lived this way. I know now that I was mistaken. There has been an emptiness gnawing away inside me, frustrated by unfulfilled ambition. The problem is that I have always been afraid of failure. I have been afraid of discovering just exactly how incapable I always was. Sometimes I see unrelated events happening around me and I rationalise my ambition away, saying that I have had enough of struggling and challenging myself . . . I was telling myself that I deserve to have it easy for a while. I have been telling myself that for the last few years.

But it's not working. my voice is being drowned by his. The little boy inside me is yelling now, telling me of all the things I could be doing, should be doing, not in the past, because he is too wise that way, but in the present and future. He is telling me that he did not fight to breathe so that I could waste my life away in inactivity and denial.

He is right. I still have plans to be made. Unusual plans, plans that are difficult for anyone else to understand except for me, but my plans have worked so far . . . so I am going to keep making them. If it wasn't difficult, it wouldn't be worth planning for.

I'm going to make a little boy proud.

As the crow flies

I wondered why people say that. Birds I often see to do not fly straight, but circle and linger, searching. Eventually I see that they, as us, have most of their interests vested here on the ground.

I often hear people envy the birds, wishing that they were one of them, free to fly wherever and whenever. I do not wish my life similar to theirs.

Birds do not fly because they want to, but because they have to. They fly despite their lives being similar to ours, revolving around events here on the surface. They fly, keeping their distance, searching, circling, despite knowing that everything that they want is down here, where we are. For even the most wanderlust filled traveler has desires of his heart personified by an unchanging place he calls home.

Unlike the traveler, they do not fly for adventure, but to escape, the skies a recurring prison, an illusion of freedom, a place for them to seek refuge until their fear leaves them.

Unlike the birds, we do not take to the skies without much difficulty. Relative to the birds, we have a different philosophy. We confront our problems, change our circumstances, improving them to suit us.

Yes, it may be easier to run away, but home, in all its metaphorical forms, is someplace all of us long for. I prefer being 'trapped' down here, working, negotiating, planning, doing, in hopes of achieving what I want, rather to run away, leaving all I hold dear behind. Leaving in fear is a state I abhor. Struggling, with the possibility of failure, I dislike less.

Those who envy the flight of birds betray their desire to escape. Although it may be a fleeting moment of weakness, it is a moment devoid of pride nonetheless.

My place is here, on the ground, where life is.

Sweet Dreams

I had trouble sleeping yesterday, thinking. Sometimes I don't trust myself to take care of myself.

Then I had a thought . . . take care of others and they'll take care of you. I'm lucky enough to be able to believe that.

After that, I slept like a baby.

The principled man

I envy him. It seems that he suffers for his beliefs. But not to me.

In him, I see bliss. Bliss in being able to separate into black and white, right and wrong. To be blind to the grey. Come what may.

In claiming to being faithful to his principles, he is able to ignore the ramifications of his thoughts and actions. Perhaps he does not care for them, or wishes to distract himself from them. His principles have overriding priority. For it is his thoughts about himself that matters, and his ability to fall asleep easily at night. For me, however, these things do not fulfill my responsibilities.

Unlike him, I cannot be unmindful of consequences. Principles hold no value to me beyond the simplicity it bestows upon my life. Negotiating the complex webs of choices and actions to reach the conclusion I wish for myself is the very reason I do what I do. Simplicity is a luxury I cannot afford. My choices are complicated out of necessity. I have to do things I despise today so that I may affect my idea of an ideal change tomorrow.

The principled man does not think so. He wills for a simple set of choices to determine his life. Whether he is right to think so remains to be seen.

For now however, my envy remains with him.

The cruel joke Irony plays

You meet me wherever I go, even thwarting my best laid plans. Sometimes you may even be my best laid plan manifested. Sometimes preconceived, sometimes beneficial, sometimes either, sometimes neither.

You are difficult opponent indeed, embarrassing me in ways that only I understand, in ways that prevent me from sharing the joke of which I am a part of with anyone else.

As I take pains to avoid you, Irony, you are the initially frustrating, eventually delightful surprise that brings chaos to my life. You make me question myself, and cause me to think myself a fool. And yet I shall begin by chuckling every time we meet, because I know I will have the last laugh.

You see Irony, because I am such a case that so far, only I can lead myself to realise the ironies of my actions, I know you are entirely a construct of my mind. I know you would only make me stronger because you cause me to see the weakness in arguments and thoughts including and especially, those of  my own. Although I dislike the presence of you, I am sometimes thankful that you are.

However, this time you really outdid yourself. As the metaphorical sailor who roams the seas to find wisdoms he may use on land, he is forced to use the very land-drawn maps which he tried so hard to avoid in the first place. Two Ironies within an annoying truth. Especially since I have immersed myself in nothing but maps for the past few weeks. So that I may find my treasure, I have do things I dislike, which might even entail learning from the things I used to love, but not currently, because they remind me too painfully of the beautiful land I have left behind. Oh, Irony most foul, you outdid yourself this time.

Yet, I see a glimmer of a lesson to be learnt. Knowledge partially understood is not understood at all. A lesson partially learnt is no lesson at all. Things have to be experienced entirely or not at all. The sweetness and the bitterness have to be taken together, and you know it is the bitterness I find difficult to stomach. Irony, you dangle my prize at the same time that you dangle the very things I dislike. You are a cruel foe indeed.

The wheels on a bus goes round and round

The boundaries between sharinghappinessshowingoffcryingforattention are blurred. People project their issues onto others, perceiving hidden motives in the actions of others when there might be none. A cycle perpetuates, beliefs are reinforced.

Children continually ask when in doubt. They are too wise to misintepret or assume.

Let's go get bruised

I may try, I might fall, I might hurt myself, and feel pain. But it's better than sitting on my butt all day.

Unwell and vulnerable

Sometimes I get sick. My ego hibernates and my vulnerabilities show themselves. Hidden within them are truths of my flaws which would otherwise be disregarded and ignored. Imperfection is universal, and trying to achieve perfection is to waste time. However, I do not want to be ignorant of my imperfections. I want to at least know. Then, I wish not to forget lest I become ignorant of myself.

To hide my flaws and fix them, or to wear them undisguised so that ones who care will learn to accept them is a debate for when I become better. Ironically, I just exhibited an obvious flaw of mine . . . procrastination.

Happy is better than right

I was a boy who was too young to choose. Soon I will be too old, with more regrets than choices. Where am I today?

Mistakes made today are painful reminders. Regret realised tomorrow is emptiness, worse than painful memories. The mind is left to wander, the psychology of greener grasses visualising a variety of unfulfilled destinies which tortures the mind with lost potential.

My failings are part of my life. Funny, sad, or educational, depending on my perspective and wisdom. Regret mixed with wonder is a special kind of suffering.

Please, let me be happy rather than right.

Being good

To be all things to all people, or to be one thing to one person once?

Idealists wanting to fulfill all their ambitions, or a perfectionist devoting their everything to a single goal?
A constant of either would be torture. One is doomed to fail from the onset, the other has to ignore everything the world has to offer.

The only option left is to be average and be somewhere in between. Content is an elusive emotion when one is aware of unrealised potential. Yet, many can devote everything to a single goal and constantly question the choice he has made.

I refuse to give in. My mind and body is my own. My actions and thoughts can forever be judged by an endless number of perpectives, but at the end of the day, my decisions are my own.

I want to devote a single mind to a single goal at all times in my life. And yet, I want time off to be an idealist that fails at everything I do. This is what I have chosen for myself.


The fear is I confuse the single devotion with the other planned failures I have in my life. May I never do that.

However, my problem is that I constantly get distracted. I run off to the first obstacle I see and start to climb. I forget the important things. I worry about irrelevant things. It takes a strong man to ignore and consiously uncare. Because he will be hated for it, and yet it is the only way he can live with himself.

I have a horrible headache that follows a horrible stomach ache which let me escape from shopping with the girlfriend, but I find myself writing nonsense I barely understand myself

Putting my thoughts up like this allows scrutiny of myself by anyone. The bad far outweigh the good, especially when they know who I really am. And strangely I am drawn to exposing myself in this way. Could this be the start of a fatalistic streak? A practise in self-contemplation? A cry for attention? I have absolutely no idea what this is. Only that I stop thinking in circles when I write it down somewhere others can read.

Perhaps I find myself a monster of sorts and I feel compelled to warn others of my true nature. Or perhaps I find that everything we say or everything we do is constantly assessed and reassessed by ourselves and everyone around us to conform to a preconceived notion of civility. Perhaps a blog is my best way to express myself completely uncensored save for the riddles by which I communicate. Perhaps this is my freedom. Perhaps it is why I fantasize of being a barbarian although I know I would be crocodile food within the first day.

Perhaps I find this the only way I can communicate without someone else derailing my train of thought. Perhaps I finally realise that we are incapable of seeing the world outside our own experiences and therefore we can never really understand what someone else feels. Perhaps it follows that the most honest conversation we can have is with ourselves. And yet that is forbidden. Perhaps a blog would be a suitable cover for such an activity.

For the coming year

Pride in whatever I do.

A post to remind me about the above. May I have satisfaction regardless of outcome.

By the way,

This winter is a perfect metaphor for my life in this country. My dream life is currently frozen until I get out of this country. Ironically, my dream life is unattainable until I finish what I set out to do here.

Feels like my dreams are slipping away out of memory, as I try to make myself into something better here, more mature, more compassionate, more considerate, more understanding.

There's nothing in this country for me except a better me. A necessary evil, as home is too comfortable and familiar, with family that will not let me risk. A long degree in a foreign country with high standards . . . now that's something difficult and ideologically dangerous enough to make me better. Or so I told myself years ago as I first came here.

Life has moved on, I have moved on, I thought, as I contemplated leaving to go back home to pursue the dreams I didn't know I had. Leaving home does that, it makes you recognise the things you love and took for granted, things you needed and made you complete and functional. However, my task here wasn't yet complete, my parents reminded me, and so I had no choice but to stay. Staying on here, degrading into forlorn version of my older self. Each day became a chore, a set of motions executed out of duty. To complicate things, I let childish obsessions distract me from my misery.

Then a twist of fate. A few months ago, I reclaimed some of my former self. I unknowingly spent time and money to nourish the old me, ignoring everything I was meant to do. I did it without thinking, without realising my body started to do things for its own good. 2 months passed. I started to come back as I rested and energised. It was as though I was locked away for years. In a way, I was.

Now, I'm hiding a hint of unreasonable confidence that I used to have and loved about myself, it was foolish to let myself lose it and be replaced by calculated reason. It took a failure to wake me up.

Dreams and goals now fill my head. Restlessness fills my body. Obstacles once unsurmountable seem fallible.

In the last 3 years, I learnt a little about myself. I have weaknesses. I can get discouraged. I can get distracted. I finally understood I could fail. The illusion was broken, the bubble burst. I felt powerless and resigned myself to my imminent fall, trying to salvage as much dignity as I could as my world fell apart.

Then a spark lit. Weaknesses sweeten the victory. Courage is a fire which burns defiant in the face of despair, fueled by desire. Distraction is fear manifested. I want to die a warrior's death. Scars remind me that I have lived. These are wisdoms I once knew, but forgot, and now remembered again.

I'm staying in this country voluntarily now. I have unfinished tasks, unproven to myself that will complete in 2 years. Then I'm going home to create the life I want . . . every single, elaborate, impossible part of it.

The mind will plan and assess, but desire is the motivation behind every act. I did the mistake of letting my mind decide my life for the past few years, and listened to advice and thought too much till I questioned everything I believe, leading me to come very close to making mistakes I will regret. No more. Now what I want calls the shots, no matter how unreasonable and foolish.

Age may alert my eyes to dangers previously unseen, but the blind cannot see. And blind courage is what I have.

I'm back, world. And this is my battle cry. Just watch.

Emotional Overload

I have no salary, little knowledge on how to keep you happy and you will never reach your full potential with me. Perhaps they're right, we're not meant to be. I'm too young for you and you're as high maintenance as they come. However, as the light from your curves fall upon my eyes like the first drops of desert rain, I can't deny what I feel. You grow on me. You bring out my most superficial desires. I already have someone I love, but I can't put you out of my mind. The sound of your breathing soothes and excites me. Sometimes I feel you nearby but when I turn to find you, it's another imposter (yet another TT). Perhaps what I'm trying to say is . . . white Audi R8 with carbon fiber interior inlays, E-gear, ceramic brakes and stainless steel pedals, I have more than an innocent wanting for your V10 magneride quattro system.

In our quiet, lonely moments, we sometimes find ourselves right back where we began

Jetlag means that I'm wide awake at 4 am. I'm thankful that the lag's not so bad this time.

Slow internet connection means I have to forgo streaming live video of music, anime, etc for a little while.

It seems I only blog when I'm back home in KL these days, encouraged by "an abundance of unplanned time with restricted freedom" (a.k.a bored). Restricted freedom being it's 4am and nothing is open or no one is awake, with the exception of me and my dog.

Anyway, I actually have something to write about. Again, with another passing year, I find myself changing again, like changing colours of the leaves through the seasons. Not cyclical, but frequently unnoticed until the change is almost complete. Perhaps it's called age.

I'm less of a perfectionist now. Which makes it easy for people to get along with me. I say and do what I feel like more. The me from 5 years ago would be horrified. But the me from 5 years ago is nowhere near as happy as I am. I am unafraid to chart an imperfect future, and unforeseen complications don' keep me up at night. And yet somehow, with my acceptance of more and more things imperfect, I find that the grandest of my ideas have never before been closer to reality. Perhaps I am unhindered by myself in moving forward, perhaps I am less afraid of letting people into every crevice of my life, allowing my friends to guide and support me whenever they do. True friends I need to learn to appreciate.

Once again, it's easier to say than do.

My Fickle Mind

Life's too short. Make the most of what we have, or watch it slip away.

I'm telling myself to do more, today comes only once. What I do in that day will last forever.

Big words, lazy boy, but willing to change.

Here's to the gift of today.