Driving Test

Oh where do I begin? Ah. From the very beginning perhaps. I'd also like to mention that I believe I was a shoo in for the activity off which most men must take. And so, bundled up in my instructers kancil, like chickens to the slaughter; me, a guy and a couple of chicks, were driven to the abbatoir. It was long and an ardurous journey punctuated by screams of despair and the near religious acknowledging of impending doom.

When we got there, I felt slightly like Frodo when he was in the realm of mordor, trying to burn that dumb ring. It was full of so many types of people, striped, polka dotted and dyed. There I was, trying to fit in with my shirt tucked in neatly and my pleated pants pressed and prim. I had no idea what to expect, other than that it would not be easy. I've never mentioned the word "God" so many times in silent prayer. (Funny how we pray our hardest when nature's call beckons and there aren't any toilets close by.)

The testing began. Old engines howled in fury as drivers cursed trying to pull the stubborn mules up a testy slope. Many dreams where ended there, on the sumit of The Slope as kancil after kancil slid down all in thanks to the wonderful and precise clutch and accelaration paddles. Then came my turn. I asked the bespectacled dude about the ride from hell I was about to get into.

"oh my god" Where his exact words, minus the " its very difficult to drive, i dunnoe how to say."

I was so relieved I had gotten the pinnacle of Malaysian engineering. Dashing up the slope, all in part thanks to my ignorance of the cars retarded habits, I pushed my car. With the drive shaft barely catching and the cavalier Pirates of the Caribean theme song playing I sped up. "Wait, wait, wait, now!" I screamed at myself. I clamped down the brake hard, only to realise that I was a good foot away from the target. In sheer desperation, I accelerated and urged the beast forward once again, however; it was all in vain as the stubborn mule of a car rolled down comically.

Strike one.

The second try. I hated this car, I hated this exam, channeling all my anger; well, actually, I didn't think of anything at all. I forced the car upwards that forbidding slope once again, marvelling at how perfect the clutch and the acceleration system worked (intense sarcasm). Hold! Wait! Now! I raged at myself! Only to have my heart sink along with the car as history repeated itself.

Strike two.

The JPJ dude, or the orc who cried, "inspection!" looked at me and gave me the peace sign. "Yeah, great dude! Peace to earth, mankind and all that! Wait, why is he asking me to get down?" Another Jpj dude up to me and motioned me out of the car. As I unhappily switched the car off, whithout freeing the gear, the only thought I had functioning in my head was sheer disbelief.

"Where's my third try" I wondered quietly to myself as I sadly walked up to the examiner. After writing my name as I was told to and watching him happily slashing bold blue lines of my exam paper, I put my hands on my hips, still in disbelief.

" eh? Awak angry dengan saye ke!? Gnape tangan buat begitu!?

"oh, sorry, saya sangat..."

"sedih? Awak jangan buat begitu lagi tau, sangat tak bersopan, awak ni masih belajar!"

Reprimanded, I walked off.

Honestly, I began praying again. Passing For the second test was something I had to do. Rather much like Frodo on mount doom when he knew that he to go toss the ring in again. Its so dumb I tell you, that itty bitty ring? Sheesh. Neways, my troop came bounding over, two of them had passed, another had failed, thanks to her tire sticking out slightly from the white parking line. Oh well. (evil one, I know how you feel)

I began a chat with a rather mature seventeen year old dude as the both of us awaited for the test both of us had to pass. He didn't know the route perfectly and neither did I.

"Eh?" I said, "I though the examiner got give instruction?"

"I don't think so..."

Whooppee... My time was up, in more ways than one I thought to myself as the a newer model of a kancil drove up with my examiner sitting inside. He struck me as someone familiar. Then I realised, he reminded me of the fierce, huge orc that inspected the modor army and almost busted Frodo and Sam!

"Apa khabar boss?"

"Saya tidak boss la."

Well, that was a great start! I thought to myself, we'd be sharing each other's email addresses and face book accounts in no time! I loved that dude.

"So, apa nama encik?"

"pandu saja" Oh cry. Guess not.

At one point during the test, was a u turn I had no idea I had to make. Luckily he pointed out where I was supposed to go, using hand signals so that he could avoid pleasant and pleasurable conversation with me. There I was, stopping and ready to make a u turn when," Signal!! Signal ke kanan!!" Oh my, I thought. Well, I panicked actally. With my gear stuck at three I made that make or break u turn. Slaming the accelarator down and cursing the gods of kancil my car inched forward as though a raging river was held back by an itty bitty damn. I finally made that turn. Sigh. It was a sad drive back. Like Samwise Gamgee after Frodo stupidly bansished him from the fellowship.

When I got back and muttered my thanks to Smeagol's big bro, I grabbed my results. I passed!! Somehow, through some miracle, my dead score was brought back to life! I love that big lovable teddy bear I tell you. A huge smile appeared on my face, one pass, one fail, thats what I could say.

Well, all in all, one down, one more to go.

From House to Home

I changed my blog name. Yes I did. Your hunkie poo wiki shoo wondie doo di-id...

Okays, don't click the x button just yet. I didn't really like the first name which was, " whatjohastosay" it struck me as quite in your face and rude. After all, you wouldn't introduce yourself to a granny in midvalley by screaming "WHATJOHASTOSAY!" would you? Down right uncharming. I decided to change the name of my blog.

I chose the name House to Home. After all, our bodies are only houses for our spirit. Just for the time being during which we grace the world with our wonderful presence; our lives is just a twinkle in the space of eternity. The, on one beautiful day, our house dies. Our spirit then gets tranported ala lord-of-the-rings-scene-when-the-orcs-ar- about-to-break-in-when-the-hobbit-guy-asks-gandalf-how-dying-is-like to our home; heaven.

We're on the way to home. In other words.

Well, being still on earth, I suppose it was only proper to say, this is my journey from House to Home.

The Art of Spannaring Orang

The art of Spannaring, is an elegant social excersise designed to manipu.... steer your friend away the terrible mistake of dating and eventually marrying the woman of your dreams. It is considered and low, underhanded tactic and ploy that has the ability to break up a relationship or strengthen a friendship. If all goes well, a closer friendship will be built and a beautiful romance will begin. If all fails... never mind if it fails. It won't. Trust me.

The word Spannaring comes from the root word spannar, which is a tool used to screw bolts onto screws; fixing. The second word is Orang, meaning person. Therefore the word in its entirety would mean fixing people. There's nothing wrong with this, after all, you are "fixing" something wrong. In other words, its to split up a couple and go after the girl. Or guy.

Now let me place you in a scenario. Let's say your best buddy in the whole wide world, someone who pretended to be gay in midvalley just for laughs falls for, gasp, a hot girl. Not just any hot girl; the love of your life, the woman of your dreams, the ping to your pong, the tick to your tock, the play to your station. Well, you get the idea.

Naturally, you would be split right down the middle over what to do. The annoying little angle resplendent in the holiest attire would be bashing your brains with a bible screaming at you to lay off the couple. While that charming red faced, man U supporter would sweetly cajoling you to bash a hole right in the middle of their mislead romance. Here's a way out. Spannarkan mereka.

Its very simple, invite your best friend out to the mamak, get him to laugh, throw some hillarious jokes about the great and awesome times you guys had together. After a particularly good laugh at the finish of a brilliant mak rempit impersonation. Smile and say conviction. "Hey man, you've been my very bestest best friend for such along time, and i think you're an angel. I love you."

First he'll give you a very very "thats so gay" stare. Stare him down, be serious, there's time for fun and games later. This moment would mean if you're going to live out the rest of your day as a sad hespinster who makes wedding barbie from beer cans everynight before crying to sleep.

"I love you too man."

Thats the cue. " As your dear bestest best friend in the whole wide world including the universe, i'd protect you with my life. That girl you have... she's... actually a guy" Or whatever it takes to scare him off the girl in question. No one wants to date a girl who turns into a werewolf at night right?

Naturally, he'd go crazy. Calm him down.

" My bestest best best better than yesterday whom i adore, its okay to cry, here's my shoulder."

Phase one, done. Now for the girl

The lady would message you for emotional support assuming your already a friend. Listen to her, be nice, compassionate, sympathetic, all that mushy mushy bric a brac. Finally, after expelling all her intense feelings of hatred. When the time comes, she'll message,"sigh, u r such a sweet fren."

Strike.

Yeah, i'm ur fren, but maybe we can b more thn that... u noe, more thn frens? At this time, she would fall desperately into your arms clutching you and all that kind of xoxoxo hugz n kisses nonsense.

As for your friend. Your friend will definitely find out that she's not actually a guy, but thats okay. She'll be extremely mean to him because of the terrible way she treated her. That way, attractiveness will become subtractiveness and your best best friend in the whole wide world would spend his life thanking your for saving his love life. The art of spannaring is done.




Disclaimer. Spannaring is evil. This was written solely at the request of an evil person. Anyone who attempts to spannar is evil. Evil sucks. Don't be evil.

Goodbye, I'm sorry.

Today is a dark, sad and solemn day.

I was coming home from violin class at night and my aunt greeted me at the door. "Didn't your dad tell you?" She said, "Sunny died".

What? It took me a few seconds to register. Sunny Chew? Uncle Chew? He died? WHAT!?

He was an old gentleman, drank beer and smoked cigrattes. However, he was a dear friend of our family. Whenever my father was all alone in his store, he would come along and sit down providing my father with company and friendship. When my dad had to perform a service for customers, he would help; often at the request of my father. Being intelligent and knowlegeable on much, he often chatted away with customers, yakking on Antartica to Bang and Olufsen. In fact, customers turned into close friends because of him.

When I was little I was bullied so often. Kids hated me, adults tried to stand me. In all due honesty, it was simply because i was so innocent and naturally joyful I could stay happy. No one in my kindergarten walked up to me and offered me close friendship, not one; small glimmers of kindness were often bought. Close friends when I was a kind something I didn't have.

Whenever school was over, my mom would fetch me. She would take me to my father store where Uncle Chew would be around. I would greet him and he would ask me to give him a neck message. I loved giving him shoulder squeezes. Unc would often encourage me to squeeze harder! We often chatted about everything little boys chatted about! He even drove me once awhile to a comic store near my dad's shop to rent our favourite comics. During quieter times he thought me how to play chess and how to float like a butterfly and sting like a ping pong ball to an exposed tummy. When I got my Game Boy Colour, he often grabbed it, sat himself down on a comfy seatee and tackled doctor Mario. Believe me, he was good; so good he reached level twelve, the last level of doctor mario on the greatest difficulty. He played till his eyes turned red and teared. Everytime after the day was over, I ran over to my mum and asked her if I could ask him to join us for dinner! He was my best friend.

I loved him. Now he's gone. Worse still; he's not a christian.

I feel terrible honestly. Just to imagine him with that fate is heart tearing. Its something that you might hold with you for your entire life. I didn't try hard enough, I didn't pray hard enough. Now he's gone. He's gone.

Dear Lord, you heard me. When I close my eyes for the last time on this earth. I want to see him smiling with you. Please. Amen.

When I was A Kid...

When I was a kid, I always wanted jet fighter pilot/weapons developer/f1 driver/gun maker/jet fighter designer. No kidding. It all appealed to me! There was something so delicious about creating mechanisms and machinery that fired balls of fury and bullets of steel. I loved weapons! I was a kid! Death and destruction came easily to that twisted young mind of mine.

I wanted to be an f1 driver too. Speeding at speeds faster than the Millenium Falcon on Bacta steriods proved seducing. I imagined having all that golden glory falling on my dark hair. My beautiful face would appear with a watch on a huge bilboard that screamed my name. Joseph, Oyster Perpetual. Not only that; the intense roaring of engines would pur at me like a pet lion everytime I headed of to work. Great riches, glory and fame sank its claws deep into my adolescent life. In fact, I wanted to an F1 driver so much I brokered with God,"if you let me become an f1 driver, I become a pastor part time."

Around the age of about thirteen. I loved food. The pleasurable feeling when morsels slid down your tongue rubbing their best upon the buds of your tongue. Mmm. yes. I loved food. The great satisfaction of a full belly. The contented smile that appeared after. The oh so relieving burp that accompanied gastronomic gluttony. I loved food. Therefore, I decided to become a chef! Why? Because I loved food? Well, thats the thing. When I declared that I wanted to be a chef; everybody began singing and praising their appraisals on how it suited me like a slim cut medium sized jacket. Why? Simply because love of food equals eating lots, equals being a chef. Nonsense. It suddenly hit me. I simply loved eating! Cooking? I burn water. I annihilate pasta. I lacerate fingers. Need I say more?

Then occured a time in my life i simply didn't know what I wanted to do. Then I decided. I loved power. I loved wealth. I wanted to be a Ceo of my own multinational multicultural, multindustrial, mutlibillion and still multiplying company! Who needs to learn how too cook when you can buy the f word dude to cook for you? Who needs an f1 team when you could buy up the entire whole f1 industry? Who needs weapons and soldiers when you've got Barney the Purple Dinosaur?

Well, wishy washy. I agree. I didn't like the f word dude anways, his profanity perforate my eardrums. I sank back to my usual spiral of wondering what I wanted to be. Then, one day, a friend commented,"ay, your writing not bad ah."

BOING!

Indeed. The next dream appeared before me in on paper with ink! I would be a writer! Immediately, this spectre of myself materialed in a vision before me. I saw myself; dapper, charming, dashing in a tuxedo in a huge cocktail party having a Rebina in one hand. With this, a rather attractive lady in an alluring dark red dress asking me," what do you do for a living?"

"I write"

Woah. Very sexy. The words "I write" set about thoughts, connotations and preconceptions running about through my head. The words "I write" sound like, "I work in this awesome magazine company with all that The Devil Wears Prada deco." Or, " I'm intelligent and charming." Or, "You are so going to give me your phone number."

Back to earth.

Words can change lives. The pen being mightier than the swords still rings true. In fact, it rings through intensely ampiflied systems thanks to the internet and the astounding marvels of the twenty first century. An article can move of men to rebellion and tear dictators onto their knees or it can found nations on solid rock and crown leaders. Newpaper expositions can expose the devilry of despicable criminals. Words written can shake mountains.

Finally, something that i'm good at that I actually like! Fascinating! However, we'll see someday if I'll actually live that dream.