Oh Wow.

I really don't feel like writing. I'm not the only one. I have a dear friend who is studying graphic design. Come the holidays, I asked her if she was working on any art pieces. "No."She replied, with a slightly embarrassed look. That took some guilt away from me.

But still, I feel guilty. Here I am, studying writing, and seating my butt comfortably on a chair playing flash games instead of working on what I'll be doing in the foreseeable future. Guilt strikes once again. The semester looms closer, there are 24 hours in a day, surely I can devote some of that time to working at what I'm supposed to be doing?

I think it's time to get back to practicing again.

Happy Chinese New Year everybody!


 

When I Grow Up...

I want to be Malaysia's first Emperor.

I want to be the President of the United States of America.

I want to drive an Aston Martin.

I want to be the senior editor of a well known magazine.

I want to own an armored tank that fires giant nerf rounds.

I want a laser tag war room in my own house.

I want to give my name a super long suffix and prefix when I become emperor.

The great, most noble, most desirable, most glorious, leader who brings pleasure to your toes and massages your kneck with the powers of his mind in ways that are most glorious, king of birds; but only birds that look pretty. Lord of animals that are endangered by the diabolical fascist regime of evilness, and fish that are tasty, Magnificent Joseph Wong the wowness of wongness, in aircraft, jetfighter, explosions in the sky.

I want to learn how to stiffle sneezes.

I would love to learn perfect etiquette.

I want to buy a mac book from macdonalds.

Love the Crab. Hate the Prawn.

I despise prawns. These horrible thingies that come cooked with their beady eyes still staring at you. Worse, you chop it's head off when it's still on your plate and it's mushy brains. Then the chef forces you to skin the headless prawn all by yourself. The worse part comes when you realize the black stuff you're eating is actually prawn poop. Lovely.

Crabs however, are fantastic! They come in a beautiful package with the smoothest shells ready for your eating pleasure. The best part is that eating it is an interactive joy! One needs to use a hammer and a nutcracker to get to the flesh inside. And once you get to the gastronomically glorious flesh, well; who cares. The whole fun was smashing the crab into bits. Lovely.

That's odd. I don't like prawns cause of the work to get to the flesh. But I love crabs for the same reason. How now?

Nerfing. (Part 1)

Non-Expanding Recreational Foam. NERF. This actually sounds more serious than 'paintball'

While studying, I came across a news article covering some guys who formed a small Nerfing community in Malaysia. These weren't your regular kids running amok with guns while screaming their heads off. These guys looked like people across different ages. My first thought was; these people have not known the wonders of the playstation. Then I realized that I recognized some of these faces! They were friends I know in Kl. Now why would they be playing nerf? 

For the uninitiated, Nerf is a brand name that manufactures 'blasters' or guns that fire foam darts. It was a groundbreaking invention some bored scientist created when he realized that foam didn't break stuff. So why not shape the foam into a sabot round and load it into a gun. After all, if he had fun playing with the dang thing, so would anyone who loved the thrill of competition and shooting bros after a hard day's work. It was a spectacular success. 

I believed Nerf was a kids toy, something your little brother would run about playing with his over frenzied friends.  But I couldn't help realizing that something in me was just shrieking to pick one of the numerous blasters my friend had to try them out. My inner child possessed my limbs and I found myself blasting my dear friend in his head with a foam dart. Just for the fun of it. 

A real ammunition.

Nerf ammunition. 

Then he pointed towards an atrocity. A monster. This humongous gun shaped like the perfect weapon of war. A machine gun. A nerfing machine gun. It was the belt-fed apex of a toy technology, and it fired pretty quick. Once you started up the machine, it hummed menacingly. Then you pulled the trigger. 

And a stream of foam darts jettisoned from the gun. 

Now at this point my inner child ripped apart my sternum, sliced open my chest and grasped the Nerf Machine gun with all his might. "Ok. Let's go play some nerf," I said. We divided ourselves into two teams, since there were only three people, it was a 2 vs 1. My friend had his machine gun. I had a minuscule revolver and my wingman had a watchmacallit blaster. Getting to the two sides, I heard the hum of the machine gun then, the splatter of foam shots smacking into our cover. I turned over to my wingman and he gave me a look that said," there's nothing we can do. Take one step and we'd be 'killed'. I must admit, I thought this game would be easier, but it wasn't. 

We had to wait till there was a pause in the hum of the gun and the percussion of the bullets till we could charge out with guns blazing. And we did. While our foe was still reloading his gun, my wingman took him out with a single blaster shot to the head. 

Now of course, this was just one spontaneous game my friends had obligingly arranged when I walked over to their house out of boredom. Many more battles followed

Fly Airport Fly

I am a proud student of a university, flying home back to land and nation. Walking past the glass sliding doors with my head held high, I feel like a swan. A beautiful white swan. So beautiful I almost started dancing. In fact, that's what I did, a little dance. A graceful sweeping ballet of beauty across the white marble floor of the airport terminal.

No, I was queuing up for my air ticket. But I did have my head held up high. 

I answered the stewardress woman at the cashier in a clipped, competent tone and smiled charmingly when she said, "have a nice flight." Oh yeah babeh, I am smooth like a dolphin's backside. 

Then, with a noble student-of-uni walk I marched towards the escalator. I was a picture of competence and culture. Like Brad Pitt in some movie about walking while looking cool-as-beans. I took the escalator up to where the airport security was. 

Hah. The airport security. I may be scrutinized, judged, investigated, and searched. But I am not guilty of anything. I am a student-of-university. 

I approached the guard with my handphone, lappie and belt in a tray. Then I looked him in the eye. "Is that all?" I asked. He pointed at my pant zip. It was gloriously open. 

Complete, resounding victory. 

Sitrep.

I am hugely busy. More so in the last few weeks. They've been chock-full of assignments, essays and projects. It's these wonderful times at the end of the year, when you realize you have to sleep at 3-4 am only to wake up at 7am to get assignments done. Thought challenging, I remain strangely joyous and happy. My health is fine too.

Whenever a uni student with an ocean load of paper work told me how lucky I was to still be in school; I scoffed and told him, "HAH. YEAH RIGHT." I find myself being that stressed uni student walking around campus with a starry zombiefied gaze, yelling to all high school student apocalyptically what awaits them.

I'm writing this in the library's glass roofed cafeteria while sipping ice coffee. The uni experience is fantastic!

 At times you just stop in your tracks to wonder how blessed you are to be afforded the privilege of studying at uni. My favorite place to stop and wonder: in a place covered with trees next to the library building. During Autumn or Spring, it's beautiful with red bricked buildings and walkways clothed with brown, yellow and reddish leaves. All bathed in gold light. Fantasy land? No. The walkway behind my library. 

I actually wrote this a week earlier while gearing up for assignments, and now that assignments are finished. I am free. Even as I am writing this, I'm in a room full of intensely studious exam preppers. Their faces twisted into energy from the caffeine they're gulping.

I remain chillaxed. Fly like a G6

Fly like a G6 

Fly like a G6

A G6 is a plane by the way.

This is its interior. I want one. 

Social Rules Learnt By Mr. Awkward. (Part 1)

I'm quite socially awkward. As such, I had to learn through trial and error what is socially correct and what's just not in good taste.


1. Never ever push food off a person's spoon. Especially if you don't really know the person. Cause this is rude.

Now in some cases this might be ridiculously funny. Understood, but in some other cases, this would probably label you as a barbaric Philistine whose mother never taught him some manners.


2. Do not call people "gay". It's just not a good idea.


3. Never look at a person's food when they are eating or cooking. They will feel obligated to invited you to eat, even when they don't really want to share their food. This may all seem like complete common sense, but when you're hungry...


4. Don't bother debating about matters of taste. It all ends in tears.

Screaming Justin Bieber/Edward Cullen/Beethoven is as dumb is a doornail will probably end in yelling matches. Children have cried over this.


5. Try to keep a calendar of who you're meeting up for appointments. If you don't, it's likely you'll arrange two things at the same time which results in instant GG.

Happens to me ALL THE TIME. That's why I keep a calendar.


6. Never ask a girl her age.

 Now I know this seems like me trying to look all goody-two-shoes and old fashioned, but its not. Thing is, if you ask a girl her age right off the bat, she'd probably think you're making a pass at her. Never a good thing.


7. Save all arguing for after you eat.

Do you really want to argue when you're on gorging nourishment? Save it after dessert. Everyone will be happy!


8. In matters of politeness, the hierarchy should look like this. Grandmas (grandparents), Ma Mas (parents), Ladies (the girls), peeps (yo hommies).