Youngest kid of six with an inferiority and black sheep complex, but determined that God saves not just his soul to heaven but the remainder of his manic-depressive life, so others won't say he became a Christian and remained a jerk.
i won't be transparent before i'm opaque. and you'll get to know me starting from the small things: who my favourite bands are. what kind of movies i like. who are my heroes.
I’m convinced that when confronted with sincere, real love, the Jesus factor will become obvious. But let’s not plant the cross before we carry it. I’m not trying to con you.
Some dreams are meant to be achieved. I know that. But maybe other dreams are meant to drive us, privately. Never known to anyone but ourselves.
It is a sadness that, when choosing between crying and sighing, will choose sighing. I'd almost say that melancholy is being sad about sadness itself.
On memory and nostalgia
It saddens me when life moves forward and people decide that certain things are worth forgetting.
I've learnt that the word irregardless is filed as a non-standard word in the English language. That's a lexicographer's way of saying it's not a real word.
Crowds are fickle things. So when we stand in the thousands and cry against the present government, do we know who we're actually crying for?
People always want the best for themselves. But I want to sometimes take second or third or fourth best, just so that the loser down the road doesn't always have to come in last. It must feel like shit to always come in last.
On growing old
Leasehold property make me feel sad. It doesn't matter how old the family photos are that you put on your wall. It's your family but it's not really your wall.
I ask you, if God loves everyone, and if God is also incapable of loving evil, how can there be such a thing as an evil man?
On a daily basis
One line quips, like this.
Monday, December 18, 2006
I've just spent a weekend at the seaside town of kuantan, which i think is absolutely lovely, and for the first time in my life, i saw real people (as opposed to fake people on tv) surfing. like, surfing on waves. i didn't know that malaysians surfed on malaysian beaches. that goes to show:
(1) how ulu i am, and
(2) how cool some of our beaches are.
Of course, you can probably only surf at an east coast beach, because the south china sea kicks up enough waves for it. still, it was really nice to watch. the only unpleasant thing about the whole experience (and it's not that the waters weren't blue; blue water is nice but it's not something i expect from malaysian beaches and at any case it is not the unpleasant thing i'm talking about) was the stupid surfing competition DJ's choice of songs to play while the competitors took to the water. they played.... i dunno... all these mat rock 80s kinda music like guns n roses, which just tells you two things about the djs, that:
(1) they are stuck in their very distant adolescence and have been playing the same damn music since their cassette collection became a cd collection, and
(2) they have absolutely no understanding of surf culture.
They should be playing surf music, man! they should be playing dick dale or the beach boys or bob marley even. heck, even paris hilton sounds more surf than guns n blardy roses on a sunny sunday morning. and so, thinking about surf culture and having dick dale's king of the surf guitar playing in my head, it hit me.
I know many friends who are learning how to dive. friends who are my age, many who are older. if you are a yuppie with a wallet-full of credit cards and a maritime itch to scratch, anyone can be a diver nowadays. so why can't anyone be a surfer? no reason not, right? then i thought, can i teach my still-impressionable ass to learn surfing at the not-so-tender age of twenty six? again, why not? ok, so motivation is there. what about infrastructure. can a west-coast pj bum find access to some rip curl know-how? the answer lies in the heart of pj's traffic-jammed madness: sunway lagoon. apparently they've got a wave pool where i can potentially find lessons. good. i'll check it out.
So the final stumbling point is in fact the point on which i stumble - where, along the forty kilometres of pahang and terengganu's beach, will i find the time to indulge myself in this hobby? nowhere. not anywhere to be found. is it anywhere to be made? i don't know. maybe when the cyclone of my filmmaking debut passes by, i might be able to find a couple of hours in the weekend to try this out. until then, i'm quite happy to read up on surfing, investigate its scene in my concrete jungle and maybe whip up some support from friends and family to join me in taking lessons.
Then maybe one day in the next couple of years, if you don't hear from me, it's because i've gone off in the weekend to a beach somewhere in the east looking for a surf to ride and a beach to sit and chill.
Labels: dreams, society
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