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.


On identity
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.

On Christianity
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.

On dreams
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.


On melancholy
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.

On language
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.

On politics
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?

On society
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.

On philosophy
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.


Thursday, June 28, 2007

Comfort. that bitch of an illusion. it’s a rare commodity these days, this thing called comfort. if you have it, don’t ever lose it. if you don’t know if you have it, you probably don’t.

this isn’t the comfort of a warm bed, fluffy pillows and the heavenly marriage between air-conditioning and a very thick blanket. sure, if you’re numbered among those who can’t afford ten-dollar coffees then these might be some of the joys that avoid you like the plague. but there’s a more insidious brand of soothing that’s just so much harder to hold on to.

sometimes, it’s almost convincing – that life, in all its plurality and richness, pulls all its resources together to perform that one monumental task of picking apart your heart. like a contraption, it gets prised, hammered at, unscrewed and ultimately dismantled. and it’s almost as easy to do as it is to be done to. walk down any street and there is enough fragility around you to shatter if you so much as sigh. don’t believe me? befriend someone and see how easy it is to break their heart.

today, i just want to run into someone’s arms and stay there, never to be lured back out into a world of perpetually regenerating false sense of security. but today, there are no arms to run into, so i’ve run to the next best thing: nangka chips.

comfort food does little in the larger scheme of things. sure, they certainly do make the scheme of some things larger, but no, they generally do not work. like how richard ashcroft said, the drugs don’t work. neither do nangka chips. half an hour and half a bag of chips later, this elusive sadist that is comfort still hasn’t showed up. on some days, i don’t know if it ever plans to.

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Genusfrog [ 8:45 pm ]


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