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.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Nostalgia sizzles. an old cupboard. inside, a box of toys. outside, a boy grown up. a treasure chest. matchbox cars. an air france bus. an orange soda truck. a maroon bentley with a white hood. a red lamborghini with yellow and black streaks. made in france. (not bad.) an orange matchbox car launcher. stick a car all the way in till it clicks. press the button. bang. instant home-made car wreck. an orange motorbike and a detachable red and blue rider. more matchbox cars. a black corvette and a white and red mazda. you can open the doors. so cool.
soldiers. toy soldiers. lots and lots and lots of green toy soldiers. standing. kneeling. crouching. some in attention. most at gunpoint. and then, cowboys. two horses. lots of cowboys. and lots of indians. cowboys and indians in different colours. mostly red but some are green and yellow and orange. blue indians. and then, mini robots. multi-coloured plastic robots with holes for lost limbs to be stuck into. strange rubbery aliens with cool rubbery spaceships. civilians. tiny normal people. about fifteen bottle caps. and a weird gardener action figure.
and then... m.a.s.k.
switchblade. miles mayhem's helicopter that turns into a jet plane. goliath. matt tracker's truck that carries his flying racecar. raven. a corvette that transforms into a seaplane. hurricane. a chevy that turns into a six-wheel tank. buzzard. a racecar that turns into two speeding motorcycles and a jet plane. and outlaw. sweet god, my favourite m.a.s.k. toy. my black oil tanker that turns into a missile-launching unit. the mechanisms mostly don't work anymore. the buttons don't respond. all the projectiles are gone. but they still look so cool. outlaw. i remember the day i came home with it.
and then... voltron.
golion. my five lion giant robot. one... two... three... four... wait. where's the green lion? treasure chest. rummage. rummage. i can't lose the green lion. plough. plough. there it is! all five. the blue one was always my favourite. voltron, 4/5ths assembled. i dismantle him. for the first time in decades - individual lions. some of their limbs have broken off. green lion has lost a hind leg. blue lion has lost his tail. black lion has lost a whole shoulder.
cars crash. aliens land. soldiers surround outlaw. a cowboy defends the oil tanker and guns down the entire army, the tanker rolls over the cowboy. the indians start hacking with their axes. spaceships swoop in. the voltron lions bite them. an alien terrorises the lions. cowboys are killed. indians are killed. the civilians enter the scene. they also get killed. a matchbox car launches into midair with an indian on the hood. both spin towrds the alien. boom! the car explodes. the indian dies. the orange motorbike does an elaborate motorcross flip from behind outlaw to enter the scene. but explodes. who else... who else... ah. the weird gardener action figure. he's holding a rake. hahaha! the voltron lions return. they form a grandiose throne for the gardener. (he looks like xerxes from 300!) all the toys form an aisle. on one end is the gardener on his lion throne. on the other end, the pink rubber alien. the gardener steps forward and twitches. the alien explodes. a yellow cowboy takes two bottlecaps and makes a casket for the alien. the gardener turns around and twitches. everything is destroyed.
i crouched there. on the floor. for one hour. playing with my old toys.
Labels: memory and nostalgia
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