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.


Friday, November 30, 2007

I shall sit back and watch vesuvius happen now.


Genusfrog [ 11:20 am ] | 0 comments

Thursday, November 29, 2007

This road is not for you.


Genusfrog [ 5:51 pm ] | 0 comments

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

...ain't warm.


Genusfrog [ 10:57 am ] | 0 comments

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

They came on again.


Genusfrog [ 9:52 pm ] | 0 comments

Monday, November 26, 2007

Another nightfall in the wasteland.


Genusfrog [ 7:00 pm ] | 0 comments

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Workers of Australia, unite!


Genusfrog [ 4:43 pm ] | 0 comments

Saturday, November 24, 2007

I didn't have to play!


Genusfrog [ 4:45 pm ] | 1 comments

Friday, November 23, 2007

Ok, maybe just one so I can dance.


Genusfrog [ 5:55 pm ] | 1 comments

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Sack him!


Genusfrog [ 5:06 pm ] | 0 comments

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Like pressing a heart button from far.

Genusfrog [ 3:28 pm ] | 1 comments

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

When everything is done, I wanna lie in the sun.


Genusfrog [ 4:05 pm ] | 0 comments


There are too few quiet places in this world. everywhere you go, there's the clicking of keyboards, the cacophony of ringtones, the roar of highways, and the garbagenoise of television.

i desperately long for an extended amount of time in a very, very quiet place.

a place that's green and blue, with cool air, the lull of a breeze, sunlight breaking through leaves, the fresh smell of dry grass, the plop of fish in the water and birds, chirping or fluttering. and the rest...


a book. sunlight. a ham sandwich. a bottle of orange juice.

no cellphones. no cars. a mile of walking. half a day of sitting under the sky.

no noise. just quiet.


Genusfrog [ 3:45 pm ] | 0 comments

Monday, November 19, 2007

One at a time, it happens.


Genusfrog [ 6:29 pm ] | 0 comments


The collins dictionary let me down today. i don't like it's definition of melancholy. the collins advanced learner's defines melancholy as "an intense sadness". i disagree.

the relationship between melancholy and sadness cannot be one of degrees. if anything, a very intense sadness could possibly be mistaken for depression, but certainly not melancholy.

melancholy, as i've always known it, is a detached variety of sadness. it is a sadness that, when choosing between crying and sighing, will choose sighing. it's a sadness that stands outside of itself and feels the quiet pang of loss rather than the raw pain of it.

i'd almost go as far as to say that melancholy is being sad about sadness itself. it's like looking back on an unfortunate event from a place that doesn't feel the firsthand sadness - the sadness is now secondhand, no longer played out on ground zero but watched from the rooftop, looking down. it moves from being a sadness for to being a sadness about. yes, i think this is melancholy. collins = fallible.

i've been feeling a bit melancholy lately. i don't mind it. it's actually quite nice.

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Genusfrog [ 5:45 pm ] | 5 comments

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

"While sending you home last night, I got lost in the city. I drove for hours in the swell of roads that seemed to rearrange themselves whenever I wasn't looking. You were asleep. I drove in concentric circles in to the heart of this strange and despairing place. Eventually I found my way to your house. All you had left for me was a kiss and goodnight. And as I watched you disappear behind the doors, I thought about you and the bizarre city. And I thought, for what? For what, do I crawl my way out of this asphalt labyrinth? Just so I can part with you? Just so I can part... with you? For that alone, I consider it cruelty." - Fabrizio Bazzani, The city I love

Bazzani is right. why do we sometimes fight so hard just so that we can do something we've always dreaded doing?

is it because of duty? is it obligation? duty to whom? and what obligated it so? i've found that in life, maybe we do too many things that we'd rather not do, believing on the outside that there's no other way, but secretly knowing that there is.


Genusfrog [ 8:01 am ] | 0 comments

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

When you break up, do you throw away all your photographs together?

i have. all it took was dragging one folder into the bin and emptying it. and almost magically, it's as if you can forget the past. it's not that you can't. it's just that it's absurd.

throwing away old photographs is like denying a portion of your life. it's like saying that for x number of months, somewhere in some now indistinct past, you didn't exist. you don't talk about it anymore, you don't have documents to show for it anymore and you certainly don't have pictorial memories of it anymore. while at its best, it looks like a disciplined operation to move on and not dwell in the past, at its worst, it's a disciplined operation to pretend that you never did live.

i don't know what to do with my past now that i've thrown away all my photographs. i understand why i've trashed some memories - however good they were - but i also now understand why it's sad that some pasts have no place in a life that must move forward.

i also don't know what to do with the gaping hole in my personal history books now that i've censored my own existence. new memories will be formed, will propel me forward and will keep on shaping me. but new memories should not replace old memories. they should sit chronologically in front and sentimentally on top, but our hearts are not hard drives. you can't overwrite one cluster with new knowledge.

but maybe throwing away these photos is the only thing that can help you take new ones. maybe the only way into a meaningful and reconciled future is the denying of your once-meaningful but irreconcilable past.

photos, then, merely act as a substitute. a symbol of not just a person but of mondays and sundays and streets and parks. and burning them is like burning away an old house so that you can build from the earth again.

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Genusfrog [ 7:00 pm ] | 0 comments

Friday, November 02, 2007

Do you remember your yearbook photos from school? i remember all of mine, from form one to form four. i've got them all in an album. you can see how we grew up. i remember also the day we took our form five class photos. i remember where i stood. what the day was like.

i don't think i missed a normal schooling day in form five. at least not until a day when i had a fever. went to school the next day and they told me the photographer came back yesterday. something happened to his film so he came by to reshoot my class photo. just like that. no announcement, no forewarning. i was out of my final year's yearbook and it was over a silly fever.

i never claimed my copy of that yearbook. i remember wanting to dissociate myself from it, knowing fully well that i wasn't represented there. so today, i have no form five yearbook. i don't regret not owning it. it would hurt a lot more to have it lying around knowing that i remember everything about the photography day and still not ending up in the pictures.

i wonder, when my school friends grow old and look at that yearbook, will they remember all the faces in the class? chances are, they won't. being photographed is no guarantee of being memorable. but not being photographed doesn't make things better. an unmemorable but photographed face can still conjure an imagination of who a person was, regardless of how unfaithful that imagination may be. but an unphotographed person, no matter how memorable, has no place in the pages of some of life's inane histories. his place is in the hazy recollections of forgetful people. and while photographs never fade, memory does.

when i woke up this morning, i remembered my form five yearbook. and i feel sad for all the boys like me, who also didn't show up on that random day when the photographer came back. i'm sure some of them don't care about such memories.

somehow, that seems to sadden me even more.

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Genusfrog [ 9:45 am ] | 2 comments