Strawberry Ice Cream!

...with nuts! And chocolate drizzle! And rainbow rice! And...

...Cheese?!

A sharp tangy gorgonzola. Fills the mouth with a lingering warmth. Spiced gouda! Spice up your sweetness! Edam! Like having tuo edam with a voluptuous exotic beauty, backwards!

This is a combination that one never would have imagined possible until you accidentally mix them together. After all, so many things that turned out good in the end were actually accidents. Like coca-cola, or penicillin, or me.

Or maybe a close friend convinces (or dares[or bribes{or seduces}]) you into trying it. You suspiciously take a sip, always wary that that coke with panadol might actually knock you out cold, giving your friend the perfect opportunity to bait you like (s)he's always wanted to and is now trying makeshift roofies since alcohol failed. Or that coke with mentos will actually make you swell and rise into the atmosphere before going asplody.

Like coke and salt. The initial thought of it already evokes a retch and an aaaah, gross. Then you actually try it and realise that it actually works. Aaaah tasty.

Even if you don't like it, at least you tried. So try it!

Selfish pet peeves

Everytime I see someone learn something I already know. I like to hoard my knowledge, and use it to win bets based on random information. But when I see someone acquire some golden nugget of trivia, my heart wrenches. I didn't even get that minute satisfaction of being able to smirk and look smart while telling it (if I decide to reveal such things). No, instead the random knowledge gap between me and the rest of the world narrows, and I feel stupider and stupider along the way.

I also hate it when I think of something clever, and it's just on the tip of my tongue when someone else says it and steals my thunder. My brain had been all prepared to bask in the looks of admiration when suddenly, ARGH it's been said prematurely. I mean it's okay if I hadn't thought of it first, but now that I've made all the effort to come up with  such a bon mot and it's taken away, I feel cheated, robbed.

The fates move in mysterious ways. Amil's shifting morals move in ways mysteriouser.

Thrice today I was given the opportunity to extricate myself from suffering. It would have required a mere word to take leave early and escape punishment. Instead I chose to 'do the right thing'. The only reward got was ennui and a wasted evening, and no one benefited from it. Sometimes the tragedy is being too virtuous.

Sometimes I wonder which is more painful. Doing wrong, getting punished for it, and living with the guilt, or doing the right thing, getting punished for it anyway and then realising that if if you had taken the dark side you would have escaped scott-free.

I've had a taste of both recently. The latter is more bitter. Definitely. But then again it's me.

As passive as passive-aggressive can be

You are closed-minded and pedantic. Unresponsive to questions. Puts down inquisitive little green students and puts out the creative light in their eyes. Your ineffectiveness is made all the more evident by the intellectual who leads the next class. I hold no respect for you. You are a waste of food and all the potential that these children have.

But for some people, like me, you are not completely useless.

You inspire me to show that I can survive, even thrive, without you.

Force the Feel Flow Through You

The typical Amil response to stress is to pump up the Kamelot, work self into adrenaline and envinephrine-fueled frenzy and bulldoze through whatever feeble obstacle or philosophy essay there is without pausing for breath. It's worked perfectly thus far, but in true dramatic fashion, the latest, most malicious, most seductively scary bad guy has the unfair advantage. It feeds on the incandescent energy, the juggernaut-like single-mindedness that Amil always employs, all the while becoming stiffer and uglier while mercilessly landing blow after blow of derisive laughter and insults to one's man/womanhood. Amil is outmatched, so delicacy and softness of steps will be needed, even a whole change in mindset. Or maybe just a sexy new costume. Don't succumb to procrastination, find out our hero's fate in the shocking conclusion ASAP next issue next week!

The Mastermind

I once wanted to rule the world. Charge people for air and water. Then I realised that my brother had similar goals. And most other people have similar goals.

So there's some competition for that top spot. Gotta start early you know.

And now, in true megalomaniac fashion, I unveil my plans to the mindless hordes that are now within my grasp. The first step to world domination is joining FACEBOOK.

Every day, my reach of influence grows. It warms my heart to see the little email popup that says 'so and so president added you as friend, so and so hot model added you as friend'. It warms my heart some more when I think of how I will have 10 million friends. And it warms my heart again more when I think of how I will deactivate my account on 10 million friends, breaking 10 million hearts goodbye Mr Anderson heheheh

heh

10 000 cheering souls packed into a replica of the Singapore Indoor Stadium.
7 brothers huddled in a penguin-esque ball, in the middle of the floor.

The itchy little vibrating ball of tension in each one grown steadily over the last 4 days, now too large to be handled individually. Beyond itchy, it has grown to become an unbearable unsatisfiable ache. It shuddered like boiling milk, the atmosphere the spoon dipped into it that makes it overflow violently through our faces, our hands, our eyes. We huddled, and hoped harder than we had ever hoped before

then in one consummatory moment the emcee announces, we win! and the tension, contained too long, explodes in the form of screaming jumping and for some, crying.

After which, we retreat in jubilance. The Vs congratulate and hug us, but it is an awkward moment. Their faces contradict their words. There's just too much emotion in the room, it would take an ubermensch to hide it from his countenance. We are tempered by the wretched looks on their faces.

Wrongly so. After all, we do not deserve to be repressed again do we? Not all the tension has been released yet; even the massive supernova cannot liberate all the star's energy in a split second. But we must have consideration for the crestfallen. We cannot celebrate in the same room as the grieving...

Deny this

Loved by me
You'll never know if you are loved by me
As pretty as your face is
I'd never round the bases
From a distance home is easier to see

I'd be fine
If I could find the nerve to say my line
Too bad I lack the fervor
'Cause maybe I could swerve her
Off her beaten path and onto mine

To publish my obsession
Of love without confession
Would be to share the spotlight with chagrin
I'd rather just admire
Fanning my own fire
And when it dies I'd live to love again

What to do
I've only started and already though
You may not ever meet me
Surely won't defeat me
I'll never know if I am loved by you
Seems I'm just too yellow to pursue
Guess I'll never know if I am loved by you

Detachment from attachment

'What do you all think of me?'

I ask a close friend, 3 years too late.

'You live in a world of your own,'

Echoing my very own recent pensive introspection verbatim. Lately I've only brushed the surface of the disturbing parallel world of interpersonal relationships, through second hand knowledge of course. I have a no-secrets pact with 6 of my friends. Obviously the few stories I have to share are juiceless and bland, but the ones I hear, while I belly-laugh equally hard as everyone else, make me feel a poignant tang every time. I walk in on the unspeakable acts committed by the last friends I would guess to engage in such shenanigans. Again, I laugh but the laughter hides a part of me inside that dies. It might be mere curiosity tickling me, which I am perfectly fine with, but I doubt that.

I catch myself searching the stoic tome of wikipedia for those two words (interpersonal attraction) in some desperate but inevitably fruitless attempt to find a magic code to elucidate this thickly-veiled world. The phrase that resonates in my skull is taken, quite inappropriately, from the tagline for the 40 Year Old Virgin. 'The longer you wait, the harder it gets.' Such a serious matter (for the moment), and I can only remember a line from a lewd comedy. Charming.

I'm quite comfortable in this world of my own. Inertia is an insufferable force. Hormones and curiosity are unstoppable. Even joined forces, how do I manage to resist them?

The faculty of a teacher

Of the multitude of educators I have had, two who teach me this year stand out clearly. One has taught me some years past, and the other is new to me.

The one who has taught me before is erudite and awe inspiring. He sparked my love for the subject he teaches. The impression he has left on my life is profound. Now he has returned again, and his presence not only rekindles my love for his subject, but makes him a foil to another teacher I have been cursed with this year. He could be called an adroit mindsmith.

The second one contrasts the first horribly. She cannot communicate with her students. She cannot answer questions, and rather than admitting her shortcomings, insults and humiliates the innocent pupil. Malcom Forbes said that the purpose of education is to replace empty minds with open ones, and here my hypocritical 'teacher' works to create fear in the student. Sickening.

Emesis

Slippery slope emesis.

For the want of a pill, a dinner was lost.
For the want of a dinner, a sleep was lost.
For the want of a sleep, a day of learning was lost.
For the want of a day, an education was lost.
For the want of an education, a future was lost.
For the want of a future, a life was lost.

Solo Amoeba

The most efficient creature.
Hampered not by others.
Unicellular.
Self-sufficient.
An island.
A rock.
Wild.

Short story of a donkey

A handsome ass sits between two bales of hay. It is closer to one, but it eyes the other, bigger, tastier-looking one. It wants both, but it knows that going for one means forgoing the other.

It must choose. The adjacent, and still-tasty bale? Or the one that's slightly further away, but holds many times more promise.

There is a twist in the story though. The handsome ass doesn't know if the one further away really exists. It could very well be his mind playing tricks on him. Going to that bale and finding out that it doesn't exist will be very annoying. It might mean embarassment for him, and he surely cannot handle that.

He sits in contemplation, pondering which bale to eat. As the weeks go by he grows thinner and thinner. Now looking little more than a cheap handbag on a bony clothes-rack, he still cannot decide.

Food is within easy reach, but the handsome ass starves to death.

a little tale of cognitive dissonance

These are fickle children. They spend their years clothed in rudeness and arrogance. They draw lustful attention for their wanton debaucheries. Secretly however, most are sickened and would rather see them publicly humiliated or at the very least brought to a slow agonizing death.

Suddenly, within milliseconds, there is a marked change in mein. Not merely tangible but more like pie-in-the-face-of-whoever-knows-better. Smug, repulsive sneers melt away to saccharine grins. One only feels sorry for the poor deluded victim who helplessly falls to the overwhelming tide.

But that is not the end. In a primitive display of gorilla-like aggressiveness, the original demeanour returns with a vengeance. A testosterone-fueled fury marks the end of all civilised conduct. All innocents not contributing to the alpha male's manly glory are bowled over without impunity.

From fickle little children to raving monstrosities. Honestly, I have never been so disgusted in my life.

The smell of hormones mingling with perfume

While it may turn the heads of most, turns only the stomach of this one.

Maybe it's an overexposure to too much romancy-schmancy pop culture* early in life, or more likely just a lack of food, but watching my first successful pick-up** made me feel more nauseous than inspired.

Sorry for being deceived with images of Romeo and Juliet but wasn't there once a time where there was actually stuff between saying hi and sex?


*Actually romancy pop culture is the only exposure I have whatsoever. Real life? What's that?
**As a spectator of course; don't confuse me with someone who has courage.

The Better Covert Ops

I am rambo. Without the rippling muscles or extraordinary luck. I charge into a situation headfirst without considering the consequences. This has led to numerous failures before. I want to know a girl? I ask her. She says yes. Sometimes.

They, are subtler than the blackset covert ops. They will manipulate and coerce to whatever end they desire. The most frightening part is that they serve no one but themselves. Case in point, I leave my msn open on a table, unattended. One goes up to it while I'm not looking and invites herself using my account. Later on she tells me of the news, that I invited her. Now this is especially elegant because it defeats two problems. One, she doesn't have to ask me face-to-face, action movie style with big dangerous firey explosions. Two, because I know that she's invited me, I am flattered and don't follow through with my initial reaction of getting pissed for someone nosing through my stuff. Pure genius.

I sure do sound like the kid who finds air bubbles in his microscope specimen in biology class for the first time. I've made a groundbreaking discovery that only everyone else knows. Bah.

'Everyone has a skill. What's yours?'

I respect the man who dedicates his time to one, and only one skill. He is so committed to excellence in that one area, enduring hardship for that one tiny moment of glory when he can shine. The impersonation of others, a little trill on the keyboard, or even the ability to make small talk with complete strangers sans a stutter. This sort of heroic (that's the word I was looking for) focus is seemingly beyond me.

Every time a friend succeeds, I die a little inside

~Gore Vidal

who have i been fooling?

We were never meant to be together. At times I tried so hard, but this end was inevitable. The story goes,

When I was younger and greener, I was so enthusiastic about this relationship. I had a place I belonged. Part of something meaningful. It was fresh, mainly because I had never been part of anything before.

Then trouble started. Me, with my attention span so short, began to drift away. It wasn't long before we never saw. I went on a year-long hiatus. It was happy times, without needing to be concerned with anything. Due to unforseen circumstances, we were back together again. However, this reunion was a grudging one. I garnered some other merit out of it though, but beyond that no pleasure was gained. As soon as possible, I severed all connection with it again.

Recently, it came back to me, on it's knees. I turned it away.

Goodbye, and good riddance. Hockey is just not for me.
Here I am back again, not part of anything.
How coincidental, the nature of the game I so abhor, that makes me so.

It wasn't going well for him that day. Bad news was still whirling in his mind. He had lost countless rounds of poker, and how had a splitting headache. He goes to the counter and orders a drink. He downs several more before leaving the filthy place.

He shambles off to the train station, and squeezes to the seat vacated by an old indian man. He folds his arms like every one else around him and promptly falls asleep.

Worst mistake of his life.

As he dozes, several people enter and exit the carriage. Several people who potentially could have caused a marked change to his entire life.

A long lost friend enters. This friend is down on his luck too, probably even worse than our protagonist here. Friend sulks in one corner and shuffles out after two stops. Had our hero been awake, they would have noticed each others presence. They would have hugged and would have become business partners. Success would await them.

A charming and attractive lady walks in but takes no notice of him. Had he been awake their eyes would have met across the car, they would have gone out and spent many happy hours together, they would have realised that they were perfect with each other, and lived blissfully ever after together.

He then goes home, collapses on the couch with a beer in hand, and watches some Arsenal vs Liverpool before passing out. His half-finished beer spills over his couch which will leave a sticky mark until he throws it out several years later.

Every moment, a thousand thousand opportunities arise. Most of them flit by because one is at the wrong place at the wrong time. The rest are lost due to circumstances beyond one's control. The pitiful few left are not seen or taken advantage of and go on to become vestiges in the deepest reaches of one's mind where they will cause squirmingly-painful hindsight for years.