Watch the Car!

It all started when I reversed my car out the front porch. My Mum's beloved Mercedes Benz was parked beside me, so you can visualize the tension hanging in the air as I put my car into reverse. Cold sweat glistening on my forehead, I let go of the hand brake.
"Just reverse straight," said my dad.
"Watch the car!" yelled my mum (which of course meant her car)
"Ok, you're doing good," said my dad.
"Watch the car!"
"When the rear end of the car has passed the gate, cut in to the left," continued my dad,"and remember to watch out for cars on the road"
"Watch the car!"

It was smooth sailing after that until we reached the highway. At that point, I have fetched my sis and bro from their tuition centre, and the car was pretty crowded. While my bro annoyed me relentlessly with his requests ("Bang, can we play PS2 after we go back???"), I gripped the steering wheel with the iron grip of a crab hanging on for its life over a red-hot wok. Occasionally a car would stray into my lane without signalling and draw my mum's typical response to such an incident: "Stupid car...!"

I was tempted to point out to my mum that it was not the CAR that was stupid, but rather it was the DRIVER who was an idiot. I kept such thoughts to myself, though, fearing that my right to eat dinner in my house would be revoked that night.

After the eventful but thankfully accident-free trip, we arrived at IOI mall. We were there to shop for supplies for my upcoming studies at Banting - or at least we were supposed to. My mum and sis, though, entered "shopping mode" - meaning every item in every shop we passed was put under microscope-like scrutiny ("just in case there are discounts"). It was not their fault, of course. The very environment of a shopping mall unleashes in them an almost animal instinct to shop till you (or your husband and/or son) drop - kinda like sharks in a feeding frenzy.

Finally, though, we looked for the stuff I needed. A bedsheet here, a comforter there and before long we were in Jusco for the clothes I will be needing. My mum showed her immense organisational skills here. Without a shopping list, she looked for items coolly, effectively and systematically. Not unlike Arnold Schwarzenegger in the Terminator series.

Shopping took longer than I thought it would. It was way past lunchtime by then and to make things worse, I had skipped breakfast (and most of the morning) by waking up late. I found myself admiring my mum. While the only thing I could think of was food, my mum was still going down her mental shopping list with steady determination. How could she even remember of the stationery I would need when all I could think of was how good a stomach full of chicken rice would feel? (I like the Hainanese variety, FYI)

All "good" things, though, must come to an end - and sure enough, the shopping was eventually over. We had a late lunch at the food court where my parents showed their love subtly by making sure the children get to eat before them. I realized that over the years, I have taken this act of love for granted, as I'm sure I have taken for granted a million other acts of their parental love.

We hit the road again after that. My dad told me to be careful in the basement as cars sometimes rush out of parking spots without warning. My mum proceeded to repeat my dad's statement. Again and again. And again. But I guess that's another act of love usually taken for granted.

A safe (and if I may say so myself, extremely smooth) ride later and we were at the front gate of my house in one piece. The gates slowly opened and my heart started beating oh-so-rapidly.
"Do you think you can park without any guidance from me?" asked my dad.
The Mercedes was taunting me, so I nodded my head.
"Lets have faith in Abang," my sis chimed in from the back (I wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic.
"Fine," said my mum.
"But watch the car!!"

SPM Results and the American Civil War

The year was 1860, and the United States of America declared war on it's Southern states, and it was a war was as painful emotionally as it was physically.

Wars are always painful, but civil wars are even more so, since you are fighting men similar to yourself. Men who speak your language. Men who celebrate your celebrations. The land you call home may be the same land your "enemy" calls home as well. You couldn't just block out the fact that these men were people you may know, may even be related to.

It was not uncommon, for example, for men in the American Civil War to have friends in the opposing army. Friends they may have known for life. It made killing them that much harder - not that killing is ever easy in the first place. In one case, an army officer fighting for the Union (the United States federal army) had three brothers fighting for the Confederacy (the rebels).

Makes me wonder how it was when those brothers reunited after the war. Must have been pretty awkward...

There is a soldier's saying:

"A soldier's life consists of long periods of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror".

When I think about it, a student's life also consists of long periods of boredom (e.g. lessons) punctuated by moments of sheer terror (e.g. exams). And when I think about it more, a student's life is an 11-year war. And when I think about it even more, it is a civil war, since your "enemies" are your friends. Sure there's no shooting and killing, but it is a rat race, where a student winning the prize, indirectly, is depriving friends of that very prize!

Maybe I think too much.

Which brings us to the SPM results, which are, effectively, the culmination of the 11-year war. When I went to school today to receive my results with my fellow ex-students, we all felt the feeling of a battle fought, that we were all war veterans; some admittedly more successful, but all gone through the same experience.

We waited for the results of a battle concluded months ago. I won't narrate the events that transpired when the results came out, because that will take days to write out. But the thing I remember most in those few euphoric moments after I accepted my exam slip is the overwhelming sense of relief.

The relief. It's like getting to empty your bowels after being stuck at a party where the curry served has passed it's sell-by date. Diarrhoea of the mind, that's what I felt in those moments. And as weird as it sounds, it felt good.

Anyways, this entry is reaching its point of expiry, and I'm supposed to tie all the loose ends neatly together, like a typical Korean drama. Sigh. Here goes:

Maybe my schooling life shouldn't be compared to a civil war. As I looked around at my friends getting great results, I felt their joy. I was as overwhelmed as the friend who shed tears of joy when she finally got to know her marks (Tiffany). Or as hyper as the friend who belted out Malay tunes with his guitar after getting straight A's (Lam).

Yup. Its not a civil war. Not if I'm happy for the "enemy". I would make a pretty crappy military commander, come to think of it. And the underlying message to all this is: its not over. The battle may be won (or lost, for some) but the war at large is not decided until your terminal breath.

Back to the Civil War: the Confederacy officially admitted defeat on 9th of April 1865. But the individual Confederate Generals fought throughout the next month, not willing to let go. One Confederate ship even sailed all the way to Liverpool, England before surrendering. That particular event confuses me. Why sail all the way to Liverpool? They don't even have a decent football team, for God's sake!

But all Manchester United fanaticism aside, the message I can milk out from all of this is that we should always let go and be ready to move on after an occasional defeat, military or otherwise. For my friends who weren't happy with their results, the war is not over, and life goes on. For those who had the results they wished for (me included), the same rule applies, and complacency is not an option. Take your next step eagerly and decisively.

In my case, I'll steer away from any military-related career options.

Bloodless Buttocks on a Road to Nowhere

There's really no other way to get more intimate with a car than resting your rear on it's seat for a whole day. And that's exactly what I did on the 14th of February. That's right - on the first day of the Chinese New Year, and Valentine's day besides, my butt was smooching with a car seat.

With the luggage packed and everybody awake, my family left for Port Dickson. I had a PS2 on my lap, to entertain myself in PD. The sun was up when we left that fateful day. It set a cheerful mood for the trip, although cheerfulness was the last thing on my mind, having enjoyed only four hours of sleep the night before (6 to 10 a.m., to be exact). Oh well, just a tiny obstacle to a great holiday...

At least breakfast cheered me up. Nothing like a warm belly full of roti telur to lift your mood. After that, we left for the (assumed) short trip to Port Dickson, and I attempted to take a short nap.

Unfortunately, those attempts were useless. While Sis slept as if her life depended on it (maybe she was dreaming about some hot Korean guy), I couldn't get any shut-eye at all! Staring at the passing scenery didn't help. Closing my eyes just meant I was staring at the scenery through the inside of my eyelids instead. All the while, I felt the blood slowly drain out of my butt...oh well, just a tiny obstacle to a great holiday...

The ride to PD should have taken not more than 2 hours, but we took a detour through Malacca instead...and if you have the remotest idea of the Malaysian map, you will realize that it just makes the trip longer - by 3 hours. At this point, my butt was screaming in agony. I tried to balance out the lack of blood in both butt cheeks by shifting my weight from side to side constantly, but that just widened the scope of the torture. Just a tiny obstacle to a great holiday...

So we arrived in Malacca, where my family owned an orchard. Hmmm..maybe the word "orchard" is pretty deceiving, since that word implies a lush plot of land where you can pick fruits and enjoy them under the shade of a tree. The "orchard" in Malacca is more like a set for a Resident Evil movie. Hardly worth a 3 hour detour, but oh well...just a tiny obstacle to a great holiday...

At least the stop in Malacca allowed me to stretch my legs and give some well-deserved respite for my bloodless buttocks. But something was worrying me. The rear left wheel of the car (the wheel closest to me, by the way) had been making strange noises the whole time, and the sound seems to have grown over time. Everybody seemed oblivious to it, but personally, the thought of getting killed by a creaking car axle did not appeal to me, and I was relieved when we stopped for some lunch.

We weren't hungry, and ate little, but the bill came out at 35 ringgit. 35 ringgit! When a similar meal in Puchong would have cost half of that! A rip off, pure and simple. Ah, but its just a tiny obstacle to a great holiday... or so I thought as my butt was reunited with the steamy embrace of the car seat.

Finally! We were in PD! I could almost hear the chorus of singing angels as the cooling blood flow returned to my butt cheeks. We carried all our luggage down (PS2 included) and trudged towards our apartment. It was locked...not so tiny obstacle to a great holiday.

Apparently, the previous tenant of the apartment locked the grill of the apartment, when there wasn't any key for it. Funny how a locked door can mess up an entire day for 8 people. But as frustrating as it was, Sis and I couldn't help to laugh at the whole absurdity of the situation. We proceeded to concluding the irony of the day's events:
1. Being optimistic, we can look at the entire trip as a visit to Malacca, but:
2. We brought along enough luggage for a two-day stay
3. We brought a PS2 along (on my lap)
4. We got ripped off at lunch
5. The car is disintegrating under us
6. I may have permanently damaged the nerve endings in my butt

Mum, on the other hand, didn't exactly see the funny side and seemed ready to beat up the wise guy who said: "When a door closes, a window always opens" (We didn't try to break in through a window, by the way)

And so, my butt and the car seat lived in holy matrimony for another few hours as we took the surprisingly short drive back home. Sis and I passed the time by translating English songs to Bahasa Malaysia, and vice versa (and thus discovering that Maroon 5 would have done well if they had explored the Malay music industry). It did become quite nervy since the troublesome wheel was now screeching like a demon being exorcised and I was silently praying that the day would not end with me being horribly impaled on a car axle.

But all in all, the trip did, in a strange way, bring us closer together. We even had time to hook the PS2 up for a few games before going out for a family dinner that night (in another car). And I have the car seat and my butt to thank for teaching me that "two is better than one"

Rooting for the Blue Aliens

The human stared in disbelief at the arrow that had just pierced his torso. But his gaze wavers just a bit, enough for him to see the tall cat-like alien shoot another arrow into his chest. The human keeps standing defiantly for a few tense moments...face still set in a mask of disbelief. Then he finally falls to the ground. And I started cheering.

Strangely, I didn't feel guilty at all for rooting for the alien fighting against a fellow human. After all, the rest of the crowd in the cinema was cheering too. At the end of the movie, the humans were walloped and sent packing back to stinky old Earth (sucks for them) while the main character (a human) changes into a blue alien through a strange spiritual ritual thingy-ma-jig involving a deity called Eywa. But I don't want to mention too much about the plot of Avatar. I want you to watch it yourself...cause its so freaking awesome!

There's just something about Avatar, but I can't seem to put my finger on it. Is it the breath-taking graphics? Or the great plot? Or even the topless aliens? Perhaps it is a combination of all of those reasons, or maybe none of them at all. Whatever the case, there's just something about Avatar...

Not too long ago, my sis had a thing for Titanic, the 3 and a half hour movie with the winding plot and the love triangles and the hero suffering...is it any wonder that sis fell for Korean dramas later? I tolerated her constant hogging of the TV and wished Jack would die more quickly as he once again says to Rose in a shivery voice: "Rose, I want you to grow old, and have lotsa children..." or something along those lines. My memory's a bit fuzzy on that, since my brain tends to forget incidents of utter boredom in order to focus on more important aspects of life. Like breathing. Meanwhile, my sis cries along with Rose, contributing to the booming business that is the tissue paper manufacturing industry.

Its a wonder that the director of Titanic was also the one to direct Avatar. The movies are just so different. They don't even seem to target the same audience. Titanic is, admittedly, a nice movie, and Titanic fans are an intimidating lot (have you seen my sis angry?). But I have to stand up for my favorite movie of all time. Because even though Avatar may not be as romantic or as tear-jerking as Titanic; and Avatar may not even be a true story, there's just something about Avatar...

The movie makes you see the flaws of us humans. It exposes our greed, our destructive love for wealth. It provides a glimpse into our future, where our world is dying and we have to go to a brand new planet just so we can repeat the destruction all over again. And the movie does all this in epic fashion. So yeah, I'm not ashamed because I root for the blue aliens.

Ah, but what do I do now, after watching such a great movie? Maybe I should watch another movie. I wonder where that Titanic CD is...

Football 101: The Basics

Ah, I notice that my (only) two followers are girls...well, being the considerate, thoughtful, and oh so charming person that I am, I will explain the one thing that will forever confuse the minds of the fairer half of the human race.



The Ball


Humans have invented many wonders in his short history on Earth. We discovered fire, which earned us the respect of wild animals. We invented the wheel, which allowed us to travel faster, further, and for nuch longer. We invented guns, which made killing each other as simple as squeezing a trigger. We discovered fuel of all kinds, eventually providing sufficient power for our rockets to break free of Earth's gravity and land us on the Moon. But the greatest invention ever, without a sliver of doubt, is:






THE Football.



The first footballs consist of nothing more than an inflated pig bladder (seriously) but the modern ones usually are made of 32 panels of waterproofed leather or plastic, since Christiano Ronaldo and David Beckham resent having smears of pig urine on their boots, being the spoilt millionaire brats that they are...

Game Concept

The lives of football players revolve around the single objective of kicking a pig bladder-like ball into a queer cuboid-like shaped net which serves as something called the "goal". When a player manages to do this, everybody who has turned up will immediatly raise their hands in an almost instinctive move and shout GOAL!!!!!!!!! in the shrill voice football fans are famous for.

Of course, there are rules to the game, without which, the players would fall into disarray and kick balls other than the foot ball (feel my pain, brother?). As such, a certain official is given almost dictatorial control over everybody else on the field: The Referee.

The Referee

The referee is definitely the most important person on the field. Without him, the game would descend into mayhem, like a scene from parliament, minus the flying chairs. Yet, the ref is often the most hated person on the field. Every decision he makes is met with objection, derision, confusion, and confrontation mixed in with a generous dose of profanity. If guns were permitted into stadiums, refs would surely be the first to bite the dust, or in this case grass.

But the ref does have his powers. For example, a misbehaving player who, for instance, takes to breaking other players' legs are given the dreaded RED CARD by the ref. If you are unfamiliar with the concept, a red card is the most horrifying thing to show to a player on the field, more so than a middle finger, or worse, a picture of Madonna naked. A player shown the red card is in much pain...although the player of the broken legs will probably beg to differ...

Stadiums

When broken down, the various aspects of football may seem weird, downright crazy, even. But I still stand by my earlier statement that The Football is the greatest human invention ever, for the fact that such a simple object (the first being a pig bladder, remember) can inspire such passion in tumbling toddlers (a.k.a. my bro), pimply teenagers (a.k.a. me) and beer-bellied middle-aged men (not my father) alike.

This passion is most evident by the construction of stadiums worldwide for the purpose of allowing tens of thousands of people to watch 22 men kick a ball around a rectangular field so that they can shout GOAL!!!!!!!! when the ball ends up in one of the two cuboid-shaped nets at either end of the field, while the managers of both teams prowl the edge of the field, gesticulating wildly with the enthusiasm of a newly escaped mental patient while shouting themselves to the point of heart attack (seriously). If you happen to be viewing a stadium from above, you will notice that they are nothing but temples built in honour of the Gods, i mean players, of football.

Unfortunately, there is too much about football to fit into one blog entry. So before I destroy your eyesight any further, just one simple message to my readers: if you are a lady, take it easy on your football-loving brothers, boyfriend or husband; if you are a fellow football-loving gentlemen: ROCK ON!!!!!

P.S.: The sport referred to above is the soccer variation of football. There are other versions, including American football (a.k.a. rugby), which is another totally different type of s***

Grudgingly Proud

A wise man (a.k.a. me) once said: "It is strange that people are afraid of exams; they should actually be afraid of the results". An irrelevant phrase? Not really.

Because today my sister accepted her PMR results, and lo and behold (to quote Enid Blyton), she got straight A's. That's right! My sister, the supposedly "average" student, has proved her critics (myself included) wrong in emphatic style with EIGHT big, fat A's.

To this, I do not really know how to react. Don't get me wrong: a part of me wants to jump up and down with her while shrieking in a girly soprano voice (a sound which normally arises from my voicebox during roller coaster rides). Yet, another part of me (my ego, perhaps?) feels strangely hurt. After careful analysis, I have put this mixed feeling down as either a side effect of sibling rivalry or a clear indication that I'm a lousy brother.

Being the eldest child in my family does have its perks. Case in point: I have the inherent right to boss my other 3 sibling around - a right I happily exercise every other day. But there are disadvantages, of course. Sometimes I get the feeling that in this minefield that is life, I as the eldest sibling have to bear the brunt of all those mines so that I can leave a clear path in the field for my siblings' journey in life. Above all, the biggest downside of this eldest child business is the constant pressure exerted on my shoulders by the fact that I am THE role model for them. I can almost see my young brother saying: "so that is how you avoid a mine...thanks brother!". Meanwhile, my face looks like this:



Hmm..perhaps I'm being a bit dramatic and emo-fied...but the fact does not change that I am a teeny-weeny bit jealous of my sis. The certificate hanging beside my study table which shows my PMR results (which by the way was 7A 1B) now taunts me everytime I pass it:

I mean, look at that thing! Its pure EVIL, man!!! I guess there are only two things in the universe that can make you either feel like you're on top of the world or at the bottom of the barrel: football and exams

I guess at the end of the day, when it's time to look back, I have to say that I am proud of myself and my achievements so far, and as much as I hate to admit it, I really am proud of my sister. Sigh. I guess its time to practice my girly scream...

The immediate effect of my girly scream

what the horror?!

I'll admit this much: I hate horror movies. I despise them. I wish nobody have come up with them. But who am I to say anything about it...after all, I'm the only member of the family who cowers behind a cushion or silently sneaks out of the room while everybody else is engrossed in the movie...

But seriously, what's with horror movies nowadays? I mean, just last night I watched "Drag Me to Hell" and I wasn't impressed. Sure, there were some creepy moments or moments that made my mum and sis scream (okay, I screamed too..), but most of the time it was unscary to the point of being plain funny. There were some real laugh out loud scenes; like when the old lady's eyes popped out or when the main character sprayed blood from her nose all over her boss like a spray paint can. It was as if the creators of the show couldn't decide whether to make a comedy or a horror movie!

Overall, the plot was as thin as Liverpool's title-winning hopes (read: very thin indeed) and the movie relied on cheap sound effects and graphics worthy of a Tom and Jerry cartoon. What the horror?!

What happened to movies like The Ring (which made me afraid of television screens for a long time) or those creepy Korean horror movies with their incomprehensible plots (what is with Koreans and twisting plots? Boys over Flowers, anyone?), or even Thai horrors, low-budget as they are?

Apologies if this entry looks like a movie review. It is not. I just have to speak up against this deterioration of horror quality. As someone afraid of horror movies by nature, at least give me something genuinely scary to be afraid of!!! Argh! Do you know how frustrating this is for me?!

Speaking about horror, my sister's reaction when told that the PMR results are coming out tomorrow: