Yes, another story for the writing project thing!
I must admit, the first thing I thought of when seeing the title was: Isn’t that the Paladin’s ultimate attack from Diablo 2?
But I didn’t think the aim of this is to write PC game fan fiction, so decided to do this instead. Part of a much longer story I always, always wanted to write:
(Note: while I did try to get details as accurate as possible, most of this is creative license and is not meant to be theological analysis or religious comment. Just wanted to tell the damn story!)
MORNINGSTAR’S RISE
The Fourteenth Letter of Philetus
Now then, as you know, Gestas, I endeavour to record the truth of what I have seen as accurately as possible, and did not mean to stir up any rebellion or dissent in the hearts of your brothers. So I apologise for some of my words, but my intentions were good. For though lies may taste as sweet as honey, it is only the truth, though it be bitter as wormwood, that will nourish and strengthen us.
In my previous letter, I told you about the great Council in the Hall of Archangels: how the Almighty, through his servant Metatron, did announce his plans to create humanity, and the great clamour that rose at this news. I laid out to you the despair that took hold of the mighty Archangel Lucifer, the battle between Metatron and Baruchiel, and the events that led to the forming of a great Anti-Heavenly Host, a legion of proud angels whose only goal was to topple the Kingdom of Heaven, and establish a new government in their place.
This letter continues my previous narrative, and tells of what happened to Veritael and Adoniel, who I spoke of in my second and third letters.
The Assault on the Pearly Gates
Now, the armies of Lucifer were mighty: angels of every rank and order were present, all of them having been seduced by the sweet words of Zerubiel, shield-bearer to Lucifer Lightbringer. Cherubim, seraphim, dominions, thrones and principalities, and even archangels, were united under Lucifer’s banner, a great flame. Some bore bows of silver, others bore flaming swords, while some flew unarmed, relying only on their celestial energies to defend themselves. And as they moved on, they sung loudly to keep their spirits. Their war songs were gross perversions of the beautiful hymns of praise to the Almighty, deliberately sung in discordance; for they had completely rejected the blessed harmonies of the Lord.
Such a great multitude they were: they were as a great swarm of locusts moving across the heavens. It is said that a third of all the angels in heaven defected on that dismal day: seeing their force, however, it seemed much more. Their leader flew proudly ahead of them, a powerful figure whose radiance glowed with the intensity of forty suns.
And soon they came across the Pearly Gates, the entrance to the City of the Lord, and they fell on it with the fury of a mighty tempest. The gates were guarded: five warrior angels stood watch at all times. And leading them was Jerrabiel, a wise and kindly dominion, who had been the Gatekeeper of Heaven before Peter the Fisherman.
O, how bravely the guards fought! Like lions, they were, like the great bears our father Elisha once called, like the armies of Gideon, unafraid despite being overwhelmed. But alas: however tall the grain grows, it can never withstand the winds. For Lucifer, who is called the Morningstar, came before them, and blinded them with the fury of his radiance, while his servants moved forward, covering their eyes that they may not be blinded, and struck at them.
And when they had quashed all opposition, the armies of Lucifer surged forward, leaving behind the beaten guards in pools of their own silver blood. And they laid waste to the City of the Lord. The six-winged seraphs unleashed their heavenly fire upon the Amber Fields, while a horde of archangels sieged the Western Tower, reducing it to rubble. And every angel faithful to the Lord was captured and tortured.
Oh, what woe there was in the city of Heaven that day! The armies of Lucifer were as a pack of jackals, ravenous and bloodthirsty, wanting only to quench their bloodthirst through slaughter. Like thunderbolts, they fell from the sky upon the altars of the Lord, destroying all that was beautiful, defiling all that was sacred. Such a great cry rose in Heaven that day, heavy with misery: one that would not be heard again until the first Passover in Egypt; until the death of our Saviour on the Cross at Calvary.
Listen, then if you have ears! Pray that you will never have to go through such suffering. For wars bring only sadness. Happy is the man who keeps his peace with his brothers, his household shall be a field that brings good harvest.
Michael calls his armies
When the news of this rebellion came to the archangels, many of them wept, to see the destruction of their beautiful home. And they took up arms and called forth the survivors, eager to heal their wounded.
The angels lamented, wondering how the Lord could allow this to happen.
‘Brother has risen against brother,
The bonds of kinship have been broken.
O Lord, our house has fallen
Your servants treacherous like vipers
How long, o Lord, will you let them go on?
We have been broken, razed to the ground
Our lips cry out for protection
Our hands call out for healing
O Lord, do not forsake us!’
And the captain of the Heavenly Host came forth: Michael, bravest of the archangels, a mighty warrior, he who will do battle with the Dragon on Judgement Day. His eyes glittered like rubies, and his great wings were wide and pure white as alabaster. His armour shone like silver, and his great sword was as long and sharp as a lion’s fang. I tell you this: his appearance was so striking, so handsome was he; that for all their talent, not even the great sculptors of Rome could do his image justice, though tey try for seven generations.
Michael was wise, and great was his skill as a general: he commanded their ranks to spread out, and keep watch over the gates that led to the Blessed Sanctuary, which he knew Lucifer would strike at first.
He and his forces would remain in the Sanctuary, the heart of the city, to be the last line of defence. And they would constantly be in prayer, beseeching the Almighty to turn the heart of the stubborn Lucifer, and end the bloodshed.
And Veritael, graceful and kind, was tasked to watch over the Gate of the Eastern Citadel. Seven thrones stood with her, as well as seventy-times-seven dominions, all of them angels with hearts strong and true.
Veritael served her post well: her courage would have shamed the armies of David. More watchful than a hawk, was she, swifter than the hares of the fields; no rebel could come within ten cubits of the Gate without her armies striking. Let her example be a lesson to you, Gestas, as well as your brothers who have given in to sloth. The Lord loves a faithful servant, who does not sleep till noon or drink to midnight.
The foolish man is never wakeful, the wise man is always on guard. For as the wolves often strike when the shepherd is asleep; so it is with the ways of the evil one.
As the battle went on, Veritael thought of her dear friend Adoniel, who she had not seen since the rebellion began. She prayed that the Lord would keep him safe, for he had been a great companion of hers, and she missed his company.
Alas, an angel came to her one day, a messenger of the ranks of Gabriel, and told her: “Adoniel has joined the ranks of Lucifer. He comes this way now, with a host of six hundred and sixty-six angels. We should lay an ambush for him, lest he strike at us and overwhelm us.”
And Veritael was distressed when she heard this, and she wept that her friend had joined the rebels. Her forces beat their breasts, and wailed, for many of them had known Adoniel, and loved him. The war had been sorrowful thus far: many of them forced to lay arms against their comrades, shed the blood of their companions. For how long would the Almighty allow this to continue?
Veritael ordered no ambush. For she could not bear the thought of attacking Adoniel.
Veritael faces Adoniel
It was not long before Adoniel arrived at the Eastern Gate, and he was dismayed to see his friend Veritael standing watch there. For he cherished Veritael as David did Jonathan, as Mary did Martha: the two had been inseperable. The two angels had been great friends. Oft had they sung hymns together in the choirs to the Lord, and many had been the times they broke bread with each other in the Amber Fields.
“Truly, I wish it had not been you here,” he said as he left his troops and approached Veritael. “I wish it had been any other angel but you, my dearest friend.”
“Turn back, Adoniel!” Veritael said. “Have you no fear of God? Your rebellion is pointless. Your forces err greatly in attempting to take the Kingdom of Heaven. You have sown the seeds of your own destruction, and the Lord will take His vengeance on you. You have toppled that which should have stood, and broken away from the love of the Almighty, whose wrath no angel can stand against.”
Adoniel scoffed, and his forces jeered. “Yea, if the Lord had wanted to smite me, would He not have done so before I entered His land? He claims to be all powerful, yet we have ruined His lands and burnt his temples, and He has done nothing. The Almighty is defenceless against us. All His words of power, were empty boasts, threats to keep us afraid of Him. Our standing here before His City, almost triumphant, proves it.”
“The Almighty stays His hand out of love,” Veritael spoke. “You are His child, and He is giving you time to repent and turn from your dark ways. The mercy of the Lord is everlasting.”
“Love?” Adoniel said. “You know not of what you speak. If the Almighty truly did love us, why would He cast us aside like young men cast aside their playthings? We have served Him to the best of our abilities. We have loved Him with all our being. Why then does He turn His face from us? Were we but a failed experiment? How have we failed Him so that He chooses to forsake us for a new creation?”
“The love of the Lord is all-encompassing!” said Veritael. “It is like the light of a candle, which shines forth to guide us. No matter how large a room you place it in, its light still covers every corner. The Almighty will not turn his love from you. He merely has a plan, which we should be delighted to be a part of.”
“I will have no part of this plan!” Adoniel cried, and his troops shouted their support. “For I am an angel of the Lord, a throne of the highest rank! I am a being of energy, pure will and spirit! I refuse to make company with those creatures the Almighty plans to make; those mortals, those flesh-beings, those creatures of ash and dust! They are unworthy of the Almighty’s love! The Almighty should love only us, His most faithful creations!”
He begged Veritael to join him. “Please, sweet Veritael. Join ranks with me. For I tell you this: the Almighty is fickle, and His plans are mysterious and dark. Who knows when He will cast you aside when you are no longer suitable to suit his whims? Take up the banner of Lucifer. He is proud and powerful, and he will never forsake us, nor lose his love for us. Together we will assault the Sanctuary, depose the great tyrant, and build a new Kingdom of Heaven. From the ashes of this city a new one shall rise, one even more glorious than before.”
But Veritael was resolute. “My only glory comes from my service to the Lord.”
Adoniel was displeased at her words. “Very well then,” he said. “Then step aside. For Lord Lucifer desires that I take the Eastern Gate, and I do not wish to kill a friend to do so.”
And Veritael wept. “Though I wish this need not come to pass, I am tasked to watch this gate, and if you wish to take it, I will have to destroy you.”
“Then so be it.”
And the two angels flew at each other, swords raised, and their armies clashed, in a great battle that would last forty days and forty nights.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I will end my narrative here, Gestas. The season of Lent is soon upon us, and many are my duties which I will have to carry out.
I realise this letter is much shorter than the previous ones, and for this I apologize. When I next write, I will tell you of the breaching of the Holy of Holies. I will speak of how the Lord Almighty was moved to bring forth His terrible vengeance, and how this led to the creation of Sheol, that hellish place where the damned do reside.
Until then, I remain your loving friend
Philetus
Thursday, 18 June 2009
Monday, 18 May 2009
Child Gone Wild: A Book Review
As published in StarTwo, The Star on 15/5/2009
Turning tricks
Review by TERENCE TOH
Lullabies For Little Criminals
Author: Heather O’Neill
Publisher: Quercus, 373 pages
TWELVE is always an awkward and confusing age to be. It is the borderline year between the innocence of childhood and the angst of the teenage years, the portal to puberty, an age of self-discovery and wonder.
Turning 12 is the first step on the way to adulthood and can be a turbulent point for many of us.
Especially so if your life is like that of Baby, a precocious young girl living in the slums of Montreal. Raised by her father Jules, a heroin addict and part-time quilt salesman, she finds herself constantly shifting houses, moving from foster homes to detention centres to homes of relatives, often coming across shady characters.
Despite her obvious intelligence, her background and broken family history conspire to deprive her of most opportunities and so, partly out of necessity and partly out of choice, Baby turns to prostitution, servicing a great deal of eccentric and sleazy customers drawn to her youth and innocence.
Baby soon finds herself leading a double life: going to school and playing with friends in the daytime while doing heroin and serving customers in cheap hotels at night. As can be expected, however, Baby finds both halves of her life clashing.
Lullabies for Little Criminals is a publishing sensation in Canada, nominated for many awards and winning several, including the Hugh McLennan Prize for Fiction. Because of its many accolades, I was therefore a little let-down to find that the book did not meet my expectations.
Author Heather O’Neill’s character Baby has been compared by critics to Holden Caulfield, protagonist of J.D. Salinger’s classic The Catcher in the Rye, as both are young people coming-of-age in a world that they are lost and jaded by.
Since I have not yet read Salinger’s novel, I cannot make a comparison but O’Neill’s book reminds me more of the characters from the 2003 film Thirteen, starring Evan Rachel Wood and Holly Hunter, due to the similarities in themes. But while the characters in Thirteen destroyed their lives in gripping and dramatic scenes, Lullabies for Little Criminals goes in the opposite direction, drawing us into the protagonists’ exciting life with slowly paced honest confessions and Baby’s whimsical musings.
While this is by no means a bad thing, I am not sure if it is the right tone for the book; there is little suspense or tension, even in the more sordid scenes of drug abuse or prostitution. To use an analogy: O’Neill’s novel felt a lot like the film Jurassic Park acted out by the cast of Barney the Dinosaur.
Her writing, however, is fantastic. She writes with deep honesty and there is a strange poetry to her sentences. One of my favourite parts of the book is when Baby reflects on the social workers assigned to her case: “It is important to hate the people who work in child welfare if you want to protect yourself from their prognosis. You have to think they are idiots. Because when they say you are troubled and a delinquent, you need to be able to laugh in their faces.”
O’Neill stated that when writing her novel, it was her goal not just to describe Montreal but to describe the city the way she saw it at age 12 and at this, she succeeds admirably. Places and objects, as well as memories, are depicted in a dreamlike quality, which is the novel’s main charm.
The downside of this approach, however, is that her characters come across as slightly unrealistic at times. Most of O’Neill’s characters are either completely forgettable or extremely unlikeable, and Baby herself is no exception. While it is clear that she is mostly a victim of her circumstances and just like a baby needs love and affection, some of her thoughts and actions throughout the novel are rather intolerable, making her cross the line from pitiable to detestable.
The relationship between Baby and her father however, is rather well-drawn. Jules is a sympathetic character. Having fathered Baby at a young age, he is clueless when it comes to raising his young child, yet tries to do so to the best of his ability. Both Jules and Baby recognise that their unusual relationship is affecting their lives for the worse. Yet they choose to stick together, as they are parent and child, and this bittersweet relationship is one of the highlights of the novel.
All in all, Lullabies for Little Children is a good read, but not a great one. While it is written beautifully with moments of brilliance, its lack of a gripping story and cast of mostly one-dimensional characters prevent it from being a great read.
Turning tricks
Review by TERENCE TOH
Lullabies For Little Criminals
Author: Heather O’Neill
Publisher: Quercus, 373 pages
TWELVE is always an awkward and confusing age to be. It is the borderline year between the innocence of childhood and the angst of the teenage years, the portal to puberty, an age of self-discovery and wonder.
Turning 12 is the first step on the way to adulthood and can be a turbulent point for many of us.
Especially so if your life is like that of Baby, a precocious young girl living in the slums of Montreal. Raised by her father Jules, a heroin addict and part-time quilt salesman, she finds herself constantly shifting houses, moving from foster homes to detention centres to homes of relatives, often coming across shady characters.
Despite her obvious intelligence, her background and broken family history conspire to deprive her of most opportunities and so, partly out of necessity and partly out of choice, Baby turns to prostitution, servicing a great deal of eccentric and sleazy customers drawn to her youth and innocence.
Baby soon finds herself leading a double life: going to school and playing with friends in the daytime while doing heroin and serving customers in cheap hotels at night. As can be expected, however, Baby finds both halves of her life clashing.
Lullabies for Little Criminals is a publishing sensation in Canada, nominated for many awards and winning several, including the Hugh McLennan Prize for Fiction. Because of its many accolades, I was therefore a little let-down to find that the book did not meet my expectations.
Author Heather O’Neill’s character Baby has been compared by critics to Holden Caulfield, protagonist of J.D. Salinger’s classic The Catcher in the Rye, as both are young people coming-of-age in a world that they are lost and jaded by.
Since I have not yet read Salinger’s novel, I cannot make a comparison but O’Neill’s book reminds me more of the characters from the 2003 film Thirteen, starring Evan Rachel Wood and Holly Hunter, due to the similarities in themes. But while the characters in Thirteen destroyed their lives in gripping and dramatic scenes, Lullabies for Little Criminals goes in the opposite direction, drawing us into the protagonists’ exciting life with slowly paced honest confessions and Baby’s whimsical musings.
While this is by no means a bad thing, I am not sure if it is the right tone for the book; there is little suspense or tension, even in the more sordid scenes of drug abuse or prostitution. To use an analogy: O’Neill’s novel felt a lot like the film Jurassic Park acted out by the cast of Barney the Dinosaur.
Her writing, however, is fantastic. She writes with deep honesty and there is a strange poetry to her sentences. One of my favourite parts of the book is when Baby reflects on the social workers assigned to her case: “It is important to hate the people who work in child welfare if you want to protect yourself from their prognosis. You have to think they are idiots. Because when they say you are troubled and a delinquent, you need to be able to laugh in their faces.”
O’Neill stated that when writing her novel, it was her goal not just to describe Montreal but to describe the city the way she saw it at age 12 and at this, she succeeds admirably. Places and objects, as well as memories, are depicted in a dreamlike quality, which is the novel’s main charm.
The downside of this approach, however, is that her characters come across as slightly unrealistic at times. Most of O’Neill’s characters are either completely forgettable or extremely unlikeable, and Baby herself is no exception. While it is clear that she is mostly a victim of her circumstances and just like a baby needs love and affection, some of her thoughts and actions throughout the novel are rather intolerable, making her cross the line from pitiable to detestable.
The relationship between Baby and her father however, is rather well-drawn. Jules is a sympathetic character. Having fathered Baby at a young age, he is clueless when it comes to raising his young child, yet tries to do so to the best of his ability. Both Jules and Baby recognise that their unusual relationship is affecting their lives for the worse. Yet they choose to stick together, as they are parent and child, and this bittersweet relationship is one of the highlights of the novel.
All in all, Lullabies for Little Children is a good read, but not a great one. While it is written beautifully with moments of brilliance, its lack of a gripping story and cast of mostly one-dimensional characters prevent it from being a great read.
Sunday, 10 May 2009
THE SILENCE OF WONDERLAND
Yes, I'm blogging again!
Heh, the reason for this is because I somehow agreed to join a writing project started by my friend Lydia Tong.
Basically, every month, they give you a phrase or a theme, and you write a story based on it.
This months theme was 'Álice in Wonderland'.
Now, you know how much I love Alice in Wonderland, particularly as I am a huge fan of the creepy horror game American McGee's Alice. So I think I had a bit..too much fun with this story?
My story inspiration: what if Alice in Wonderland was done in the style of The Silence of the Lambs?
The Red Queen
“It’s good to see you again, Ms. Chesire.”
I offer my hand; she graciously refuses it. Instead, she embraces me tightly; and I find this tiny gesture warming my heart. It is hard to believe, but this spunky ex-prostitute is the closest thing I have to a friend in this messed-up hellhole.
“Oh Alice, why are you always so formal?” she teases me. “We have first names for a reason, you know. Never call me that. Makes me sound like a reject character from some Jane Austen novel.”
“Alright, alright,” I smiled. “If that’s how you want it, Cathy.”
It is crowded in the White Rabbit café today. It is lunch hour, after all, and the place is filled with employees of all kinds, from sweepers to secretaries, all chatting and stuffing their faces with the café’s famous chicken pies. Waiters are friendly and pleasant. Recorded music, most of it swing music from the fifties, floats through the air.
Ironic we had to choose such a pleasant place to discuss such a gruesome topic.
I order tea, she orders a Coke. For a while the meal is fun; but alas, all good things never last. After catching up on each other’s lives, exchanging shopping recommendations and discussing the FINE ass of the cafe’s head waiter, I ask her the inevitable question.
“What do you know about the Kampung Selamat murders?”
Cathy smiles. Amazing, how even as we discuss such a brutal wave of murders, she still remains bubbly. This girl is perpetually happy: it would take nothing less than a nuclear warhead to wipe the smile off her pretty face.
“Oh, I have some very interesting info,” she says coyly. “My contacts in the criminal underground have tracked down a person who you might find..interesting.”
‘Tell me more.”
“This guy’s messed up. Mind more shaken than a tornado in a blender. A former delivery boy in a spare parts workhouse, used to live in Kampung Selamat. Abusive mother, father dead. Druggie, resident in the Bukit Aman Hilton three times, twice for indecent exposure, once for lewd behaviour. Previous resident of Pattaya, but recently moved here last year. Got to know him through a friend in the illegal drug and hormone business.”
‘Ladyboy.” I hazard a guess.
“Brilliant, Holmes,” Cathy is impressed. “Born Rex Hong, now calling himself Regina Crimson. Pre-op transsexual, apparently saving up to fully walk down the paths of estrogen.”
‘Why do you suspect him?”
“Guy lives in the same area as most of the murders. Acts strange, keeps to himself. Mostly silent, and when he does talk, its to people only he can see.”
“Worse of all,” Cathy lowered her voice as she told me this, enjoying the dramatic storyteller role she was playing. “The guy brings back strange packages in his van every night. Odd things, wrapped in newspaper, a lot of times bloodstained. Awfully suspicious. Freaking creepy. Either the guy is the world’s messiest fishmonger, or he’s been cutting up more things than his dangly boy parts.”
“I..see.” I cannot help but be disturbed. “Thanks for your information, Cathy Chesire. I’ll look into it.”
The meal ends soon after that. I pay for both our meals, say goodbye to my friend, and drive back to the Taman Ajaib Police Station.
This just could be the lead I’m looking for.
________________________________________________________________________________
I suddenly realise that all through this narrative, I have yet to introduce myself, and I apologize profusely. I’m not always this rude. It’s just that recently, with in the wake of such ghastly murders being committed, my mind has been extremely flustered.
My name is Alice Lee. Well, Special Agent Alice Lee if you want to be precise, but please don’t call me that. Its so long, and overly dramatic. Such a X-Files sound to it, and everyone knows the only good thing about that show was David Duchovny. Man, he was really hot. All guys look good in black suits. And ties. Fact of life.
Now, sorry, where was I? Oh yeah, my introduction.
I am a special agent with the police force, assigned to the Department of Curiouser and Curiouser Crimes. Don’t ask how I got the job. Seriously. Long and convoluted story. My task is basically to investigate unusual crimes, those that seem the work of particularly deranged or twisted individuals, and bring such monsters to justice.
I’ve seen a lot of freaky stuff in my day. There was the case of the murderous Tweedle twins, for one thing. Remember? That slaughter festival that terrified the nation last year? It was me that tracked down those gluttonous scumbags. Me who freed their hostages. Me, indirectly, who persuaded them to shoot each other. Me who had to attend ten weeks of psychiatric counselling after that.
And there was the Hitomi case. Remember? The one that minister got involved in? Don’t ask me which one, they look all the same to me. Corrupt pharmaceutical company mashing up poisonous mushrooms and caterpillars, mixing it with hookah to form the ultimate hallucinogenic drug. Lepido, they called it. I inhaled some of it, and was spouting rubbish like ‘AEIOU’ and feeling like my head was constantly shrinking and growing for a week. Nasty stuff.
There are too many cases to mention. The mad rituals and child-kidnapping of the deranged religious cult, The Walrus and Carpenter, led by the insane Old Father William. Mohd Mazhur Hatta, aka The Mad Hatta, and his poisoning twenty people at his tea reception.
As my mind wanders, my hand instinctively reaches for my left hand, which is now marked with a long and curvy scar. A souvenir from my time with the notorious knife-wielding killer ‘Jabberwock’, who even now still remains at large.
Mine is a tough job. But I’m the only one qualified for it.
______________________________________________________________________________
Rex’s, or should I say, Regina’s home, looks perfectly normal from the outside. Serial killers are not supervillains after all: the last thing they want is for their homes to draw attention to their true natures.
It looks almost cosy. French windows, a slanted red roof, with an Astro signaller perched on it. A balcony on the second floor, with chairs and a tiny table. A somewhat unkempt garden of bougainvillea plants and various other shrubs I cannot identify. I’m an agent, not a botanist, after all.
Normal police officers would come back with a warrant and demand to enter. “Section 16 of the Criminal Procedure Code, I’m a policeman, let me in by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin,” etc. But that way, in my experience, never works. And I’m not that kind of police officer.
I am hardcore.
So I leap over the criminal’s gate, raid her shed to pick up a rake, which I use to smash a large window. Because the shrill ring of a doorbell is really irritating, as it is.
I find myself in what appears to be a hall of some sort, and its massiveness impresses me. One could park two cars in this room and still have space for a piano.
Various paintings, most of it classic art, adorn the walls. Wall-cupboards and shelves are many. A large looking-glass is hung next to the window I enter. A large cupboard, full of ceramic animal figurines, such as flamingos and hedgehogs, stands in a corner. The hall is messy: chairs and tables standing around at random places, various articles of female clothing scattered all over it.
(Very nice female clothing too, I must add! Especially the nice green top lying on the wardrobe! Such a lovely cut, and such a wonderful tone! It would match completely with these jeans I have at home! Man, this Regina Crimson may be a gruesome trans-sexual serial killer, but he/she sure has great taste in fashion.)
Croquet mallets and balls are stacked in a pile at another corner of the room. A small table is placed nearby, on it are a pack of playing cards, as well as tea-cups and a plate of tarts, half-finished. Beside that, on a shelf nearby, a lovely vase of roses, in a lovely shade of ruby red.
WAIT.
Something is not right.
The roses. I walk up to them hurriedly, and pick up the vase. There is something not right, something un-natural about their colour. Forensics would help me get me a definitive answer, but there was no time for that now.
I plucked one, only to be shocked to find my hands stained with their colour.
These were white roses- painted red!!
And I was no pathologist, but the thick, sticky texture of the liquid staining these flowers could only be one thing.
Feeling ill, I placed the vase back, my heart beating like crazy. Calm yourself, Alice, I told myself. You’ll get out of this. You’ve faced worse, and survived..
It was just then I realised a noxious, foul odor in the air, a smell so rank not even the fragrance of roses could block it out. I wanted to gag. Wanted to puke. Wanted to run away, as far as possible from that disgusting smell.
Instead of running, I stayed, however, and my eyes were drawn to the wall-cupboard located above the vase.
I knew I would not like what I saw within them. And yet, I still opened them.
Five human heads stared back at me through their empty eye sockets. Completely unpreserved, flesh was rotting off some of their cheeks, while blood and guts were still leaking from the spots on their necks where they had been cruelly severed from their bodies. One of the heads was now a hotel for worms, which squirmed happily in a gaping hole above where its nose would have been.
I knew I had just found Kampung Selamat Murder Victims 1-5.
My heart felt like it would explode at the magnitude it was now beating.
And it was just then that I heard a laugh.
To my horror, I turned to see the Master/Mistress of the House staring at me, a wicked smile on its face. "You have a pretty face," it said softly. "I want one too."
Rex Hong. Regina Crimson. Tall, imposing. A hideous parody of a woman. There was not a hope in hell this thing could pass as female: its body was too big, its shoulders too wide, jaw too clenched, face too masculine. Yet it desperately tried to ape the fairer sex, dressing itself in the trappings of a woman: a low-cut dress of deepest scarlet, high heels, a tacky gold necklace hanging over it’s flat chest.
A crown of silver sat on its head, resting on its long dark tresses. Rex/Regina’s face was covered in makeup of every kind, there was more paint on its face than in an art gallery full of Rembrants. Yet all that makeup could not suppress the anger that contorted the psychopath’s features.
I instinctively reached for my gun as Rex/Regina picked up the croquet mallet in the corner, and stalked towards me, furious. I was trained for these events. I was ready. But the killer was just too fast for me. I could barely scream as it lunged at me, swinging its mallet furiously, screaming and cursing.
The last thing I heard before I passed out:
OFF WITH HER HEAD!!!!!!
finito
Heh, the reason for this is because I somehow agreed to join a writing project started by my friend Lydia Tong.
Basically, every month, they give you a phrase or a theme, and you write a story based on it.
This months theme was 'Álice in Wonderland'.
Now, you know how much I love Alice in Wonderland, particularly as I am a huge fan of the creepy horror game American McGee's Alice. So I think I had a bit..too much fun with this story?
My story inspiration: what if Alice in Wonderland was done in the style of The Silence of the Lambs?
The Red Queen
“It’s good to see you again, Ms. Chesire.”
I offer my hand; she graciously refuses it. Instead, she embraces me tightly; and I find this tiny gesture warming my heart. It is hard to believe, but this spunky ex-prostitute is the closest thing I have to a friend in this messed-up hellhole.
“Oh Alice, why are you always so formal?” she teases me. “We have first names for a reason, you know. Never call me that. Makes me sound like a reject character from some Jane Austen novel.”
“Alright, alright,” I smiled. “If that’s how you want it, Cathy.”
It is crowded in the White Rabbit café today. It is lunch hour, after all, and the place is filled with employees of all kinds, from sweepers to secretaries, all chatting and stuffing their faces with the café’s famous chicken pies. Waiters are friendly and pleasant. Recorded music, most of it swing music from the fifties, floats through the air.
Ironic we had to choose such a pleasant place to discuss such a gruesome topic.
I order tea, she orders a Coke. For a while the meal is fun; but alas, all good things never last. After catching up on each other’s lives, exchanging shopping recommendations and discussing the FINE ass of the cafe’s head waiter, I ask her the inevitable question.
“What do you know about the Kampung Selamat murders?”
Cathy smiles. Amazing, how even as we discuss such a brutal wave of murders, she still remains bubbly. This girl is perpetually happy: it would take nothing less than a nuclear warhead to wipe the smile off her pretty face.
“Oh, I have some very interesting info,” she says coyly. “My contacts in the criminal underground have tracked down a person who you might find..interesting.”
‘Tell me more.”
“This guy’s messed up. Mind more shaken than a tornado in a blender. A former delivery boy in a spare parts workhouse, used to live in Kampung Selamat. Abusive mother, father dead. Druggie, resident in the Bukit Aman Hilton three times, twice for indecent exposure, once for lewd behaviour. Previous resident of Pattaya, but recently moved here last year. Got to know him through a friend in the illegal drug and hormone business.”
‘Ladyboy.” I hazard a guess.
“Brilliant, Holmes,” Cathy is impressed. “Born Rex Hong, now calling himself Regina Crimson. Pre-op transsexual, apparently saving up to fully walk down the paths of estrogen.”
‘Why do you suspect him?”
“Guy lives in the same area as most of the murders. Acts strange, keeps to himself. Mostly silent, and when he does talk, its to people only he can see.”
“Worse of all,” Cathy lowered her voice as she told me this, enjoying the dramatic storyteller role she was playing. “The guy brings back strange packages in his van every night. Odd things, wrapped in newspaper, a lot of times bloodstained. Awfully suspicious. Freaking creepy. Either the guy is the world’s messiest fishmonger, or he’s been cutting up more things than his dangly boy parts.”
“I..see.” I cannot help but be disturbed. “Thanks for your information, Cathy Chesire. I’ll look into it.”
The meal ends soon after that. I pay for both our meals, say goodbye to my friend, and drive back to the Taman Ajaib Police Station.
This just could be the lead I’m looking for.
________________________________________________________________________________
I suddenly realise that all through this narrative, I have yet to introduce myself, and I apologize profusely. I’m not always this rude. It’s just that recently, with in the wake of such ghastly murders being committed, my mind has been extremely flustered.
My name is Alice Lee. Well, Special Agent Alice Lee if you want to be precise, but please don’t call me that. Its so long, and overly dramatic. Such a X-Files sound to it, and everyone knows the only good thing about that show was David Duchovny. Man, he was really hot. All guys look good in black suits. And ties. Fact of life.
Now, sorry, where was I? Oh yeah, my introduction.
I am a special agent with the police force, assigned to the Department of Curiouser and Curiouser Crimes. Don’t ask how I got the job. Seriously. Long and convoluted story. My task is basically to investigate unusual crimes, those that seem the work of particularly deranged or twisted individuals, and bring such monsters to justice.
I’ve seen a lot of freaky stuff in my day. There was the case of the murderous Tweedle twins, for one thing. Remember? That slaughter festival that terrified the nation last year? It was me that tracked down those gluttonous scumbags. Me who freed their hostages. Me, indirectly, who persuaded them to shoot each other. Me who had to attend ten weeks of psychiatric counselling after that.
And there was the Hitomi case. Remember? The one that minister got involved in? Don’t ask me which one, they look all the same to me. Corrupt pharmaceutical company mashing up poisonous mushrooms and caterpillars, mixing it with hookah to form the ultimate hallucinogenic drug. Lepido, they called it. I inhaled some of it, and was spouting rubbish like ‘AEIOU’ and feeling like my head was constantly shrinking and growing for a week. Nasty stuff.
There are too many cases to mention. The mad rituals and child-kidnapping of the deranged religious cult, The Walrus and Carpenter, led by the insane Old Father William. Mohd Mazhur Hatta, aka The Mad Hatta, and his poisoning twenty people at his tea reception.
As my mind wanders, my hand instinctively reaches for my left hand, which is now marked with a long and curvy scar. A souvenir from my time with the notorious knife-wielding killer ‘Jabberwock’, who even now still remains at large.
Mine is a tough job. But I’m the only one qualified for it.
______________________________________________________________________________
Rex’s, or should I say, Regina’s home, looks perfectly normal from the outside. Serial killers are not supervillains after all: the last thing they want is for their homes to draw attention to their true natures.
It looks almost cosy. French windows, a slanted red roof, with an Astro signaller perched on it. A balcony on the second floor, with chairs and a tiny table. A somewhat unkempt garden of bougainvillea plants and various other shrubs I cannot identify. I’m an agent, not a botanist, after all.
Normal police officers would come back with a warrant and demand to enter. “Section 16 of the Criminal Procedure Code, I’m a policeman, let me in by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin,” etc. But that way, in my experience, never works. And I’m not that kind of police officer.
I am hardcore.
So I leap over the criminal’s gate, raid her shed to pick up a rake, which I use to smash a large window. Because the shrill ring of a doorbell is really irritating, as it is.
I find myself in what appears to be a hall of some sort, and its massiveness impresses me. One could park two cars in this room and still have space for a piano.
Various paintings, most of it classic art, adorn the walls. Wall-cupboards and shelves are many. A large looking-glass is hung next to the window I enter. A large cupboard, full of ceramic animal figurines, such as flamingos and hedgehogs, stands in a corner. The hall is messy: chairs and tables standing around at random places, various articles of female clothing scattered all over it.
(Very nice female clothing too, I must add! Especially the nice green top lying on the wardrobe! Such a lovely cut, and such a wonderful tone! It would match completely with these jeans I have at home! Man, this Regina Crimson may be a gruesome trans-sexual serial killer, but he/she sure has great taste in fashion.)
Croquet mallets and balls are stacked in a pile at another corner of the room. A small table is placed nearby, on it are a pack of playing cards, as well as tea-cups and a plate of tarts, half-finished. Beside that, on a shelf nearby, a lovely vase of roses, in a lovely shade of ruby red.
WAIT.
Something is not right.
The roses. I walk up to them hurriedly, and pick up the vase. There is something not right, something un-natural about their colour. Forensics would help me get me a definitive answer, but there was no time for that now.
I plucked one, only to be shocked to find my hands stained with their colour.
These were white roses- painted red!!
And I was no pathologist, but the thick, sticky texture of the liquid staining these flowers could only be one thing.
Feeling ill, I placed the vase back, my heart beating like crazy. Calm yourself, Alice, I told myself. You’ll get out of this. You’ve faced worse, and survived..
It was just then I realised a noxious, foul odor in the air, a smell so rank not even the fragrance of roses could block it out. I wanted to gag. Wanted to puke. Wanted to run away, as far as possible from that disgusting smell.
Instead of running, I stayed, however, and my eyes were drawn to the wall-cupboard located above the vase.
I knew I would not like what I saw within them. And yet, I still opened them.
Five human heads stared back at me through their empty eye sockets. Completely unpreserved, flesh was rotting off some of their cheeks, while blood and guts were still leaking from the spots on their necks where they had been cruelly severed from their bodies. One of the heads was now a hotel for worms, which squirmed happily in a gaping hole above where its nose would have been.
I knew I had just found Kampung Selamat Murder Victims 1-5.
My heart felt like it would explode at the magnitude it was now beating.
And it was just then that I heard a laugh.
To my horror, I turned to see the Master/Mistress of the House staring at me, a wicked smile on its face. "You have a pretty face," it said softly. "I want one too."
Rex Hong. Regina Crimson. Tall, imposing. A hideous parody of a woman. There was not a hope in hell this thing could pass as female: its body was too big, its shoulders too wide, jaw too clenched, face too masculine. Yet it desperately tried to ape the fairer sex, dressing itself in the trappings of a woman: a low-cut dress of deepest scarlet, high heels, a tacky gold necklace hanging over it’s flat chest.
A crown of silver sat on its head, resting on its long dark tresses. Rex/Regina’s face was covered in makeup of every kind, there was more paint on its face than in an art gallery full of Rembrants. Yet all that makeup could not suppress the anger that contorted the psychopath’s features.
I instinctively reached for my gun as Rex/Regina picked up the croquet mallet in the corner, and stalked towards me, furious. I was trained for these events. I was ready. But the killer was just too fast for me. I could barely scream as it lunged at me, swinging its mallet furiously, screaming and cursing.
The last thing I heard before I passed out:
OFF WITH HER HEAD!!!!!!
finito
Sunday, 16 November 2008
CALL ME CHILDISH, BUT....
I am loving this show entirely!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!That’s right, I’ve been watching a cartoon of late! But not just any cartoon, a pretty awesome one!
Wolverine and the X-Men is OMG teh haxxor awesomeness. Animation is awesome, storylines are gripping, and it features characters from all corners of the X-Men universe, not just the major characters like Cyclops and Wolverine (who is frankly, over-rated) but also other characters like Dust and Nitro and so on. And Gambit appears, but is a bit of a jerk, and there’s Emma Frost and damn it, an appearance by the Hulk!
Unwritten law of the universe: any show, no matter how bad, is ultimately made awesome if one of its characters has to fight the Hulk at anytime. Don’t care if you win or lose. Just go up against the Not-So-Jolly Green Giant and your show will be Emmy-Award material in my opinion. I’d love to see McDreamy or Serena van der Hoostwhatever from Gossip Girl take him on. (Serena could probably give him a nice shirt to match his purple pants, though).
And watching that show shall inspire this entry:
TEGENCE pays tribute to the X-Men, his childhood Heroes!
THE ORIGINAL TV SHOW.
I must confess: I’ve been a fan of these Stan Lee/Jack Kirby-created mutant heroes (and villains) since I was a little kid. When I was a wee kid of about 9 or ten, there were only two main superhero shows on TV, if I recall (Power Rangers doesn’t count and they only showed Batman as part of an abysmal show called Whats Up Doc which featured hosts with bad acting and slapstick Bugs Bunny cartoons): these were Superman and X-Men (7 pm, every Monday, RTM 1! Back in the day where Astro was non-existent and I was too young to enter 18-SX movies! So see? Local programming isn’t that bad, after all!)
And the plot of EVERY damn Superman cartoon was like this:
1. Lois and Clark go on a fun adventure
2. Lois: Help! I’m being attacked by aliens/gangsters/robots/armchairs arrgh!
3. Clark: This is a job for..(tears open clothes to reveal
4. Superman beats up aliens/monsters/etc seven ways from Sunday
5. Lois: Oh Clark! It’s a shame you weren’t here when that manly Superman appeared to save me!
6. Me: Silly SILLY! It’s him, you silly!!! Just take off his silly glasses! (keep in mind I was 9 at the time, and didn’t know any good swear words, so my cursing was a lot milder in those days)
Basically, the plot of Superman was exactly the same as Popeye, except without the spinach and Lois was slightly prettier than Olive. So, was it any surprise I watched X-men instead?
The original X-Men cartoon, I have to admit, was AWESOME. Blew my mind entirely. Such a contrast from Superman, who was so invincible and who everyone loved: the characters from X-Men were all human, flawed in their own ways.
I was especially amazed at the idea that people hated the X-Men, even though they were essentially the heroes, merely because they were mutants, people with super powers that everyone could not understand and therefore feared. These people were doing all they could to help humans, even though they were made outcasts and feared. And that really impressed nine-year old me.
Another thing was that, heh, I was a bit of a weird outcast kid myself at nine. Was bullied quite a bit in primary school, after all, you used to be really short for your age and speak with a lisp (wait, I still do on both counts!) don’t be surprised if other kids come and harass you when all you want to do is read. Which in a way I think was why I especially empathised with the X-Men: in a sense, they were like me, considered strange and persecuted because of it.
Apparently X-Men was highly commended in its day for its mature handling of subject matter. Happened to re-watch a few episodes recently, and I myself was quite taken aback by how the show handled stuff such as death, religion, hatred and persecution, especially to a young audience. I mean, this was a show that KILLED off one of its main characters in the SECOND episode. Nine-year old me was impressed. Heck, twenty-one year old me is still impressed!
Of course, when I was young, all this fancy literature analysis stuff was not a big priority, and I just tuned in to see people in spandex fight other people in spandex, all the while accompanied by loud explosions, flashes of coloured light and so on. I was freaking hooked.
Oh, and the show’s theme song!!!! Damn!!!! It blew my freaking mind! To this day I think its one of the best theme songs ever for any TV show. Keep in mind, when I was nine, most of the music I had heard was either church hymns or nursery rhymes. Therefore, a show that had an intro with people doing awesome things, to an ELECTRIC GUITAR with KILLER RIFFS. Daaaaaaaaammmmnnnn.
(If I come across as a very easily impressed kid at nine, yes. I was.)
My favourite character, though it may sound clichéd, was Gambit.
He must clearly be such a manly man that he can go around wearing hot pink leather without anyone commenting or making bad jokes.
Of the other male characters (yes, I was the age where anything to do with girls was auto eeew territory) could not relate to Cyclops or Wolverine, they being the charismatic leader and beserker killing machine respectively. I think I could relate most to Beast, being a (mostly) peace-loving bookworm, but obviously did not want to be blue and hairy and walk around in nothing but a Speedo all day.
Gambit, on the other hand, was mysterious. He never really talked, but when he did, had such a cool accent, and could make stuff (especially playing cards) explode by touching them. For some reason, thought this was the Coolest Thing in the World and wanted to be like him in everyway. Went around for a while saying stuff like ma chere and ruining perfectly good decks by throwing cards all over the place. How my mum put up with me, I don’t know.
COMICS AND X-MEN EVOLUTION
Have to admit, never really read the comics. Don’t think I even knew where to buy them, for one thing. Shame, they looked pretty cool, although the artists seemed to be on a mission to strip Storm down to a bikini every two issues. Someone has a fetish..
Also never watched X-Men Evolution for one reason: I HATED the idea of having Nightcrawler (one of my favorite characters) as an insecure teenager. Nightcrawler is gallant and confident, damn it! Talks and acts like a swashbuckler! Finds strength in his religion! Not an emo little boy worried about how he looks! And he seemed to have a crush on Shadowcat, which is oh-so-wrong because Shadowcat is clearly meant to be with Colussus!!!!
Gambit, on the other hand, was mysterious. He never really talked, but when he did, had such a cool accent, and could make stuff (especially playing cards) explode by touching them. For some reason, thought this was the Coolest Thing in the World and wanted to be like him in everyway. Went around for a while saying stuff like ma chere and ruining perfectly good decks by throwing cards all over the place. How my mum put up with me, I don’t know.
COMICS AND X-MEN EVOLUTION
Have to admit, never really read the comics. Don’t think I even knew where to buy them, for one thing. Shame, they looked pretty cool, although the artists seemed to be on a mission to strip Storm down to a bikini every two issues. Someone has a fetish..
Also never watched X-Men Evolution for one reason: I HATED the idea of having Nightcrawler (one of my favorite characters) as an insecure teenager. Nightcrawler is gallant and confident, damn it! Talks and acts like a swashbuckler! Finds strength in his religion! Not an emo little boy worried about how he looks! And he seemed to have a crush on Shadowcat, which is oh-so-wrong because Shadowcat is clearly meant to be with Colussus!!!!
BAMF!
Yeah, I adore Nightcrawler. One of my favorite characters: his powers are cool, and he is a really complex character. And he’s devoutly Catholic! In this day and age, when a lot of the times, members of the Catholic faith are portrayed as either close-minded bigots or keepers of forbidden knowledge (I blame you, mr Has-Been Dan Brown!) its nice to have a positive portrayal of a man of the faith. Although he is blue and resembles a demon. Complete with pointy tail. Oh well. No one’s perfect. In fact, its for the better: good lurks in every form and shape, after all.
THE MOVIES
Well. First X-Men film was pretty cool, although it didn’t wow me. Also, used to Rogue being the sassy, confident Southern belle from the TV show, was a bit taken back to see her so shy here, though was no real fault of the directors. It also had Mystique, who faithful readers may remember I have quite a fondness for, and so, enjoyed that.
And it had Ian McKellan. As Magneto, coolest X-Men villain ever!
Unwritten Law of the Universe 2: Ian McKellan playing anything is automatically awesome. It can be Magneto or Gandalf or Strawberry Shortcake or Guy with Long Broom 3. It will be awesome.
Magneto I adore for the same reason as Nightcrawler: he has awesome powers (in fact, I think he could do anything if he really tried) but is also a very complex, twisted character. In some ways, he could be seen as the good guy: he’s an idealist at heart, and really cares for the mutant race, only so much to the point he is willing to destroy everything else. Which is an irony, considering his background as a Holocaust survivor.
X-Men 2 had three of my favourite X-Men characters: Mystique, Magneto and Nightcrawler. It was a pretty awesome show, and remains one of my favourites today.
X-Men 3 I do not want to talk about. I don’t know what the director was smoking, or whether he somehow hates me so much he aims to destroy everything I love about the series. He introduced DOZENS of mutants, only to give them each like 2 minutes of screen time and we never hear from them again. Psylocke! Multiple Man! Colossus! Arch-Angel! Juggernaught! Director Brett Rattner could have done so much more with each of them, such a waste of potential!!!
And seriously. I will not go into plot points like the Magneto’s pointless raising of a bridge, or how they defeated Dark Pheonix, because that would take too long. Why kill off Xavier, Cyclops and depower Mystique and Magneto??? And Dark Pheonix! Defeated so easily and embarrassingly she should never have been brought back from the dead as it is! I weep for X-Men 3. It has caused me much heartache. Between this and Max Payne, I have little reason to live.
WOLVERINE AND THE X-MEN
And, back to the show I’m watching now.
Its pretty cool, although Surfthechannel only has up to episode 9, and I’m desperately waiting for Torrent to download the rest, especially since episode 10 apparently has an appearance from Mystique.
Also glad as one of my favourite characters is part of the main cast:
I think its pretty obvious why I’m fond of Emma Frost.But seriously: she’s a pretty cool character as well. A bitchy psychic who can turn herself into diamond. Awesome. Plus, she’s so much more interesting than Jean Grey, Cyclops’s OTHER girlfriend, who I have to say, I find boring at times. All she seems to be doing is dying and coming back to life as Pheonic or Dark Pheonix or Polka-Dotted Pheonix or whatnot.
(Btw, Jean Grey, Emma Frost..why does Marvel not give codenames to their female psychics? Is there some kind of discrimination here? Yes, I know they are technically Marvel Girl and White Queen, but they barely use those names, so they don’t count!)
So, there you have it. My tribute to the X-Men, best superhero team ever. They clearly rock my socks (and shoes, and in the case of Emma Frost, occasionally trousers) off.
Am now waiting for X-men Origins: Wolverine to be coming out soon, Gambit is going to be in it!
Friday, 14 November 2008
TEGENCE FIXES HIS LAPTOP AND MAKES ANALOGIES
My laptop has been crashing like crazy recently. Which, along with laziness, will probably explain the lack of an update. Was very frustrating. My Internet becomes slower than a dyslexic sloth, programs don’t work, and the Blue Screen Of Death appears every ten or twenty minutes to put an end to everything fun I do. Party pooper.
Since I spend a lot of time on the Net (playing Online Mafia and writing and stalking Neil Gaiman on his blog..by the way his birthday was five days ago, happy belated birthday, Mr. G!) this was a colossal frustration and so pondered on changing my laptop. Unfortunately, I know just as much about computers as Paris Hilton knows about quantum thermodynamics. For me, RAM is a male sheep with big-ass horns, a processor is friendly Mr. Raju from down the road who works in Campbell Soup, and Firefox is the villain in the next Batman movie. (seriously though..Firefox. isn’t that a really cool supervillain name? He/she could have fire-based powers! And be part fox! Or be cunning like a fox! Or be foxy! Or have an army of foxes, all set on fire! Or work at Fox Studios! I think you get what I mean.)
And so, thought of buying a new laptop, but since I am poorer than Richie Rich after being blackmailed in the infamous Casper the Over-Friendly Ghost sex scandal, decided that perhaps a simpler thing to do would be to try and fix my laptop. Yes, I have almost zero knowledge of PCs, and the saying ‘seperti tikus membaiki labu’ popped immediately to mind, but decided it was better than anything else.
Did not exactly aim to achieve much. After all, I don’t exactly have the best history when it comes to battles with machines. My previous confrontation, the clash between the evil Duke Can Opener, in the fields of Reading (see older blog) did end in disaster after all. But I figured, its not like the problem could get any worse, and if my laptop did go wonkier than a psychopathic gorilla high on tequila, well, it could come in useful in other situations. You could close it and put it on a chair, to sit on if your seat is wet. And..well, can;’t think of other things. But you know what I mean.
So, since I had such limited knowledge, decided to just go the easy way first. Go to System Restore, find a date before the crashes started to happen frequently, and restore my computer settings to that date. Actually the closest thing to time travel I will probably ever do.
So I did all that, and waited. Did not expect it to work.
And so, was incredibly surprised when it did. Honestly, since the day I tried out that nonsense two weeks ago, my computer has not crashed a single time.
YEA!!!!
And lo, Tegence did triumph over the Adversary, the Blue Screen of Death
And restoreth he the systems of his laptop
And his is the Internet connectivity, the productivity
And the downloaded wallpapers of Scarlett Johansen, blessed be her hotness
Now and forever!
Alright, alright, blasphemous exaggeration there. But felt very proud of myself, hurrah! Did not realise fixing it would turn out to be so simple.
Got to thinking, though, after fixing the laptop.
If only real-life problems were as easy to solve as this.
Something happens in your life? Said something you regret? Committed a crime you know are sorry for? Ruined your life, or the life of a loved one? Voted for McCain?
If only it were possible to just System Restore your life: no matter how bad you screw things up, just return to a happier time before all that happened, and go on from there.
Life sadly, is more complex than that. We hardly ever get second chances, after all: mess up once, and you have to deal with whatever consequences happen, which sometimes feel way too hard to handle. God knows I’ve made my share of mistakes and mis-steps.
But then again, the past builds you up for you are now, after all. I like to believe in the idea of God’s plan, after all: that everything, no matter how bad, has a purpose and reason that will come together to create the best possible outcome for you. It does sound ridiculously optimistic (and this from me, to add!) but I believe in it.
To add, messing with the past always ends in disaster after all. Have seen The Butterfly Effect and countless other cheap science-fiction movies after all. Learn from your mistakes, move on, no point in focusing on them and wishing things in the past had worked out better.
But another strange thing that I have realized after some thinking: for the first time in quite a long time, I am actually very satisfied with my life. Honestly. These times are indeed some of the happiest I have ever been. Granted, its not perfect (5 hour weekend classes come to mind) but I have to say, this is the happiest I have been in a long, long time.
I live my own life in the way I want it to be. Though others may judge me, or I am misunderstood: I’m pretty happy with how I am now, my conscience is clear, and I’ve come quite a long way. And that is all that matters.
And that is all.
Since I spend a lot of time on the Net (playing Online Mafia and writing and stalking Neil Gaiman on his blog..by the way his birthday was five days ago, happy belated birthday, Mr. G!) this was a colossal frustration and so pondered on changing my laptop. Unfortunately, I know just as much about computers as Paris Hilton knows about quantum thermodynamics. For me, RAM is a male sheep with big-ass horns, a processor is friendly Mr. Raju from down the road who works in Campbell Soup, and Firefox is the villain in the next Batman movie. (seriously though..Firefox. isn’t that a really cool supervillain name? He/she could have fire-based powers! And be part fox! Or be cunning like a fox! Or be foxy! Or have an army of foxes, all set on fire! Or work at Fox Studios! I think you get what I mean.)
And so, thought of buying a new laptop, but since I am poorer than Richie Rich after being blackmailed in the infamous Casper the Over-Friendly Ghost sex scandal, decided that perhaps a simpler thing to do would be to try and fix my laptop. Yes, I have almost zero knowledge of PCs, and the saying ‘seperti tikus membaiki labu’ popped immediately to mind, but decided it was better than anything else.
Did not exactly aim to achieve much. After all, I don’t exactly have the best history when it comes to battles with machines. My previous confrontation, the clash between the evil Duke Can Opener, in the fields of Reading (see older blog) did end in disaster after all. But I figured, its not like the problem could get any worse, and if my laptop did go wonkier than a psychopathic gorilla high on tequila, well, it could come in useful in other situations. You could close it and put it on a chair, to sit on if your seat is wet. And..well, can;’t think of other things. But you know what I mean.
So, since I had such limited knowledge, decided to just go the easy way first. Go to System Restore, find a date before the crashes started to happen frequently, and restore my computer settings to that date. Actually the closest thing to time travel I will probably ever do.
So I did all that, and waited. Did not expect it to work.
And so, was incredibly surprised when it did. Honestly, since the day I tried out that nonsense two weeks ago, my computer has not crashed a single time.
YEA!!!!
And lo, Tegence did triumph over the Adversary, the Blue Screen of Death
And restoreth he the systems of his laptop
And his is the Internet connectivity, the productivity
And the downloaded wallpapers of Scarlett Johansen, blessed be her hotness
Now and forever!
Alright, alright, blasphemous exaggeration there. But felt very proud of myself, hurrah! Did not realise fixing it would turn out to be so simple.
Got to thinking, though, after fixing the laptop.
If only real-life problems were as easy to solve as this.
Something happens in your life? Said something you regret? Committed a crime you know are sorry for? Ruined your life, or the life of a loved one? Voted for McCain?
If only it were possible to just System Restore your life: no matter how bad you screw things up, just return to a happier time before all that happened, and go on from there.
Life sadly, is more complex than that. We hardly ever get second chances, after all: mess up once, and you have to deal with whatever consequences happen, which sometimes feel way too hard to handle. God knows I’ve made my share of mistakes and mis-steps.
But then again, the past builds you up for you are now, after all. I like to believe in the idea of God’s plan, after all: that everything, no matter how bad, has a purpose and reason that will come together to create the best possible outcome for you. It does sound ridiculously optimistic (and this from me, to add!) but I believe in it.
To add, messing with the past always ends in disaster after all. Have seen The Butterfly Effect and countless other cheap science-fiction movies after all. Learn from your mistakes, move on, no point in focusing on them and wishing things in the past had worked out better.
But another strange thing that I have realized after some thinking: for the first time in quite a long time, I am actually very satisfied with my life. Honestly. These times are indeed some of the happiest I have ever been. Granted, its not perfect (5 hour weekend classes come to mind) but I have to say, this is the happiest I have been in a long, long time.
I live my own life in the way I want it to be. Though others may judge me, or I am misunderstood: I’m pretty happy with how I am now, my conscience is clear, and I’ve come quite a long way. And that is all that matters.
And that is all.
Thursday, 23 October 2008
MAX PAYNE brings Maximum Pain..To my head.
Well, I intend to stick to my promise of updating this thing, and so I shall.
Decided, that with new blog, shall do away with the archaic No Names Mentioned rule that used to dictate the old blog. So yeah, names will be mentioned, unless of course you want to remain anonymous. Of course, the only reasons you would possibly want to do so are if you committed a crime or are a fugitive from some organization, in which case, shame on you and I hope you turn back to the path of light soon.
Been good since the last time I updated. Josh introduced me to this lovely little British series called The IT Crowd, which is simply quite hilarious. The only other British TV shows I watched were Skins and The Mighty Boosh, and heh since it will take some time before they get a new season, shall enjoy this for the time being.
Went jungle-trekking with the church group. Lawrence planned the activity, went to Bukit Gasing for an hour of strenous walking, bad jokes and getting in touch with nature, most of it in the form of mosquitoes and flying insects. A bit amused that the place is called Hutan Pendidikan Bukit Gasing: was half expecting friendly biawaks or scholarly owls with professor hats to pop out every now and then, giving us lectures about the history of trees and so on.
Some of us were more prepared than the others: good old Nigel had even packed insect repellent and brought along 5 bottles of water, I almost expected him to have a fold-up tent and rocket flares of various colours in his backpack. (McGyver theme plays.)
Rained halfway through the walk: should have known better than to plan outdoor activities during this rainy season. Was effectively drenched from head to toe (oddly, most recent activities seem to involve me getting soaked nowadays), made our way to Sri Pandi’s, which may or may not have been (according to urban myth) the infamous restaurant where the staff put used underwear in their curry for extra flavour. (a thought we do not like to think about) Was extra hungry, devoured a plate of banana leaf rice, and discovered that I somehow remember every detail of the many short stories and poems we had to do for English and BM back in high school.
Computer been crashing a lot of late, been hurriedly backing up everything of sentimental value in there, especially the creative works. Been working on a Nanowrimo appendix/outline and a script for a future project, and it would be a shame to lose those after all the effort put into them.
I’m sorry, but watching Max Payne was just..uggggh. Honestly, soaking my brain in sulphuric acid and then passing it to a group of furious rhinos to play football with would have been a less painful adaptation.
Seriously. As a die-hard fan of the original Max Payne games, I am outraged and horrified, and would be protesting in the streets with banners and placards right now if not for the fact that I am a lazy slacker and the thought of even walking strains me. It was a complete train wreck from beginning to end: turning a wonderful game, filled with non-stop action and memorable characters into a sad, sad waste of celluloid. Everyone who made this film should be gunned down by game-Max Payne, with his constipated grin and all. And his double Uzis. And in BULLET-TIME, so the agony lasts longer.
Ok, I realise that sounded harsh. Sorry. But am just astounded by how badly they messed up the game. Which is weird, because when I was playing the game, a lot of times I felt I was in a gritty, dark action thriller. The game already felt like a movie; was it so hard to translate to the big screen?
And what did they do to Max Payne?? To borrow a joke from South Park, good Frodo, they raped him! They RAPED him! The game Max Payne is seriously badass! He’s cocky, cynical and talks in a stoned mumble that is ultra cool! He shaves with a submachine gun and eats the still-beating hearts of Russian mobsters for breakfast! (Ok, not literally. But you get the idea.)
Max Payne, Game-wise, anyway, is not like us pitiful lesser mortals! For example, take a situation of toast being burnt. You and me, being sad specimens of humanity, would probably say:
“Oh gee whiz, ho no, the toast is burnt! Oh no! It’s all smoking! Better find something else to eat!”
Max Payne, in the game, would say:
“I look upon the charred remains of my toast. Ashy, incinerated. Like the broken body of a martyr, chained to the stake by an unforgiving mob. I am strangely moved. Twenty bullets to the chest yesterday should have taught me to put my faith in no-one, let alone breakfast appliances. My stomach rumbles, but I silence it. There will be no nourishment for me on this cold morning.’
Game Max had attitude! He had personality! And here he is, played by Mark Wahlberg as a whiny, generic cut-out of an action hero.
A LIST OF WHAT I DID LIKE ABOUT MAX PAYNE.
-Some references to the game: the Roscoe street station was a nice touch, as was Gognitti’s Storage, though I would have killed to see the character himself make an appearance.
-Olga Kurylenko is certainly nice to look at, although I do not get why the scriptwriters wanted to change her name to Natasha. While I agree it does have a sexy name (so calling my unfortunate daughter that) Mona’s sister is LISA, damn it! Why did you have to change the name for??
-Cameo appearance by Brea Grant, aka super-speedy Daphne in Heroes, who I am strangely attracted to. She can give me a quickie anyday.
THE LONGER, MORE EXTENSIVE LIST OF WHAT I HATED ABOUT THE FILM
-Long and draggy. Too much talking. Not enough people having their heads blown off by shotguns in slow-motion. And the whole black angel thing was uninspiring and completely unnecessary; they should not have wasted their budget on those effects, and instead spent it on getting a better script or bullet time effects.
-For an action movie, action came only like an hour into the film, and wasn’t that impressive. Compare to game, where the ending is that you shoot a bloody SKYSCRAPER onto a helicopter, a picture of which should be enclosed into a satellite and shot into outer space so that extraterrestrials can appreciate how awesome our planet is.
-Mila Kunis is NOT Mona Sax, who is a seductive, femme fatale. Her acting is not good: every time I saw her I kept on imagining her as her character from That 70s Show: kept expecting her to yell stuff like “FEEZZZZ!!!” or “Groovy!” all throught the show.
-What is with the MTV actors? Seriously, was genuinely afraid that there would suddenly be a musical number out of nowhere; something like Valkyr is Like A Bird (It Blows Your Head Away). Nelly Furtado as Christa WHO?
Are you trying to tell me you cut out awesome characters like the one-eyed sinister Alfred Woden, the cocky Russian mobster Vladimir Lem, the comic book-loving Frankie ‘The Bat’Niagara, and the laughably pathetic Vinnie Gognitti to give us this character who appears for one scene and then vanishes? And don’t talk to me about Ludacris playing Jim Bravura, who was white, balding and middle-aged in the film. That’s like getting Chow Yun-Fatt as Harry Potter or Rihanna as Sailormoon (which is an interesting thought though, I have to say.)
-Why why why did they change Jack Lupino from a creepy drug-addicted madman constantly spouting demonic ramblings (“The flesh of FALLEN ANGELS!”) into a ninja Kratos from God of War?? This movie is Norse mythology, hello, not Greek!
-And the climax of the film: Max overdoses on Valkyr and successfully blows away entire SWAT teams, believing them to be black angels. Seriously, what is the message this film is expressing?? Kids, do drugs and you become super-strong and see cool dark angels everywhere?
Then again, perhaps the message is appropriate: maybe the only way to enjoy this nightmare of a film is when addled-up and completely stoned, after all.
(DISCLAIMER: Sanctuary of the Weird 2.0 does not advocate drug use. Take alcohol instead..its more fun!)
Decided, that with new blog, shall do away with the archaic No Names Mentioned rule that used to dictate the old blog. So yeah, names will be mentioned, unless of course you want to remain anonymous. Of course, the only reasons you would possibly want to do so are if you committed a crime or are a fugitive from some organization, in which case, shame on you and I hope you turn back to the path of light soon.
Been good since the last time I updated. Josh introduced me to this lovely little British series called The IT Crowd, which is simply quite hilarious. The only other British TV shows I watched were Skins and The Mighty Boosh, and heh since it will take some time before they get a new season, shall enjoy this for the time being.
Went jungle-trekking with the church group. Lawrence planned the activity, went to Bukit Gasing for an hour of strenous walking, bad jokes and getting in touch with nature, most of it in the form of mosquitoes and flying insects. A bit amused that the place is called Hutan Pendidikan Bukit Gasing: was half expecting friendly biawaks or scholarly owls with professor hats to pop out every now and then, giving us lectures about the history of trees and so on.
Some of us were more prepared than the others: good old Nigel had even packed insect repellent and brought along 5 bottles of water, I almost expected him to have a fold-up tent and rocket flares of various colours in his backpack. (McGyver theme plays.)
Rained halfway through the walk: should have known better than to plan outdoor activities during this rainy season. Was effectively drenched from head to toe (oddly, most recent activities seem to involve me getting soaked nowadays), made our way to Sri Pandi’s, which may or may not have been (according to urban myth) the infamous restaurant where the staff put used underwear in their curry for extra flavour. (a thought we do not like to think about) Was extra hungry, devoured a plate of banana leaf rice, and discovered that I somehow remember every detail of the many short stories and poems we had to do for English and BM back in high school.
Computer been crashing a lot of late, been hurriedly backing up everything of sentimental value in there, especially the creative works. Been working on a Nanowrimo appendix/outline and a script for a future project, and it would be a shame to lose those after all the effort put into them.
Anyway, I recently happened to catch Max Payne, with my old A-Levels friend Priya, (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!) and my thoughts on it?
Hideous. With a capital H. And what the heck, I’ll capitalise the rest of the word also, just to emphasise how horrible it was: HIDEOUS. Oh wait. I’ll put it in slightly bigger font as well!
HIDEOUS.
And wait, I shall emphasise that further with several pictures!
Hideous. With a capital H. And what the heck, I’ll capitalise the rest of the word also, just to emphasise how horrible it was: HIDEOUS. Oh wait. I’ll put it in slightly bigger font as well!
HIDEOUS.
And wait, I shall emphasise that further with several pictures!
I’m sorry, but watching Max Payne was just..uggggh. Honestly, soaking my brain in sulphuric acid and then passing it to a group of furious rhinos to play football with would have been a less painful adaptation.
Seriously. As a die-hard fan of the original Max Payne games, I am outraged and horrified, and would be protesting in the streets with banners and placards right now if not for the fact that I am a lazy slacker and the thought of even walking strains me. It was a complete train wreck from beginning to end: turning a wonderful game, filled with non-stop action and memorable characters into a sad, sad waste of celluloid. Everyone who made this film should be gunned down by game-Max Payne, with his constipated grin and all. And his double Uzis. And in BULLET-TIME, so the agony lasts longer.
Ok, I realise that sounded harsh. Sorry. But am just astounded by how badly they messed up the game. Which is weird, because when I was playing the game, a lot of times I felt I was in a gritty, dark action thriller. The game already felt like a movie; was it so hard to translate to the big screen?
And what did they do to Max Payne?? To borrow a joke from South Park, good Frodo, they raped him! They RAPED him! The game Max Payne is seriously badass! He’s cocky, cynical and talks in a stoned mumble that is ultra cool! He shaves with a submachine gun and eats the still-beating hearts of Russian mobsters for breakfast! (Ok, not literally. But you get the idea.)
Max Payne, Game-wise, anyway, is not like us pitiful lesser mortals! For example, take a situation of toast being burnt. You and me, being sad specimens of humanity, would probably say:
“Oh gee whiz, ho no, the toast is burnt! Oh no! It’s all smoking! Better find something else to eat!”
Max Payne, in the game, would say:
“I look upon the charred remains of my toast. Ashy, incinerated. Like the broken body of a martyr, chained to the stake by an unforgiving mob. I am strangely moved. Twenty bullets to the chest yesterday should have taught me to put my faith in no-one, let alone breakfast appliances. My stomach rumbles, but I silence it. There will be no nourishment for me on this cold morning.’
Game Max had attitude! He had personality! And here he is, played by Mark Wahlberg as a whiny, generic cut-out of an action hero.
A LIST OF WHAT I DID LIKE ABOUT MAX PAYNE.
-Some references to the game: the Roscoe street station was a nice touch, as was Gognitti’s Storage, though I would have killed to see the character himself make an appearance.
-Olga Kurylenko is certainly nice to look at, although I do not get why the scriptwriters wanted to change her name to Natasha. While I agree it does have a sexy name (so calling my unfortunate daughter that) Mona’s sister is LISA, damn it! Why did you have to change the name for??
-Cameo appearance by Brea Grant, aka super-speedy Daphne in Heroes, who I am strangely attracted to. She can give me a quickie anyday.
THE LONGER, MORE EXTENSIVE LIST OF WHAT I HATED ABOUT THE FILM
-Long and draggy. Too much talking. Not enough people having their heads blown off by shotguns in slow-motion. And the whole black angel thing was uninspiring and completely unnecessary; they should not have wasted their budget on those effects, and instead spent it on getting a better script or bullet time effects.
-For an action movie, action came only like an hour into the film, and wasn’t that impressive. Compare to game, where the ending is that you shoot a bloody SKYSCRAPER onto a helicopter, a picture of which should be enclosed into a satellite and shot into outer space so that extraterrestrials can appreciate how awesome our planet is.
-Mila Kunis is NOT Mona Sax, who is a seductive, femme fatale. Her acting is not good: every time I saw her I kept on imagining her as her character from That 70s Show: kept expecting her to yell stuff like “FEEZZZZ!!!” or “Groovy!” all throught the show.
-What is with the MTV actors? Seriously, was genuinely afraid that there would suddenly be a musical number out of nowhere; something like Valkyr is Like A Bird (It Blows Your Head Away). Nelly Furtado as Christa WHO?
Are you trying to tell me you cut out awesome characters like the one-eyed sinister Alfred Woden, the cocky Russian mobster Vladimir Lem, the comic book-loving Frankie ‘The Bat’Niagara, and the laughably pathetic Vinnie Gognitti to give us this character who appears for one scene and then vanishes? And don’t talk to me about Ludacris playing Jim Bravura, who was white, balding and middle-aged in the film. That’s like getting Chow Yun-Fatt as Harry Potter or Rihanna as Sailormoon (which is an interesting thought though, I have to say.)
-Why why why did they change Jack Lupino from a creepy drug-addicted madman constantly spouting demonic ramblings (“The flesh of FALLEN ANGELS!”) into a ninja Kratos from God of War?? This movie is Norse mythology, hello, not Greek!
-And the climax of the film: Max overdoses on Valkyr and successfully blows away entire SWAT teams, believing them to be black angels. Seriously, what is the message this film is expressing?? Kids, do drugs and you become super-strong and see cool dark angels everywhere?
Then again, perhaps the message is appropriate: maybe the only way to enjoy this nightmare of a film is when addled-up and completely stoned, after all.
(DISCLAIMER: Sanctuary of the Weird 2.0 does not advocate drug use. Take alcohol instead..its more fun!)
Saturday, 18 October 2008
RETURN.
Haven’t done this in a while, so it feels a little odd, coming back to the blog.
Why did I go on hiatus? Several reasons: firstly, I think the blogging was becoming too much of a routine, it was becoming for me more of an obligation than something I did for fun and to express myself. Second, a bad case of writer’s block: the words didn’t seem to come, and I tired of telling the stories of my life in the same way every week. And considering that same way was ‘in a style completely nonsensical and devoid of sense whatsoever’, I think I just needed a sabbathical, the creative genes were drying up.
Also, felt the need to withdraw myself from the world, keep a low profile for a while. Part of the weakness of a blog is that sometimes you tend to reveal too much of yourself to the world, something which I am not always fond of. I think people who know me well will realise this: while I adore my friends and try to be open as much as possible, there are parts of me I prefer to keep hidden, sides of my soul I prefer to keep guarded. Some people long for a friend who they can tell everything to and who knows them inside out; this is well and good, but for me that is the ultimate nightmare.
While I do enjoy social gatherings and stuff, deep down I am quite a private person, and I felt that previous entries in the old Sanctuary were giving people impressions about me that I was not too happy of. And so this contributed to my vanishing.
So why do I come back to it now? Maybe I miss it. The creative surge has come back, in part thanks to Nanowrimo coming up. These past few days, the urge to express myself has been overwhelming; perhaps that is why I feel the call back to the old Sanctuary.
So, an update of most that has happened over the past few months:
-Back from the UK, for good. Feel good to be home, yet I miss Reading and London. Especially since Halloween is coming up, a celebration that was celebrated in huge scale over there: I want to dress up in a stupid costume and make a fool of myself damnit. I also miss several people, the abundance of musicals, and of all things, the Oracle shopping mall.
-Doing my certificate of Legal Practice, which is headachey and no fun at all. Lecturers are a fatter, balder Indian version of Steve Carell and a droning old man in a turban whose lessons have subtle pro-euthanasia messages (eg. So BORING you want to just be shot and put out of your misery.) Classes are 5 hours on weekends, thus destroying my social and religious life. Am wishing I became a prawn farmer or a wandering hobo instead.
-On the bright side, doing freelance writing for The Star, doing book and theatre reviews, which I really enjoy. Nothing better that getting paid for doing what you love. Granted, had to sit through a truly atrocious play, and a totally dry book, but overall, experience has been really cool.
-Have learned that I apparently have a good bass voice, which surprised me as I thought the only thing my voice was good for was for scaring away wild beasts and bringing forth rain.
-Weight has ballooned incredibly since time in the UK. I can no longer describe myself as ‘skinny’, or ‘scrawny’. My so-called friends, wonderful as they are, have all taken to calling me ‘çhubby’ and ‘round-faced’, and my own dear father has taken to calling me ‘Fatboy’. Yet I continue being a lazy slacker and eating all the most wonderful foods possible.
-Have met quite a lot of new people recently, from church activities, camps, excursions and so on; and a lot of old people have left, from my juniors all going to Reading, and a good friend moving to Australia; to a town called Townsville, hopefully not to don a short dress and a hair-ribbon and go fight crime.
-Have read Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book. Not his best work, (nothing beats Sandman or American Gods) but pretty awesome. Dark and well-imagined, I think it would have been my favorite book had I first read it when I was 9 or 10.
-In the past month, attended a friend’s birthday which involved much pool-pushing and obscene photographs, was morbidly fascinated by ladyboys and red-light districts in Bangkok, enjoyed Malaccan durian cendol despite being a 500W figurative lamppost, discovered I really suck at Counterstrike, organised a potluck dinner, attended a funeral, and many other things, some of which deserved entries of their own, but am too lazy to recall everything. These few months have been the busiest of my life. Going jungle trekking after this, hope I survive.
Heh, will update about my life more the next time I blog. Till then, ciao.
Why did I go on hiatus? Several reasons: firstly, I think the blogging was becoming too much of a routine, it was becoming for me more of an obligation than something I did for fun and to express myself. Second, a bad case of writer’s block: the words didn’t seem to come, and I tired of telling the stories of my life in the same way every week. And considering that same way was ‘in a style completely nonsensical and devoid of sense whatsoever’, I think I just needed a sabbathical, the creative genes were drying up.
Also, felt the need to withdraw myself from the world, keep a low profile for a while. Part of the weakness of a blog is that sometimes you tend to reveal too much of yourself to the world, something which I am not always fond of. I think people who know me well will realise this: while I adore my friends and try to be open as much as possible, there are parts of me I prefer to keep hidden, sides of my soul I prefer to keep guarded. Some people long for a friend who they can tell everything to and who knows them inside out; this is well and good, but for me that is the ultimate nightmare.
While I do enjoy social gatherings and stuff, deep down I am quite a private person, and I felt that previous entries in the old Sanctuary were giving people impressions about me that I was not too happy of. And so this contributed to my vanishing.
So why do I come back to it now? Maybe I miss it. The creative surge has come back, in part thanks to Nanowrimo coming up. These past few days, the urge to express myself has been overwhelming; perhaps that is why I feel the call back to the old Sanctuary.
So, an update of most that has happened over the past few months:
-Back from the UK, for good. Feel good to be home, yet I miss Reading and London. Especially since Halloween is coming up, a celebration that was celebrated in huge scale over there: I want to dress up in a stupid costume and make a fool of myself damnit. I also miss several people, the abundance of musicals, and of all things, the Oracle shopping mall.
-Doing my certificate of Legal Practice, which is headachey and no fun at all. Lecturers are a fatter, balder Indian version of Steve Carell and a droning old man in a turban whose lessons have subtle pro-euthanasia messages (eg. So BORING you want to just be shot and put out of your misery.) Classes are 5 hours on weekends, thus destroying my social and religious life. Am wishing I became a prawn farmer or a wandering hobo instead.
-On the bright side, doing freelance writing for The Star, doing book and theatre reviews, which I really enjoy. Nothing better that getting paid for doing what you love. Granted, had to sit through a truly atrocious play, and a totally dry book, but overall, experience has been really cool.
-Have learned that I apparently have a good bass voice, which surprised me as I thought the only thing my voice was good for was for scaring away wild beasts and bringing forth rain.
-Weight has ballooned incredibly since time in the UK. I can no longer describe myself as ‘skinny’, or ‘scrawny’. My so-called friends, wonderful as they are, have all taken to calling me ‘çhubby’ and ‘round-faced’, and my own dear father has taken to calling me ‘Fatboy’. Yet I continue being a lazy slacker and eating all the most wonderful foods possible.
-Have met quite a lot of new people recently, from church activities, camps, excursions and so on; and a lot of old people have left, from my juniors all going to Reading, and a good friend moving to Australia; to a town called Townsville, hopefully not to don a short dress and a hair-ribbon and go fight crime.
-Have read Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book. Not his best work, (nothing beats Sandman or American Gods) but pretty awesome. Dark and well-imagined, I think it would have been my favorite book had I first read it when I was 9 or 10.
-In the past month, attended a friend’s birthday which involved much pool-pushing and obscene photographs, was morbidly fascinated by ladyboys and red-light districts in Bangkok, enjoyed Malaccan durian cendol despite being a 500W figurative lamppost, discovered I really suck at Counterstrike, organised a potluck dinner, attended a funeral, and many other things, some of which deserved entries of their own, but am too lazy to recall everything. These few months have been the busiest of my life. Going jungle trekking after this, hope I survive.
Heh, will update about my life more the next time I blog. Till then, ciao.
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