When Two Birds Fell: The colour of tears and heartbreak

This post is a mess. I'm a mess. I can't even form the words properly. I'm mentally choking. My sentences are as garbled as my voice. But I'm alive. I'm surviving. I'll reclaim myself.

This incoherent post is brought to you by the feelings: Sappy, Whiny and Emo. You've been warned.

I've never had my whole world taken away from me before. Nor have I wanted the world so much, when it was you. 

People tell you to stay strong and forget about the past. "Don't think too much," they say. "Time heals everything," they guarantee. "There's better ones out there," the chorus of matter-of-fact tones chant. But how exactly do you do this? How do you get better? Do you cry yourself to sleep every night to release the clogged up tears gagging you? Do you go out and be crazy drunk and dance until you suffocate your memories with numb ecstasy? Do you immerse yourself in work and replace the emotional grief with mental distractions, just until you can say her name without freezing up? Do you go out and talk to people until their ears fall off from your constant self-piteous need to be comforted and expressed? 

How do you not "think too much"? How do you forget someone who gave you all the happiness you had been looking for all your life, then stole it like it was worth nothing? How do you forgive them? Why me? You ask yourself. What was it that I did? When will time take it all away? How do I crop this mistake out of my life? Will I ever be able to look at someone the way I did with you and see something I never thought would be as beautiful?

It's tough saying goodbye forever to something that was the best part of yourself. But it's tougher when you can't summon the bad memories to hate it. It's tougher when the good ones come flooding in one by one, and you break down trying to make peace with them and come to terms with bidding farewell. It's tougher when you can't stop the tears. It's tougher when you feel lonelier in spite of all the people reaching out to you. They don't register. The emptiness builds up. You can't give anymore. The more people you surround yourself with, the more lost you feel, because she'll never hold you again. 

It's tougher when the only one who can mend your heart is the one who broke it. It's tougher when you have to pretend everything's okay because everyone tells you it's an ending to a new beginning and you'll smile again, and you don't want to disappoint them or trouble them any further. It's tougher when everywhere you go, you see her and you hear her and you just can't feel happy because you've already collapsed inside. The feeling of loss makes its home in you and haunts you every waking moment. And you're stifling a whimper every time you breathe. The only peace and salvation you get is in sleep. It's tougher when at your worst, you don't want to be in anyone's arms but hers, the only respite you had from all that shit in life. It's tougher because the only time you need her is the time she's gone for good.

So, as incredibly hard as it is, as much as I have cried and put off remembering the details, this post is about my thought process for the past two months and however long it takes to exhaust itself. This post is about how I found the only person I never had and how I lost her.

Jurassic World (2015): A Review

Jurassic World is a bloody masterpiece. It's the touch of saving grace the Jurassic franchise needed after Jurassic Park III butchered it. I was quite literally quivering with excitement watching it.

Steven Spielberg and Colin Trevorrow have outdone themselves in a spectacular show of recreating nostalgia for old fans and unveiling a whole new prehistoric realm of regal fearsomeness and splendour for everyone in the Jurassic cinema.

With a volley of unforgettable scenes right out of anyone's nightmares, JW did not fail to live up to its predecessors' memory and hit home. 

Our Self-policed Democracy

Disclaimer: 
This post may contain insensitive and inappropriate remarks. This is due to the author's propensity for sarcasm. He harbours no ill will or ill intention. As such, he is not liable for any emotional relapses and pettifogging outrage you might experience, nor could he care less. 

He also does not speak for any of the writers he quotes and he acknowledges that his sources may not be completely trustworthy. He does, nonetheless, promise information and honesty. 

This post is mildly long. If you can bear with the author 'till the end, he probably owes you a drink.

This blog post may be modified and/or updated whenever the author deems fit.

Read at your own risk.

 I choose to start from the latest news to its preceding events, and may interweave them when necessary. 

Updates 2

Amos Yee has been released from his remand. Just take a look at his forlorn expression. I have no idea why some people are so satisfied about having gagged a boy and probably traumatised him for life -- just for making a fool out of himself. Let's be honest. We know not to take sh!t like this seriously, yet we are so damn adamant about flaunting justice to feed our shallow hunger for control.

Source: http://spuddings.net/?p=8519

This is the best example of the worst kind of marginalization in Singapore. More than maintaining freedom, tolerance and forgiveness, it's important to put down anything in the way of a transparently f**ked up peace. 

Here's some food for thought to chew on: If he had posted something of the same nature about LGBTs, would he have had to undergo the same thing?

Tag: 100 Questions No One Ever Asks

I was tagged by a fellow blogger, Jasmine, and anyone tagged is supposed to answer these questions, then tag someone else. I have no one I can think of right now, so I'll add a tag later when I do.

1:Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed?
Everyone has closet skeletons, so closed.

2:Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotels?
No, unless it's Head & Shoulders or Garnier Fructis.

3:Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out?
Out. I need to be able to escape fast for contingency purposes.

4:Have you ever stolen a street sign before?
No, but I'll probably get to it one of these days.

5:Do you like to use post-it notes?
I tend to avert tasks, and by virtue, avoid post-its. I use the Memo app on my phone, or a calendar, or an alarm.

6:Do you cut out coupons but then never use them?
I almost never cut out coupons.

7:Would you rather be attacked by a big bear or a swarm of a bees?

Waterlust in B-B-BARLEYYYYY

Bali, if you were wondering what BARLEYYYY meant. It's an expression of our desire for the tantalising empire of water sports and high-class fun we would indulge ourselves in. BARLEYYYY. BARLEYYY. BARLEYYYYYYY. 

I'll skip ahead of all the chaos, sleep-deprivation (overnight flight) and tedious travelling that happened in between, 'cuz travel takes up like 3/4 of your overall time. I shit you not. At least 45 minutes from place to place.... by car! 3 hours, sometimes, if you have your destinations set further. My suggestion is to rent a personal chauffeur, or if you have a license, drive.

Villa

If you're heading in with a huge group, it's best to pool your budget for a villa, although it'll probably have rats and geckos the size of cats. Not much of a night partying nature, our staycation in BARLEY, but lots of water sports and scenery to behold.

Post-dive jumpshot with the paddy fields and le buddy

2014? Ain’t got no time for that.

Okay, I've officially snapped out of my drunken stupor and am ready to type. =] First off, Happy New Year, everyone! Next.

2014. You were a roller coaster ride; I had a love-hate r/s with you; too much emotional politics that I couldn't care less, national, international or personal. But rather than doing what a lot of people have done -- writing and reminiscing about their accomplishments and rage quitting 2014 -- I'd rather talk about the future. 

2015, rather than be afflicted by chronic claustrophobia of small minds, I've decided to grab you by the ass, introduce myself and elope with you. By that, obviously, I mean escapism: travel whores -- pouncing on place after place with voracious lust, bumping into old and new friends alike, and soliciting adventures like souped-up adrenaline turbo junkies.

On the sidelines, I will (try to) graduate (with brilliant grades). I will land a full-time writing job thereafter. I will intensify workouts and get ripped. Get my girlfriend to approve of kinky you need a life if you're reading this.

My Mount Kinabalu Escapade

P.S. Sorry for the way overdue post! Been really busy with new trips and all, but here it is: The (assuming anyone reads this) long-awaited Mt. K. post!

Bidding my beloved laptop goodbye and tearing my tush from my cush, I set out to conquer one of Asia’s tallest peaks. I did my research and obtained a return ticket via Air Asia, which cost me S$260. My accommodation in Kota Kinabalu was very bare and simple, since the price of luxury would have scorched a hole in my pocket, all through to my tighty whities. It was at Asia Adventure Lodge, where it was just a few bus stops away from KK's airport and where I was to be picked up at 6 a.m. the following dawn. It’s about S$9 per night for a clusterf**k dormitory and S$25 for private quarters. 

Amazing Bourneo Tours was the mountaineering agency with which I corresponded under this site. I had some problems initially because of some financial misunderstandings. But hey, add that to the fact that I was a complete NOOB in travel negotiations, and you got yourself a very persevering and insistent client. :D The guide and climbing fee from Timpohon Gate to Low’s Peak at 4,095m (Someone had a sense of irony) was priced strategically at S$659. I thought this was pretty reasonable, in contrast to other official hotel and Mt. K. websites at the time. Prices fluctuate a lot due to Mt. K.'s commercialised value, but when you gotta do it, no time's better than now.

How it feels to be a Grammar Nazi

You have probably already read articles on what Grammar Nazis are; how to identify them and tell them apart; what makes them so damn irritating; how to diagnose yourself with Grammar Nazism; and how to even become one.

What I’m betting you haven’t read about is what it feels like to be one. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then our windows are barricaded with grammatical filters, linguistic ventilators and semantic blinds. Brace yourselves… Grammar is coming:

My Underwater Odyssey: 9-11 May, 2014

And thus, began my underwater mission to prove myself as an advanced diver. Having procured my Open Water Certificate at Dayang Island, I'd decided to take a second twist with Malaysia's Tioman Island to secure my Advanced qualification. Blue Reef Scuba was the company my friend had recommended to me, and it's at an utterly affordable rate -- about S$486 or so, I believe. Considering the market average to be about S$530, I'd say we were making a killing here. The staff are meticulous, friendly, invitingly professional and genuine. This was pretty short notice too, since I had signed up on the same week as the departure date, so I was quite impressed with their efficiency as well. 

                                 

Cruising around Tioman Island

Silent Treatment

Just wrote this fun, short story as it randomly came to my head. Felt like a good a day as any! Up to you how you wanna interpret this passage of misinterpretation. Courtesy of my brain. :)

She cringed under his silence -- a deafening smolder suffocating her instincts to breathe. He thought he had clinched it -- with a silence that nodded a gentle air of resolution. The sweat on her brow must have been visible; she was trembling down to her bowels, biting back the urge to break the silence. 

The man was taciturn under his lopsided, elongated tweed cap, which made him look like he had a beak on his head. After a series of ribald and sensual hand gesticulations, he had started twirling his fork around with his spindly fingers and cupped the spoon's head in his mouth. A glint in his eyes or a reflection from the cutlery? Perhaps that scintillating Tommy Hilfiger watch curled around his wrist like shimmering handcuffs?

Malaysia Airlines flight MH370

Yeah, albeit tragedy and loss, this is really fascinating to think about, what with all the conspiracy theories, Illuminati claims, Bermuda Triangle hoaxes, alien abductions and other such underrated and surreal configurations.

Based on logical deduction and systematic elimination, I believe that terrorists, mercenaries or an enemy specific to one of the victims, were involved in various times and places of the incident. Why was there a discrepancy in the timings of the unprecedented disappearance? Doesn't make sense unless one source was lying, and they all seem authoritative so I doubt the odds of mistakes. Why was there a disparity in the purported venues of the crash landings of the plane? Why were files erased/removed from the pilot's fight simulator? How could the abrupt disappearance have been undetected from the start, and yet, gone off without a hassle?

Singapore -- Wake up and Smell the Reality

This Anton Casey case... Yeah, it's obvious his remarks were disdainful and mindlessly stereotypical. But don't people think from this we've got a bigger issue idling within our laundry basket? Amy Cheong, Stephanie Koh and Anonymous - among other waves of social media - have already bashed aspects of Singapore. Indiscretion and uncharismatic tactics aside, kudos to those who dare hang our soiled linen out in a funhouse of patriotic drones. 

I've taken nosedives in-between people and culture, both local and national, and the difference is like friggin’ water and booze. People here are caught in a loop of unhappiness; the complaints are always the same: "Foreigners", "fare hikes", "public transport", "education", "housing", "employment"... Having to go out sometimes can be a turn-off when Singaporeans on the streets pout like they've just gone through an ascetic vasectomy, castrated and impotent. That's probably why our night life seems brighter than our day. 

Bitttersweet

A tribute for those out of love or scarred by it. 

I’ve long coveted sweetness;   

I’ve swallowed bitterness, yet  

It all always is loveless;     

Its costly tardiness, yet    

It stays within mock distance,    

And I am always too far.    

Your life denies this presence,   

But I am never too far.

My lips pray for ‘forever’s,    

But they melt in my mouth’s haste -    

Like dark chocolate slivers.

The bittersweet aftertaste    

Lingering on my ulcers.

And now time has stopped ticking -

But my heart won’t stop beating.

A Hero's Vision

So, I've cooked up a few poems in the course of life. Not too many, though, 'cuz I'm not too versed in poetry. I should have uploaded them ages ago, a little at a time, but I forgot. So brace yourselves for a chunk of poetry posts, lol. There's a little trick to this one if you can see it.

Heroes know not the meaning of end
Eroding in their graves they scorn defeat
Reach in earnest with thy righteous hand
Orient the loss of past wars and retreat
Evoke wise departures and in turn
Strike symphonies for A Hero's Return

A Christmas Story for the Kids

The following is a festive model essay for multiple usage in class for my kids. Yes, I'm a teacher, lol. It's quite a brief, fun read. Enjoy!

In a winter wonderland called Snowscape, which was not so far away and not too long ago, snow never ceased to fall. The overcast sky always rained white flakes, as if it was a flower relinquishing its petals endlessly. The sun had long been veiled by curtains of clouds, its shine toiling conscientiously but to no avail. Its rays could not reach the snow-pelted ground. The birds never chirped there, nor did the rest of the animals roam and feed. There were no festivities to revel in and no carols to sing. Any hot food or beverage turned cold instantly whenever anyone brought them into Snowsape. Its residents, at the mention of a single entity, cringed fearfully.

Jack Frost was the king of Snowscape. He was a colossal giant who donned garbs of iceberg with tassels of frozen streams. He reigned over all that was chilly and frosty. Gnomes, reindeers, Christmas trees and everything else always fled from Jack’s carriage, for it was a barrage of hailstorms and icy winds. They signalled his arrival and lingered in his wake. The vibrant array of mellow fireplaces and lavish patisseries all trembled gloomily in the resounding voice of Jack Frost.

How I Met Your Mother: A Review

WARNING: May contain spoilers. Don't say I didn't warn you.

UPDATED: Inside the Actors Studio starring the cast (do read the rest of the post if you haven't first!)

Oh my god, the nostalgia is kind of heartbreaking! They're truly the hilarious quintet. 

James: What is The Playbook?

Barney: ... That was a book in the young (awesome~~) days where I had different, you know, ways to get dirty. It included a lot of doppelganger names. 'The Scuba Diver' -- that was a good one.

James: Oh Jesus.

Barney: 'Oh Jesus' was awesome!

Too much, I can't laugh anymore. xD

~~End Update~

The series kick-starts with Ted recounting his search for romance to his kids in a narrative, point-of-view fashion. Sounds boring, but yes, in essence, the whole series is a flashback on Ted's life and how he met their mother. And Ted, being insistent and verbally fervent to tell his story, goes back to the prime of his life and all the women he's been with...

The all-famous 13-second opening sequence of HIMYM. Just watch it!

Five friends, or more like wing buddies, have a compulsive habit of setting each other up on dates, usually not taking 'no' for an answer. Thing is, it gets complicated when they begin dating within themselves... save for Marshall and Lily, who are already happily husband and wife. They all have their own personal idiosyncrasies and express them unreservedly. They go to uninhibited lengths to do whatever they want and procure their love interests, but usually end up annoying the hell out of one another or just botching the plan. Their main hangout is a snazzy bar called MacLaren's Pub, also known as where they pick up chicks.

Many people have compared and contrasted this show's characters to their 'corresponding' personae in FRIENDS, outlining similarities in personalities and circumstances... or saying how it's a lazy rip-off of the aforementioned sitcom. Truth is -- it's no slight modification; the plot is original -- inspired by the producers' life stories. Just Google if you don't believe me. Aaaanyways...

Haaave... you met Them?

Just Ted being... Ted

Josh Radnor as Ted Mosby

Ted -- the guy with the awkward relationship complex. He's on some kinda romantic pilgrimage, with his love life cluttered with psychotic women, dating agencies and Barney's shenanigans. With noble architectural dreams of grandeur, Ted's love for buildings doesn't lose out to his love for a soul mate. Unlucky, disheartened but still hopeful, he continues his search for romance. It was in the first episode where he dramatically fell head over heels for Robin, but due to a series of mishaps, he got dumped, as usual. Since then, Ted and Robin have always had a thing between themselves, and feelings are on edge occasionally. And Robin joins the gang. 

Cobie Smulders as Robin Scherbatsky

When Barney thought she looked too pretty

Robin -- the popular and voluptuous Canadian girl.

F.R.I.E.N.D.S: A Review

The story is centred on six friends who live in Manhattan, New York City. You could say they live together, though it's not entirely right, considering they tend to move, live and switch around with one another. Central Perk is a coffee house which is one of the most prominent backgrounds of the show's scenes. It is also the Friends' favourite haunt. 

"It's about sex, love, relationships, careers, a time in your life when everything's possible. And it's about friendship because when you're single and in the city, your friends are your family." - Crane, Kauffman and Bright, the producers of F.R.I.E.N.D.S

They gather together at regular intervals to share their own daily lives and problems, often teasing one another or bantering about random hearsay, getting involved in each other's affairs, and really doing everything together. That includes dropping by the ex's, accidentally invading bathroom privacy, prodding the fat man opposite the street with elongated chopsticks, being bridesmaids, and the inevitable sexual attraction...

 There are also a lot of secrets and gossip between the Friends, some more interactive than others, when the gang has split airtime. There's a fair bit of drama and interpersonal issues surfacing from the the controversial relationships they have, which more than often takes a comical course. A lot is exaggerated so they stand out, but still realistic enough to relate to and laugh with. 

As the story progresses more of their individual past is revealed and we actually get to see who they are and what they do, and how they come together and cover for one another in the most trying times. The humour genre is rampant and may overwhelm your sides with aches, but it is that very humour that makes the show so important, that underlies the trove of friendship and group hugs.

There are unbearable moments where there are tears and heartbreak, indignant moments boiling from anger and betrayal, and breathtaking moments of confessions and forgiveness; the climactic ones are always when the Friends come through for themselves. 

A 10-season series that will make you cry hard and laugh harder, each of their characters is wonderfully flawed and distinctly lovable, growing on you with every episode. It's just not F.R.I.E.N.D.S without any one of them. 

               Meet the Friends             

Lisa Kudrow as Phoebe Buffay Just a day at the subway for Phoebe Phoebe - the oddball of the group. Eccentric and quirky, mostly due to a childhood of poverty and crime, she' s probably the most hilarious out of the girls and a genius at comedy relief, even by sitcom standards. Phoebe has a strong sense of spirituality and abhors secularism. She loves singing especially morbid lyrics, in a peculiarly wayward tone she insists is a professional trademark. She's a masseuse and a vegan, although sometimes she's tricked into meat.

Matt LeBlanc as Joey Tribbiani
                   

Joey's explanation for looking sick

Joey - the not-so-sharp one. He's kind of a blockhead, well, okay, he's the dunce - every group's gotta have one! Like Phoebe, Joey's excellent comedy relief in his obstinately gargantuan appetite for food... and chicks. His catch phrase -- "How you duuin'?" -- is a very effective tool for his promiscuous dates. Really a big, goofy sentimental Romeo, Joey has a big heart to match his appetites. He's a freelance actor and God knows what else.  

The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

Indeed, it is. The pen here is synonymous to words penned down on documents or scripts. It refers to the scribe, the journalist, the writer. The sword is simply its antonym. A sword is meant to be swung to maim. Strength or force is its prerequisite. Swords are borne by warriors, fighters, soldiers. Mightier denotes that, in terms of utilitarianism, the scribe hands the warrior's ass to him.

Since time immemorial, there have been many symbolic legends of war and valiant slayers of evil. King Arthur and his fabled sword, Excalibur, personify the majestic spirit of conquest and battle. Many a fairy tale undertakes the same romantic setting of saving damsels in distress and battling mythical creatures.

In contrast to myths, reality is precarious. Heroes in war can become villains in peacetime. Right and wrong are, therefore, interchangeable. If journalists assert their stories and the public discounts them as the truth, what happens if they are wrong? Adjudication and apologies are in order. That is why if we choose the sword, a permanent outcome nearly guarantees belated regret.

It was not force that gave Abraham Lincoln a country; it was his eloquence and knowledge that paved his legacy. His quotes are still some of the best references today. An unparalleled samurai

Ballet - is it a girl's thing?

Ballet may be brimming with girls and leotards, but is it solely exclusive to them? Behind the frolics of dance and role-play, there is more than meets the eye...

The word “ballet” stings the mind with chauvinistic illusions of feminine presence. The reason is simple. In many countries, like Singapore, there is a highly unbalanced ratio of female to male practitioners. The accompanying video speaks for itself; it is axiomatic that a muscular and rugged persona would be less attuned to ballet.

Charis, a ballet specialist who has been dancing since 2009 and teaching it for a year, takes the liberty to give me and my friends some elementary lessons. Along with Jasmine, another seasoned ballerina, she ingrains excruciating footwork and drills into us. She has even sacrificed time from the previous day to research and select music suitable to a beginner's class.

We start with pliés (squats by the barre) for warm-up, stepping up to relevé, grande battement, développement croisé (development cross), before we can advance to the more dynamic skills. The killer move is, of course, the petit allegro, which makes our legs wobble like soggy noodles. Charis's stamina is amazing, shouting instructions while hopping profusely with us. Admittedly, I got an influx of dizzy spells trying to execute the pirouette en dedan (spinning) without tripping over my own feet or confusing them.

Ballet is not easy, having undergone conscription and a couple of ballet lessons; I would not hesitate to say it is as physically exerting a practice as military training. Often, guys assume the role of

Nature VS. Man

Nature is one of those things that make us ponder about life - the monotonous, clinical routine of city life and all the inflated, material fuss. The moment you surmount the pinnacle of a mountain or spend a consecutive duration of time without ostentatious luxuries, is when you realise the trivialities of existence. Very many people take life for granted and images for calendar embellishment.

Country stroll on a sunny day

I've hiked through enough meadows and had a wild share of my own mountaineering adventures to understand the concept of a life parallel with nature. Many important life lessons can be translated into the context of social, political, spiritual and economical dimensions.

Prelude to a tornado

Take for example an incoming disaster. This picture of a looming tornado, I feel, was well worth the sacrifice. As I was in my cabin, news reports were charging into the radio and television to stay indoors, followed by emergency protocols should the worst happen.