261. Misadventure

Hanoi is lovely really. The weather's cool and nice. The city has just the right amount of hustle and bustle to still feel quaint. The people are abuzz. The shops are narrow and have that bit of rustic charm to it that still lends itself to a bygone time. Essentially, it still has everything that KL has lost.

Walking the narrow pavements, soaking in the sounds of whirring motorcycles and car horns, the chatter of the local language, I can't help but feel...this is a city ripe for adventure. There's something here there's to be found. If you so choose to find it.

Unfortunately, things have changed. Adventure is harder to be sought these days. Not because there's none to be found, but more like there's that bit of weariness in the bones. Has the warm embrace of summer left us. The noontide of day? Hopefully not.

There's more to life than routine. And obligations. And responsibility. True, there is duty to be fulfilled, but at what expense.

I've come to realise that I've lost some of that spark. The curiosity to follow that rabbit hole. It's gotten a bit too comfortable. Too safe. The routine of things. The now of things. The way of thinking. There isn't anything in way of danger. Not like the old days.

Jeez, I hope I don't turn into a walking cliche of that one guy I used to have a go at when I was younger. That one guy who had a safe and cush life, who was stable, drove a nice car, had a fancy title. But was boring and lifeless as fuck. A guy who had all the personality of a post-it note. A guy who was ultimately bland and yes, part of the establishment, part of the Man.

It's like the hippies turning out to be Wall Street types in their adulthood. People who have...sold out?

So, this ain't gonna be one of those "What does it all mean?" kind of bullshit, nope we don't peddle that junk in Dastardly Musings.

Instead, let's see whether this shakes us out of our complacency just a bit. Let's see.

252. Firestorm Dawn

There's this great book I've been writing in my head for the past 21 years. Round and round my mind and my heart it swirls, sometimes manifesting in actual chapters written, most times not. It started as an entirely different tale initially, and it evolved over time and space. I'd like to think that it had a life of it's own.

So what's it about? God knows. All sorts I guess; redemption, renewal, betrayal, conciliation. All that. Will it be epic? Well, in my mind it is. Grand in it's scope and ambition. It's been brewing so long now, most likely because, deep down inside, I know I probably wouldn't be able to pull it off, with my limited powers as it is as a writer that never was. But can I ever be that writer I want to be? Perhaps...not.

The kind of tale I'd like to tell wouldn't be those intellectual books with a lot of symbolism and hidden meaning. Nay, what I'd really love to write is an old-fashioned yarn, one about virtuous and not-so virtuous heroes and diabolical and not-so diabolical villains, with fair and not so fair damsels in distress. In a world where there's black and white, and the varying shades of grey in between. With flawed and doomed protagonists who are sometimes antagonists. Where beginnings are endings, and endings are beginnings. A tale without end. Confused yet? Yes, so am I.

How will it begin? With a prophecy of course. The closing of the circle revealing a new one opening. Set in an alien world that perhaps is not so alien. In a desolate land, probably called the Scorched Lands, which may have been green and lush once. The whisper of prophecy still exists, as what is written centuries old will ultimately come to pass, if there are enough who believe.

It's probably during a time of decay, a passing of an age...the noontide of past glories are soon faded and forgotten, replaced by new ideals and beliefs. As Dylan would say, the times they are a-changin'...true that.

Now, the time may come, if I discover some hidden writer superpowers, that I actually get started on the damn thing and hopefully finish it. It shall be glorious time, oh yes it shall. The birds will sing sweeter and the sun will shine brighter. Milk and honey will flow in the lands, and there shall be fair tidings across for all who dwell therein.

Oh yes indeed.

86. All Hallow's Eve - Part 1

Rather irritatingly, this blog celebrates Halloween. Why? Who knows? It's like asking why the stars shine at night, or why grass is green and the sky blue. Well, actually there's a scientific explanation to all of that, but who wants to get themselves bogged down with all those darn details?

Right, so it's rather apt ain't it that this blog shall valiantly attempt to tell three tales of terror that will inspire both awe and dread (in equal measures no doubt!) for you sorry lot. Are you getting excited yet? No, you in the corner, stop doing that, it's not that kind of excitement.

Know that this blog is skillfully navigated by a Master Storyteller (note the capital letters, impressive eh?), so sit tight, have a cup of tea, and be prepared to be whisked away to wonderful world flowing with milk and honey and free parking...

First up on our long dark journey is a tale of man, nay, not a man surely, but something else! For deep inside him, there lies a beast sleeping, waiting for the right moment to come forth...to reveal his true nature...his calling...and the world will weep when the beast awakes...ladies and gentlemen...let me introduce you to the darkly wretched tale of...

Well, I guess you'll just have to wait a bit...watch this space for more...muahahaha...

79. Halcyon Days

In Greek mythology, Alcyone was a demi-goddess, married to Ceyx, a king of Thessaly. She was the daughter of Aelous, King of the Winds. Her name itself meant Queen Who Wards Off Storms. Yet it was in a storm that she would face her greatest heartbreak.

Her love for her husband Ceyx was great and immeasurable, as the starlit heavens, and she was loathe to be ever parted from him, and him her. Yet there came a time when Ceyx had to make a long voyage across the sea, and Alcyone was much grieved to hear of this. She knew of the powerful winds that were upon the sea at that time of year, and pleaded Ceyx not to leave. Yet he was steadfast, for it was a journey he had to make. Then, she asked to be permitted to join him, for as long as they were together, they could endure anything.

This deeply moved Ceyx, but he would not risk her across such a long sea journey and parted that very night. And as fate would have it, scarcely had his voyage begun that the heavens opened and a fierce storm broke over the sea. The crew quivered with fear as they felt and saw the wrath of the gods, but Ceyx was unmoved and tranquil. His thoughts were only for his beloved Alcyone, and he rejoiced at her safety. And as the great waves broke upon his vessel, and as the waters closed upon him, her name was on his lips, and thus he perished and fell into the darkness yonder.

Alcyone was unaware of the tragedy that had befallen, and counted the days for the safe return of her husband. She prayed every day to the gods for his safe passage, and so touched was the goddess Juno by her plight that she made it known to her of her husband's dark fate, hoping that she would have peace at last.

But overcome with grief, Alcyone threw herself into the sea, for she would not live on without her love. Yet behold, the gods once again took pity upon her that as leapt into the seas, she was transformed into a halcyon bird, and united with her husband who was too transformed into the same bird.

And so their love endured, beyond death, and was everlasting so long as there were days left upon the world. And they bred on a floating nest when the waves of the sea came to be still for seven days in the winter, whence her father Aelous would rein in the wind and sea. And the calmness of sea during that time came to be known by sailors as halcyon days, and have since become regarded as days of peace and happiness, a symbol of tranquillity.

Thus for each of us, we have our own halcyon days, perhaps from those nostalgic summers of our youth, or those moments spent in the presence of our loved ones. They may or may not last, for such things are never meant too, but those memories will always remain till the end of days so long as we keep them in our hearts. J.M. Barrie, he who once wrote of a boy who would never grow up, once said that God gave us all memory so we would always have roses in December. And indeed, perhaps he's right.

32. Get Your Freak On

Ok, get freaked over here. After watching, check out the other clips here. Apparently, this whole thing was a big hoo-ha over in Brunei over the past month.

Real or staged? Who the hell knows...either way, it's all makes the skin crawl...

If you're like me, and have a morbid sense of curiousity, you can do your own research. Check out this blog from a chick in Brunei for the goods.

Now then, I can't really say whether there's a supernatural element involved or if it's just a psychological thing, but I've seen something similar happen in my old university before, and man, you just wish you weren't there to see it 'cos the memory sometimes creeps up on you while you're alone in a hotel room when outstation on a job or are driving on a deserted road with no street lights in the wee hours of morning...

On a side note, I wonder why some people suddenly become overly patriotic on the eve of independence day when they couldn't give a shit about anything any other day? It's like, all of a sudden, everyone starts dancing and singing to that Sudirman song and party like their lives depended on it, all the while making a huge mess of everything. Not a complaint here, just an observation.

I dunno, can anyone of this post independence generation really relate to what happened a little over half a century ago? We were never part of that era, and no matter what anyone says, I don't think we can really feel the spirit of that bygone age. All we have are grainy black and white images of long dead people basking in all that nationalistic fervour. Well, whatever has come and gone since that momentous day, let's just say that they're pale imitations. What do you and I have to do with this country in the first place? And can we really sincerely say we have strong feelings for it, other than it's a hella great place to live in? Honestly, think about it. Put it this way, if our country would ask us to die for it, would we? Naw, just thinking out loud here. Don't mind me.

The mind's a monkey. Ah well. For what it's worth, it's also grand to see those out who truly love this country enjoy the festivities. My friend calls them lemmings, that heartless bastard, and kicks up a shit storm everytime he sees anyone of them out there celebrating. Well, now then, that's just way too much hating. But to each his or her own eh. Sometimes, we can just get too cynical for our own good. Peace.

20. The Strange Account of Ted the Caver

Ok, excuse the lame title of this post. Just go here if you wanna get spooked out of your wits. I won't say much or risk spoiling it for you, read it for yourself first, then make up your own mind whether it's true or not. I'll leave it to you to do your own research on the net after you've finished (just like I did).

Man, I used to go caving myself, and this account of the events that Ted and his buddy "B" went through sends shivers down my spine. Be sure to check out all the pics he took. It's a long read, but trust me, it's worth it. Get ready to get freaked out.

17. Matrimony

Just over the weekend, I attended a wedding dinner for my two close friends. Now I've known these two for a good 5 to 6 years, and were friends with them even before they met. You could say I played a part, however minute, in bringing them together.

They've been going strong for the past 5 years now, strong meaning they're one of those couples who look absolutely and totally in love with one another. And if you think you've seen lovey dovey, heck, you ain't seen nothing yet if you haven't met them. I'm talking mushy-cakes-honey-bunny-baby-sugar-puffs-flowery-candy-with-pink-mushrooms-dancing-on-top-of-rainbows here. Am sure it's nice enough for them, but to those watching, it's like getting a hole drilled in your skull and having melted marshmallows mixed with mapple syrup being pumped into your brain by the gallons.

But besides all that sugary stuff, they're one of those few couples that you can tell share a genuine and mutual respect for one another. And in times of trophy girlfriends and relationships based soley on financial concerns (as in, how much money does he have and how much of it can I get a hold of?), it's really refreshing to see.

So anyway, it came as no surprise when they finally got hitched, for if there was ever a match made in heaven, then it'd be them. And of course I was happy for them. Elated would be too big a word, but it's always nice to see two people who are so right for each other actually getting together. That was until they asked me to give a speech for their wedding nite, and all that moments of joy quickly transformed into heart-crushing horror.

What the heck do I know about making speeches? More so one concerning the union of two people in front of hundreds of their relatives and friends whom, most of them anyway, I don't know? Shit, I was the guy who in school used to read straight from his scribbled script whenever there was any public speaking to do during English 'cos I was too numbed by fear to actually look people in the eye (a pre-requsite for public speaking I've heard). Screw that, I couldn't even read from the script properly cause my bloody hands were too bloody shaky. In fact, my recollections of all the times I've had to speak in front of a group of people are like this: a rising and inescapable feeling of dread, followed by cold sweat that sent chills running down the spine, and then there's the stammering and mumbling, the clumsy prompting and gasping for air, and ending with a whimper with much disappointment and hidden smirks from those involved. Kinda like sex for the first time eh?

So of course, being the responsible adult that I am and a close friend of the bride and groom, I had to find every possible means to weasel myself out of it. Finding an excuse not to speak on your good friend's wedding night is not exactly good form you know, so I had to come up with a valid and water-tight reason. My first thought was that I had a throat affliction that rended me speechless, but since he actually asked me the day before the dinner, it was a long shot that I would suddenly come down with something like that. Since that was already a no go, I thought why attend the wedding in the first place? People miss their good friends' weddings all the time right? Well, apparently not I. It had better be for something credible and absolutely important and unavoidable. Something like attending the funeral of my long lost cousin Gurkha Al Khan from Urghamurgiskthan. But faking the death of a relative is even worse form, you save those for special ocassions only (like taking that a few days emergency leave after a long holiday you just don't want to end).

In the end, I was just too fear stricken to actually come up with anything and quickly found myself swept up with the pleasant turn of events (pleasant meaning being told that you are to speak on the joys and deeper meaning of the true love eternal between the bride and groom in front of five hundred strangers the day before the actual event). The last thing I know, I'm sitting at the reception hall two hours before the dinner, still trying to memorise whatever I was supposed to say. I didn't know how I got there, but I knew that it was too late to turn back now. I was this close from faking a seizure or sorts but thought the better of it when the groom locked me with his cold steely stare. Don't fuck it up, that stare told me. Ah joy of joys.

So, knowing that it was too late for me, like how Darth Vader knew that it was too late to save him and told Luke to bugger off as the Death Star was being blown to shit in the finale of Return of the Jedi, I decided if I had to go down, at least I'd go down in glory (like how Lord Vader took down that dastardly Emperor with him...shit, talking about the original trilogy always gets me so depressed...in light of the floating pieces of turd on celluloid that Lucas' given us with the new trilogy...Revenge of the Sith better be good, you money-grubbing fat no-neck bastard). But to do so, I had to find the inner strength that we all have within us. Hence, the unnumbered glasses of wine proved handy.

Thus with unnumbered glasses consumed, and inner strength discovered, and face glowing with enlightenment to prove it (it was more of a reddish glow actually), I was all set to go. My ying and my yang was centred. My spirit was at ease with my physical state. And I really had to puke. But nevermind that, puking can always come later. Yet it came out sooner that expected, as when I found myself on stage, with those five hundred people all stoked up by the groom's father's witty speech, those thousand beady eyes looking straight at you, at your very soul, I thought: Witty? Heck, I could do witty! That's when I actually puked out my entire speech. Puked in the sense that my speech came out in a mush of words that had no meaning in the English vocabulary. Sentences were strewn together that sounded like Klingon. New words were suddenly invented. And the founding fathers of excellence in public speaking, from Caeser to Hitler, from Gandhi to Bill Gates (at least the part of him that died when he screwed over Steve Jobs) stirred and wept in their graves. Now that's one for the history books.

So the valuable lesson that we've learnt from all of this? Screw if I know. All I know is that it's all so super when you're getting yourself sloshed and not so super anymore after you've reached your goal (see my previous post on this). But if there is one thing that I can take from the unspeakable chaos of the night, is this phrase that I read from somewhere before (sorry, can't remember where or from who) that's always stuck with me and that I included in my speech. I thought it especially fitting for my two friends. It concerns the nature of love and of true love. It goes somewhere along the lines of how some people tend to believe that love is borne out of long companionship and persevering courtship. And that perhaps it's true in a sense. That the more you spend time and experiences with someone, the more feelings can develop and grow. But that when it comes down to true love, that magical moment of fire and ice that envelops your body and heart in a rapture of passion, the same rules don't apply. True love is like the offspring of a spiritual affinity that is kindled with the mingling of lights from the souls of two people who meet for the first time. And if that affinity cannot be created in an instant, a moment, than it will not be created for years or even a lifetime. Great stuff eh, terribly romantic, can't say whether I believe it or not, but it sounds all so grand on paper.

So, there. Last word to my married friends who are about to fly off to live happily ever after Down Under. May you find shade and water or something like that (now that I know came from Robert Jordan's overrated Wheel of Time series). Bliss :)

15. Malaise

"Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication,"
- Lord Byron

"Always remember, that I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has given me,"
- Winston Churchill

"To alcohol! The cause of - and solution to - all of life's problems,"
- Homer Simpson

"Dude, you're seriously sloshed,"
- Some guy in a club last night

A brief respite from all things football, thank heavens for that. We can't all be Nick Hornby-like in our footie obsession eh (and what an unhealthy obsession it is considering he supports the Arse).

Right, it’s a Thursday afternoon, and a goodish Thursday it is, a public holiday and those things always come in handy when you're in need of a bleeding hangover to get over. Right now it feels like there's a tiny munchkin bashing a sledgehammer in my skull, he's a nasty bugger him; bash, bash, bash, he goes, evil 'lil git. I've lost all taste in my tongue, I'm suffering from blurred vision, and I'm close to typing like 3 words a minute here. I hear happy birds singing their happy songs yet there are no birds in sight. I'm stuck at some dingy corner at Starbucks, though I know for sure that there are no dingy corners in the Starbucks universe. I feel like the plane of existence has somehow shifted, and I've been thrown into some warped Lovercraftian alter reality where there are nasty tentacled things lurking in the nether regions of the earth, or wait, that could've been those twats circling round the bottle the whole night hoping to scum off some drinks.

Yes, yes, after yet another alcohol-fueled night of revelry and massive destruction of brain cells and the like, I had an epiphany of sorts. Ah, those divine and priceless moments of self-actualisation when the secrets to life as we know it is just one more drink from being revealed. Thus on and on we drink, in pursuit of knowledge that thus will ensure the preservation of the human race. Ah, yes, I'm talking shit now. I do realise that, but somehow, I'm unable to stop myself. Surreal man, it's like I'm floating out of my body right now and kinda hovering over this unshaven red-eyed dude typing with sloth-like ferocity on his laptop. It's kinda blissful really, like my pure subconscious mind has finally freed itself of it's decrepit host and is rejoicing in it's freedom away from the dastardly thoughts that inhabit the waking mind. As I observe my mortal coil below me, I feel like asking him the question that has plagued the minds of men since the dawn of time (or at least since the advent of alcohol), is the price you're paying now this very moment worth that fleeting moments of joy and bliss that you felt (or thought you felt) last night? And am having the sinking feeling that this won't be the last time I'd be asking that poor sod the very same question eh.

But nevermind that for a bit, there are some life lessons to be learnt. Not very relevant, but I have to somehow console my wasted self that last night wasn't all for naught. The lessons for today are:
1. Guys stand a better chance of hooking up with chicks if they're in the company of other chicks (preferably babes) themselves. It's always pathetic to see a bunch of guys standing round a table to themselves without a girl amongst them hoping to score. We all know that unless they look like the cast of Ocean's 11, it'll never happen. And is it just me or are there just too many single guys out there? What the heck happened to the three girls to every one guy ratio?
2. Guys should never ever, and I mean ever, dance with other guys in a circle on the dance floor or anywhere else in a club for that matter. It's just too pitiful. Even in my drunken state, I felt my heart weep tears of sorrow when I saw a bunch of hopeful looking dudes pulling off their dirty dancing moves, with each other, on the dance floor. Undoubtedly they were thinking that when the chicks got a load of them grinding each other they'd all go googoo gaga. Erm, nope. The opposite reaction is more likely. As in gag gag pukerama.
3. It's very rare indeed that girls who go out to clubs are looking to hook up with guys. They're either with their boyfriends, girlfriends, or just looking for a good night out. Alternatively, they may be looking for their next customer. When they're genuinely looking to hook up, it's always with a nice rich expat who one day they believe will take them away to some far off country with milk and honey to live a sitcom-like existence (laugh track playing in the background optional).
4. It's never the same getting high without trance music leading the way. Ah, PvD and Chicane...where art thou in clubs these days?
5. Alcohol drives men to turn miraculously into immortal warriors of heaven and earth who make all quiver in their presence. Well, at least they think so, right up till the point they get their asses kicked and thrown out of the club that is.
6. Drinking to drown your sorrow is a load of crap, it just multiplies it tenfold and leaves you to turn into a weeping emotional pulp. It's never a pretty sight.
7. Driving home when you're loaded is no way to go. Especially when you're going home alone.

One last thing, I would like to say sorry to an absent friend whom I miss very much. Sometimes people do stupid drinks when they're drunk eh, so be patient with them yes? It was just one of those nights. I think we're all allowed at least one or two moments of insanity when intoxicated.

And with that, this writer quietly rests his case for (or against? I can't remember) getting sloshed. Till next time, remember that the first drink's always with water, the second without, and third, ladies and gentlemen, the third tastes like water.

7. Halcyon

Right, when I was a kid living in the States, I used to do this crazy little thing that kids over there did during the summer, I went bee hunting. Now when I say bee hunting I mean it quite literally. We would go out armed with multiple jars (our pockets permitting) and stomp out through fields of those blooming summer flowers, searching for the biggest, fattest, and meanest bees around, and I mean those huge mama blackjack honey bees whose stung hurt like a sonoabitch.

Now don't ask me why I did, it was just something us kids did then (another thing that we used to do which you may find peculiar was a little something called roof-jumping, I'll leave it to you to figure that one out). Remember, this was a time without Gameboy, PS2 or Nokia Ngage (we had those big hulking Atari machines that displayed monochrome graphics and were absolutely crap). Those who wanted to "Get 'Em All" really had to go out and do it. No Pokemon or Tamagochi to woo and tide us over.

If I really dig deep enough, I can actually recall some vivid details: the feel of the brilliant summer sun blazing overhead, the thick smell of sunflowers and pollen filling the air, the vibrant colours of all kinds of flowers amongst (sometimes) waste-high shrubs and bushes, that familiar buzz of bees going about doing their thing, and most of all, the exhilarating feeling of catching that huge monster you've been eyeing for a bit. Most of the times, I went with my best friend over there (an Italian-American kid named Jared, maybe the most horny 9 year-old who ever existed). I guess it was ok too to go alone, but it was always better to have a buddy tagging along, if only for the reason you had someone to show off to.

So we'd usually go out round the afternoon, and not head back till just about when the sun went down. And always at the end of the day, we'd hunker down at some spot, pretty knackered by the day's toil, and the both of us would be grinning crazily as only children could. And of course, we'd compare who got the biggest catch. Heck, we even compared the number of times we got stung (bee stings were always displayed like a badge of honour, with the day's bragging rights going to those with the most). Then we'd head back, exhausted with the backs of our shirts slick with sweat, our shadows long as the sun slowly sank and that magical time of dusk came upon us, and we'd chat animatedly about nothing, asking each other irrelevant questions as kids did, all the while comforted with this great sense of fulfilment of a day well spent. I'd look at him and see this gleeful glow in his face that I knew was mirrored on mine as well. It was a glow that said: it doesn't get any better than this.

Now I don't know why this memory has suddenly crept up on me. Maybe it's because the shadow of another inevitable birthday approaching has been nagging the back of my mind for the past few weeks and somehow, unexpectedly running into someone very dear to me from my past today has managed to make it a non-issue. And in turn, that's triggered this long dormant memory. Whatever it is, it’s good to be reminded of these little things that brought such joy in our childhood, no matter how simple they seem. And though glossed-up they may be (cause we tend to look back at those years through rose-tinted glasses), those memories serve to remind us of things we may have forgotten, maybe the most important things. And it's not about getting that bigger car, that higher paycheck, that big screen plasma TV (nice!). But rather, those irreplaceable joys of certain moments in your life that are just perfect, and the people you spend it with.

But of course, that memory of bee hunting I have, precious as it is, is but a melancholy vista of my youth. I've long since lost contact with that childhood friend of mine, and I doubt that I'd be able to locate him again. The places we haunted perhaps no longer exist as I remember them, and maybe those wonderful summers can never quite be relived again as an adult as they were when you were a kid. Those were the halcyon days, and we each of us have them, blissful memories of days long since past. And sometimes, these memories tend to fade away, dulled by the realities of adulthood, and dimmed by more pressing responsibilities and commitments.

But you know what? No matter how improbable it sounds, and call it want you want, faith, hope, whatever, I believe with absolute certainty that one day, though I don't know how, I'll get those visit those same sunny hills with my best friend Jared, with that blazing sun greeting my face, and the scent of flowers filling my nostrils, and my ears will be ringing with the busy buzz of dozens of bees doing their thing. Those huge, mean mama blackjacks kind of course.

"God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December"
- J.M. Barrie, author and playwright