Remember back when we were all innocent? Our young minds a clean slate, all that our naive little brains would remember were endless sunshine, green grass, and laughter. The world seemed simple, everything was about the present day in time.
Then comes along some 10 or 15 years, and few things remain the way we remembered them to be as children. Things we knew back then take a turn, sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better, and sometimes they just disappear from our lives. We should cherish the few constants we have left as change is always waiting around the corner. People, places, things, nothing or no one waits for us.
Some 10 or 15 years down the road, it feels a little strange looking back at those perfect moments we had growing up. They’ve become so distant, so long ago. Life hardens everyone, one way or another. Our problems aren’t any more about whether we can play basketball in the evening, or about the upcoming science test. There are now real worries involving relationships, happiness, money and things alike. Our souls become heavier with every year that passes, our faces carry traces of our experiences. The world is no more like what it seemed to be in our childhood.
I wonder, what would it be like to be innocent again. To make sand castles on the beach and remember the world the way we knew it to be.
“Run, run as fast you can, you can’t catch me, I am the gingerbread man”. Most of us are familiar with the story of the Gingerbread Man. In my life right now, it’s more like a half man half clock running down the street saying, “run, run as fast as you can, you can’t catch me, I am the Time Man!”. I picture Time Man having the body of an alarm clock, but with eyes, a nose, a mouth, arms, and legs. He likes to wear little white shoes and an evil grin at all times.
Time Man is currently running faster than ever, turning around now and then to flash his evil grin. I tried running after him, but to no avail. You just can’t slow him down! So I decided to sit back and absorb all that comes my way, let Time Man do his thing.
Who knows, there might be a cunning fox somewhere out there tempted to gobble down Time Man, just like he did the gingerbread man.
Like Ronan Keating once sang with his fellow band mates,
“It’s only words,
and words are all I have,
to take your heart away.”
(The much better original “Words” was sung by the Bee Gees, but I grew up with the Boyzone cover).
No lies in that, they can rob you of much more than just your heart.
It’s that easy to be deceived. Words that you start using to feed your subconscious desires and fantasies. Anything to keep your reality floating. It’s also that easy to bring your reality crashing down. A few words can leave you dumbfounded, wallowing in betrayal and emptiness. Just a few words can shatter a perfect image, something you’ve known all your life.
It’s then, after feeling more worthless than ever, that you start getting movie-like flashbacks. Clouds part to let rays of sunshine through and angels talk to you. You start to take notice of things that were right before eyes. Simple things that would make sense to a stranger on the curbside witnessing your life unfold. Their arms waving frantically up in the air, their voices so loud that you almost hear them. “You lunatic! How could you fall for that!? Why would you do that!?”. But all you do is nod, smile politely, and walk right past by Mr. Stanger. It’s only then that you realise what an ignorant blinded fool you had been.
When the shell is finally cracked and you’re left with a mess on your plate, it’s confusing how to treat it. Make an omelette? Fold it up and throw it at the back of your mind. A sunny side up? Pretend like it never happened and live happily ever after. Or scrambled? Let the memory in all over your life and let it haunt you forever…and ever.
For the poor people who choose to scramble their eggs, my heart goes out for you, but seriously, snap out of it. God gave us spectacular brains, use it and manipulate your mind to forgive and forget. Keep moving forward. No one can give you a remedy better than that.
One fine day, we’ll get the pleasure of quitting our awful jobs. I’ve played out the scene countless times in my head already. I have a heated conversation with my boss and tell him about everything that is wrong with him and his stupid company. He tries to argue back, but somehow, I get the final word. BURN! Take that boss. Then I stomp out the office, pumped with adrenaline, immense satisfaction and relief. That would be the dream.
Honestly, wouldn’t it be brilliant if we could give a piece of our mind along with our resignation? “Here’s my resignation letter, and here’s what I think of you”. It would be something like a form that asks for our opinion. All we would have to do is take a pen and unleash all our deep seeded anger and hatred onto that piece of paper. We could be in another continent enjoying a cup of coffee when our hate letter is read by the big boss. For the first time, we would feel like our voices are going to be heard. It might not be as satisfying as my fantasy of an actual confrontation, but it certainly holds less risks. You can eliminate the possibility of wimping out, a complete backfire, getting thrown out of the office, and maybe peeing your pants.
Just a thought. A thought that seems oh so tempting.
January 2005: Hopman Cup was on T.V. and Marat Safin was playing against I-don’t-remember-who. Back then, I had no idea on how tennis worked, heck, I initially read “Safin” as “satin” and jokingly called him that for a while. My dad kindly stepped in and taught me the basics of the sport, after which, I rapidly found myself learning and watching a lot more of it. Partly because this Satin guy had kind of gotten to me. His fine looks (and of course, immense talent) was something me and my friend liked to talk about.
With mid-January came the Australian Open, with which came some of Marat’s best tennis. Australian Open ’05 was the big man’s 2nd and last grand slam title (his first slam, which he claims to be a mistake, he won at 20 years of age beating Sampras in straight sets at the US Open). Had I known that back then, I don’t think I would have gone for a nap and a shower in between watching one of his best performances: the epic semi-final against Roger Federer. That match lasted over 4 hours, and I kept thinking, waoh this match is still on? Little had I known what I had missed witnessing and all the regret that would later dawn on me. I now have that match on a CD and I’ve watched it a couple of times over the past years. See the regret I was talking about?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a drooling fangirl that knows little about the sport. It’s been almost 7 years I’ve been watching tennis, and I still love it. My interest in it stemmed from Marat, so if you bad mouth Marat in front of me, you are picking a fight with me buddy (unfortunately, my friends and family know that only too well and won’t miss an opportunity to diss him). Since my love affair started in 2005, I have been to 2 tournaments (in Dubai) and 3 exhibitions (in Abu Dhabi), and I proudly own autographs of Fabrice Santoro, Tommy Haas, Roger Federer, Andy Murray, and my latest, Tomas Berdych. However, the saddest story of my life, I’ve never seen Marat live.
It’s been almost 2 years since the giant Russian’s retirement (11.11.2009), but no one yet has come remotely close to Marat’s status (in my eyes, obviously). I still appreciate and love watching tennis, but I miss having someone to support through good and bad, someone to go ecstatic over, someone to cry over, someone to grow old with (a couple of years, at least).
If you are a professional tennis player, and you think you can help me fill the void in my life, leave your name and I’ll google you up.
Mraz is the only pop artist I can listen to so much without getting tired. I don’t just love one of his songs, I love many. That is a little unusual for me given that my taste is music usually lies in the rock category. Sure I listen to other music, but maybe just a track, not the entire album.
There’s something about Mraz’s music that connects with a part of me perfectly. His clever way with words, the effortless flow of words, it’s all brilliant. If his lyrics aren’t making you laugh or sing along to catchy verses, it will definitely have you thinking. Oh, and he is without a doubt, one of the best live performers. There is always an element of unpredictability in his live shows, as he likes to toy around with original arrangements and lyrics quite a bit.
I have gathered a small list of some of my favourites for you lovely people. Along with videos I’ve added my favourite verses (which were hard to choose for some songs since there were more than one).
You And I Both
‘Cause you and I both loved What you and I spoke of And others just read of Others only read of the love, the love that I love
Clockwatching
No jumping conclusions I don’t think there’s no solution Let’s get backwards and forget our restless destination
A Beautiful Mess
And through timeless words, and priceless pictures We’ll fly like birds not of this earth And tides they turn, and hearts disfigure But that’s no concern when we’re wounded together And we tore our dresses, and stained our shirts But it’s nice today, oh the wait was so worth it
Geek In The Pink
So what I’ve got a short attention span A coke in my hand Because I’d rather have the afternoon, relax and understand My hip hop and flip-flops well it don’t stop with the light rock A shot to mock you kinda puts me in the tight spot
Curbside Prophet
Hey hey hey hey hey! Something’s different in my world today Well they changed my traffic signs to a brighter yellow
If It Kills Me
Hello, tell me you know Yeah, you figured me out Something gave it away It would be such a beautiful moment To see the look on your face To know that I know that you know now
I’m Yours
Well open up your mind, and see like me Open up your plans and damn you’re free
The Remedy
The remedy is the experience. This is a dangerous liaison I say the comedy is that it’s serious. This is a strange enough new play on words I said the tragedy is how you’re gonna spend The rest of your nights with the light on So shine the light on all of your friends Well it all amounts to nothing in the end
Please Don’t Tell Her
Please don’t dare tell her what I’ve become Please don’t mention all the attention I have drawn Please don’t bother ’cause she’ll feel guilty when I’m gone
But you know those random outbursts you go through at one point or another, where you bring out your inner philosopher and just pour your heart out? You break into hours long conversations, or rather monologues, on the horribleness of your life, the people around you, and this world. When you want to resemble a troubled artist in shabby clothes, pulling at her hair, while smoking away cigarette after cigarettes and drinking from what looks like a cup of coffee. I’m certain you know what I’m talking about.
There was one such moment back in my university days, but the victim was my room mate. Life depressed her and she had her drama turned on. Amidst her “life sucks” rant, she suggested we smoke it out. Now as mentioned, I’m not really a smoker. Sure I’ve smoked a couple of cigarettes here and there, but I don’t get the point of it and I think it stinks bad. The only thing I smoke socially is a shisha (hukka).
Hoping this would help her snap out of it, we went down and got ourselves a pack of Marlboro Lights. The “lights” maybe just to make ourselves believe we weren’t going to suck in as many carcinogens. Once in our room, we opened the window, lit up a cigarette, and stared into the night while stealing glances at our “cool” cigarette smoking reflections on the window. We really wanted to get into it and smoke a couple each, but both of us gave up after our first because it just didn’t feel that cool. Plus it stank up our place. Sleepy, I stashed the pack back in my drawer and forgot all about it.
It wasn’t until before shifting our place did we realise that the Marlboro Lights had disappeared without a trace. Our parents were going to come in to help with the shifting so we had to find it before they stumbled across it and raised suspicious eyebrows. Naturally, we played the blame game, searched every possible corner of our room and came up with every possible scenario. All of it ending with no luck. It had vanished. Oh, so mysteriously.
So remains the tale of the lost pack of cigarettes. Something that will always taunt our minds…where are you, Marlboro Lights?
There are a few things a really enjoy doing. One of them is putting my amateur cooking skills to the test. It’s so much fun experimenting with different ingredients and recipes. The bonus is when the food actually turns out to be delicious. I spend countless hours watching cooking shows and surfing the internet for recipes I can try out. Usually those hours are accompanied with a growling stomach and drool.
Unfortunately, I only get the opportunity to be in the kitchen during the weekends when I’m back at my parents house and my mom’s well kept and well stocked kitchen is available to me. Bonus here is that she’s usually ready help with the cleaning up too. As of recently, I haven’t had the opportunity to try to many new things. But I’ve certainly got a list pending. It is a very simple list, but I just want to try things that taste good and doesn’t require lessons from a chef.
I know this is a super easy dish, but ever since the egg muffin served for breakfast at a recent flight I’ve wanted to try it at home. I love eggs for breakfast. I can manage to make myself some pretty decent scrambled eggs. A pretty decent egg muffin would be great as well.
One thing I can guarantee you right now, if I do get around to making this it won’t come out of the oven looking like that. What I have is Tyler Florence’s recipe to work with. I will toy with the ingredients a bit and work with what is readily available here.
Is there any non-vege who doesn’t love fried chicken? Any? That’s right, there isn’t a non-vege that doesn’t love fried chicken. And if there is a somebody, I refuse to acknowledge the existence of that somebody. Yes, I am openly biased towards chicken and I’ve tried quite a few chicken recipes before, but this recipe seems to have excellent reviews. So maybe this recipe will help me perfect the perfect fried chicken.
If and when I do get around to trying any of these recipes, I will post my own review on what my culinary skills managed to whip up in the kitchen. Till then, happy cooking and eating!
I started watching Dexter maybe 2.5 weeks ago, and I’m already in the middle of season 3. As you can obviously tell, it’s my current obsession. This series has extremely fresh material that is superbly executed. I mean, how else would the viewers find their selves rooting for a cold blooded serial killer?
Hats off to Michael C. Hall for such great performances. He plays a forensics investigator by day, and a serial killer by night. Mind you, he’s in no way your regular killer.
Dexter Morgan (Hall) is a good serial killer, if that’s possible. He might kill in a sickeningly methodical way and is heartless about it, but all his victims are murderers on the loose. Dexter’s more like a good killer going for the bad guys. The quick pace of the show always keeps you guessing. When I started watching the first episode I was wondering to myself, this is too gruesome for my taste. By the end of the first episode I thought, to hell with the gruesomeness, I want to know what happens next!
We are given a first hand look at the life of this eccentric killer, how he tackles his dark side by trying to be a normal guy on the exterior. The build of the story is so great and always leaves you shocked. You can hardly guess how the season’s going to end. And the lead character, just brilliant. I’ve developed a love hate relationship with him, mostly always ending with love. This show even manages to create its fair share of comical scenes despite its dark nature.
Dexter’s not your typical T.V. hero, but he manages to work magic. My advice, take a break from the usual, tiring, repetitive plots out there, and watch this. Unless you are far too weak hearted, you’ll love it.
I fly in 1 day after 3.5 years. Considering I don’t live in my home country, that’s a long time, and I’m as excited as ever!
I can’t wait for a lot for things. I can’t wait to be at the bustling airport; always an interesting place. I can spend a good amount of time just sipping a cup of coffee at the airport and people-watching. All the different kinds of people, different families, different clothings, different languages, different behaviours…never gets boring.
I can’t wait for the aeroplane ride itself. My tummy constantly feels a little funny, and I happen to be a lot quieter and observant. Some fellow passengers can often be a nuisance but I won’t let them get to me, it’s my precious time on the plane, MY time. I eagerly wait for the aeroplane food to see what the catering service has dished up for their lovely passengers. Unfortunately, the slight queasiness during flight means my complete foodie mode isn’t on. The food is not always that great either, so the catering service can take some of the blame too for my inability to enjoy the meal. There’s one territory I haven’t conquered yet: aeroplane toilets. At tops, my flights have been a little over 5 hours, and as far as my adult memory can remember, I’ve never used the toilets. Wonderful for me!
I can’t can’t wait for the airport formalities after landing. Yes, I wrote two can’ts. Frankly, I have no pleasant memories there. By that time we’re all tired and haggard and there’s a rush of people everywhere. Forms to fill, queues to wait in, baggage to wait for…ugh.
I can’t wait to step out the airport and say hello to a new land. I can’t wait to greet the familiar faces of my relatives. And I can’t wait to see, smell, hear, feel, and live in a place that’s so familiar yet not so familiar.
So just like Kurt Cobain’s famous chorus, “I’m on a plane, I can’t complain”. See you after the holiday my barely there readers!
