Tuesday, January 28, 2003


As the elevators door opened, an oddly familiar pungent odour of germicide & bitterness, rushed into my face, stinging my nose & senses. Not comforting, this knowledge that I have, yet lacking; my presence crucial for the answers that I seek.

Not a good place this is to be, yet a good sanctuary that it should and that every place should have.

I turned my head slowly to my right, my eyes sored, evidence of a rough night before. This distinct odour, troubles me so although I know why it is so. Then came this angel in white with brilliance in her eyes of hope, underneath breasts of care. She took of my posession clamped between chubbed digits, ornamented in silver from a past love, and ushered me gently to a seat of company of fate.

He too looked sore. Perhaps rough nights on a rougher time at bay? Or that he already sought the answers that he knew not before at one time just like me. His face paled & battered like paint, old & weathered. A veteran of the war within.

A chill ran down my spine & passed through most intimate parts of me. And the All Gracious & Most Merciful was praised, for I know I was blessed in ways only He would understand & knew.

Again that angel appeared and wrapped her delicate digits around my member....of dexterity and pushed my thoughts to a young man, bespectacled & soft spoken. An accessory hung over his neck, a sure symbol of authority, wisdom & skill in white. He touched my heart, this man, and whispered ever so lowly to that angel. He then turned & smiled at my apprehension. Were that he thought that this is a humour, I'll send him to what Man known as the deepest slumber of no return.

That young man cupped my face in his cold hands & brought my face closer to his & he peered deep into my eyes, in which I, involuntarily flinched to look away; always was I uncomfortable at people staring into my eyes.

"Look straight!" he commanded me, stern yet unintimidating. This time the windows were pierced by a tight beam of light, invading its sanctuary & relieved was I for he can't see the fugitive residing inside.

This young man, proved me wrong. He could see, deep in that recess, he saw and inevitably knew, I was in pain. He touched my shoulder in assurance; empathic now aren't we??? He wrote scribbly notes on a paper & handed it over to that angel who made me blush, my shirt undone.

"Come & see me again", he says, that young man who is now telling me of my pain & of the giant spinning cauldron that I have to go through the next time I see him. Strange is it not? But I believed his words & stranger that I will see him again in 3 days to come. In that moment I know, I will see him more. A good thing isn't it? That at last I have found someone that knows of my pain & talked to me about them.

With a mental toothache, I left him, for now to ponder on the future which lies ahead & of that man's words.....

Sunday, January 26, 2003

Teacher Teacher

Teachers are one of the most primary profession in life. In many cultures, teachers are held in high esteem, while many considered teachers to be ranked next to parents in respect. They were respectable people in society. Knowledgable and well educated, they were often consulted by families and friends. The noble function of a teacher and his passion to educate became a factor for his income. However, there's always the good teacher & the bad teacher. What makes a good teacher & what makes a bad one?

Nowadays, there are instituitions that are specialised in training students into becoming a teacher. A good teacher. They are trained in how to, in detailed formulae, bring the education across the classroom to the learner. The methods & syllabus are concise & kept relevant. These instituitions provide the would be teachers the necessary skills to become an educator. A decent Teacher. Not yet a good teacher. Again, what then makes a good teacher?

To begin with, I am not a highly educated person. My academic achievements spanned only in vocational training. My 'O' level results seemed to judge me in that manner and apparently, so does the society. I am going to say it; I'm a victim of a sucky education system full of bad teachers. And no, I'm not kidding.

I wish I could say that I am a slow learner but I'm not. I wish I could say that I am not academically inclined but that does not seem to be the case. Why do I say these things? Not meaning to be boastful or conceited, but, I discovered that I learn better off on my own. The teachers I had sucked big time with the exception of a few. Or I am just being sour grapes. Nah, that's not it. It's just that my brain is working on a hyperdrive. Constantly working on processing information & at the same time coping with my wild imagination.

Let me illustrate. Have you ever experienced people talking to you but your mind just drifts off thinking about other things. You appear to be listening but in reality you are not. For me, this situation happens constantly throughout my consciousness. Except that I am listening to whoever's talking to me & understanding him/her but at the back of my head, I am in reality absorbing information from elsewhere, perhaps a previous conversation with someone else. And if the person talking to me asks me a question in regards to whatever he's talking about, I can answer him perfectly. A minute later, if he asks me the same question, I am totally incapable of giving him the answer that I gave him previously. It'd take time, like a day or two, when my brain finally absorbs the information. Currently, the only thing I could think of would be the things that I might have read recently or other things unrelated to the conversation.

Some people would think that it's just because I'm incredibly dense. Or that person may be boring me to death! A crucial quality that a good teacher should have is the ability to grasp the attention of the student. And when he goes trailing off, the teacher has got to be aware of it. He has to be able to deliver what he's teaching otherwise he fails his objective.

The teacher needs to exercise his wisdom over his students so that they'll learn their lessons well and respect him. A good teacher shall realize that his student is struggling trying to understand and learn. The good teacher makes effort to help him understand and the rest of the students will only understand better.

The good teacher chooses his students well and shall know why he chooses them. He chooses them not in the favour above the rest but because he identifies the students' potential, and at his own risk, put faith in them.

I am neither a teacher nor a good student. Poor is the student that did not surpass the teacher. True. But, how can a poor student like me excel when the teacher have no faith in me? Penalise me for the fault of others? Failed to explain me the knowledge he was supposed to pass on and did not answer the questions I have because I wanted to learn, because I am the poor student. Poor is the student that did not surpass the teacher. There's another saying that goes Poor students are borne of Poorer Teachers.

I learnt the teacher/student well because my father taught me those sayings. He taught me with his wisdom. He taught me not to learn of things I do not understand and until I have those understanding I am not ready. He taught me not to give up on myself because I'm a poor student, for I am a better Teacher than the teacher for he never saw my wisdom in asking him questions that he fails to answer. My father taught me all that because he was a good father and he was and still my Good Teacher.

Monday, January 20, 2003

Have you ever liked being the centre of attention? Some loved it, others don't. For me, I think there's a time and place for everything. Unfortunately, I am one of those living examples of anti-stereotypes. I get stared at alot. Not because that I am incredibly good looking or anything but because of an equally irresistable visual attraction. I am constantly criticized at for my individualistic looks that I don't even give a shit about it. It's not a conscious thing. I just happen to pick my wardrobe a bit differently because I like what I see. I do not purposely go out to seek attention. My baby sis once told me that I was just being misunderstood.

Misunderstood? Perhaps. Kids can be cruel sometimes. I lived amongst them despite being labelled all sorts of things. Weird? Nutcase? Zeng? The lists goes on and on. The likely scenario would be me roughing it out with the other kids that made fun of me. Yet, something always told me that it ain't worth my time. How do you blame on life forms that are not as evolved and advance as you? That's what I thought. Those who can't see it were obviously handicapped and I'm not about to hit on intellectually challenged persons.

It is in this side of me that I've found myself in a dilemma of sorts. People that I love misunderstood my actions. People always fear what they don't understand and in that, they lash out. I am far from being perfect but what is perfect is my love for those I have in my heart. And those who has that piece of them in me shall never fear betrayal for I know the price of trust. But lately, I can't help but wonder if years of friendship & growing up together had amplified the transparency of my character or rather they have not learnt to embrace me as I am like most people who sees me with tainted eyes. For me, that could be the most extreme form of betrayal. But then again I have great faith. And again I ask myself, How do you blame on life forms that are not as evolved and advance as you?. And then I move on.

Here is a story, digest it if you can. If not, 'perish! Sweater Monkeys!'

reluctance of joy BY Red

Would that if I'm able to leap & sing to my heart's content that I would, I really would. But what is it that claimed me otherwise is somewhat a sombre expression that had begun in which even I could not start to comprehend (let alone others...). I should be laughing, smiling profusely because forces which are beyond my control inadvertantly decided that the time had come for one to embrace the kiss of a man whom had, long before my time, faded & immortalized in a scripture that Man would have died for. For all that I had given 2 halves of a third of both anti & post meridianal activity. I'm feeling superfluous but rewarded like any other that've done the same.
How can I? How could I when thousands suffered in silence were that do my suffering pales in comparison? No, I don't think so, nor the average sheep.

Why then is there this reluctance of joy that I feel as we were taught to be content & grateful for the things we have & do not?

Suddenly I felt the need to be in another place & I hate it when they say they do not understand when all they did was choose not to.

Ultimately I succumbed, broken at the thought taht I am so easily beaten...to the fact I, unmistakably knew at first light like always, that I could & will leap out of my 5 by 4 foot cubicle & run out of the office with the silliest grin I could muster & screaming at the top of my lungs, "I shall not & refuse to spend a second longer of my time in the office!!!"

With that, I'm *poof!* (iMAGINE THE LOOK ON THEIR FACES!).

We all learn something new eveyday. Yet, believe it or not, most of the times we overlook these small lessons in life. And when that happens, it makes our experiences bland. Wasted even. We are driven to our daily rountined objectives such as our jobs that we fail to notice that, while we might be doing well in our careers, we live life shorter than we should or possibly could. When it finally hits home, just one word describes it all - regret.

Someone whom I have great respect for told me this, "There shouldn't be any regrets in our lives. We control our destiny, and when we are in control there are choices. Sometimes there ain't much of a choice but it is one when you get to choose which to take. If it don't live up to your expectations, MOVE ON! Learn from it, that is the only way we'll live without regrets."

I believe what he told me and I do live by that code. Things in life aren't always easy to get through but I did. I survived them and that's what matters. I'm still far from achieving my goals in life but I'm getting there.

I'm gonna put up some words that either inspire me or piss me off. Some short stories even. I found out recently that writing is one of the two ways I could express myself and help to reduce my hypertension. The other method is to cut loose playing music. Anyway, here's the first installment of my works:


There is a thought that lingers at the back of my mind in which I will forever wonder, possible.

Pulsing aggravation of what calm vision, discreet in its bleeding of thoughts in a path of neurosis while darting myopia in shades of brown, nestled lubrication in its crown, overflowed. Subconsciously clutching my center, overbearing this sense of loss in equilibrium. My balance off, jaunted by phantoms of conscience.

Yet, I deny nature of the satisfaction meant for those around me to leave me incarcerated. For I am the font of calmness and that is the expression of my physique, projected in empty glass of frosted windows of a supposed soul. Not to embrace this winter a means to an end. I am borne free and boundless shall I be, almost. With one single thought that lingers, I am bounded still, I am human. Lost am I not?

Thursday, January 16, 2003

Life brings you places. You may be at the top of your game but in a split second, you'll realize that the ground beneath you slowly opens up and pull you from your perfect & idyllic world. In short, you're fucked! Hey, shit happens everyday. My advice? Go find plenty of places to shit on,,,for those of you who's brave enuf to swallow anecdotes from my personal hell, Syabas! You have just began evolving into a more intricate life form. Till then...wa blah dulu!